The Importance Of Being Wicked by Miranda Neville

teasable, and she’d managed not to make a fool of herself by leaping on him and ripping off his clothes. And now she was safely in a corner with Oliver.
    Then Horner appeared. What was he doing at a gathering hosted by an architect to celebrate an antiquary? Why did he not take his loathsome striped coats and find a venue where a striped snake would be at home? A brothel, for instance. Or a menagerie. He must have followed her. Probably bribed the owners of the livery stable where she’d hired the carriage for the evening. She owed them so much money, she couldn’t blame them for taking something on account.
    “Sir Bernard, what a pleasure,” she said. His moist breath on her hand made her shudder.
    “My very dear Mrs. Townsend . . . Caro. I didn’t get the chance to talk when I called. Your cousin was there.”
    She’d made sure of that, grabbed Anne’s hand in a vise when her cousin had looked like heeding their visitor’s hints that he had business alone with her.
    “And you have a couple of dukes dancing attendance on you. Such distinguished protectors.” His stress on the last word was a question. Was either Denford or Castleton her lover? She’d claim either or both of them if it would get rid of Horner. But he’d expect a generous lover endowed with ducal strawberry leaves to pay her debts.
    “Not protectors but friends.”
    “Generous friends? May I expect payment soon? Within the week, perhaps?”
    “You always hurry me, Sir Bernard. A lady needs time to arrange her affairs.”
    “And if her affairs are not to be arranged, what then?”
    “Affairs may always be arranged.”
    “My feeling entirely. I can afford to be generous. I’ll give you ten days. I’m going out of town for a while, but I shall call next Saturday and expect to find you in a position to make arrangements. Please do not fail me. I am loath to treat a lady unkindly, but I labor under certain exigencies. And it’s so uncomfortable having bailiffs in the house.”
    Exigencies, my eye! Horner didn’t need the money. Investigation had revealed that he had plenty. He likely dropped more than she owed at hazard three or four times a week. She was the one familiar with the humiliation of debt collectors invading her home and assessing her possessions. Horner offered a not-so-subtle threat of what would happen if she failed to appease him, either with money or—she shuddered—her person.
    “I admire you, Caro. I tremble with anticipation of our mutual satisfaction.”
    Ugh! What on earth was she to do? She didn’t have a thousand pounds or any sum like it. Neither was there a chance of finding it by the end of next week. Where could she get it? Oliver, of course, had nothing. Even if he could pay her what he owed for rent, it would be a grain of sand in the desert of her debt. Julian was short of ready money until he worked out the legal complications of his inheritance. None of her friends had any money, save Cynthia and Anne.
    She doubted Cynthia could lay hands on that much. Her absent husband’s steward paid her bills, and she had some pin money, but no access to a capital sum. Anne was in the same position. Morrissey would have to agree to any large disbursement. Even if he wasn’t in Ireland, he’d never agree to help her. Instead, he’d drag Anne home to Camber and away from the polluting influence of her cousin. Come to think of it, Morrissey and her mother would make a fine pair. He and Mrs. Elizabeth Brotherton would find plenty to talk about.
    It was ironic that she housed one of the wealthiest women in England yet found herself penniless. It was too late now to curtail her extravagance. She should have told her friends of her troubles instead of handing out money as though she were still rich. Pride and an unwillingness to face unpleasant truths had brought her to this pass. Of course, if Robert hadn’t been addicted to gaming . . . She wouldn’t think of that since there was no point.
    The other resort was