The Importance of Being Wicked by Miranda Neville Page A

deeply.”
    Which didn’t quite answer the question. Thomas had sometimes detected a hint of sadness in Caro Townsend, not the conventional grieving of the recent widow but a deeper melancholy, something buried and hidden from the world. An aversion for Robert Townsend, whom he’d never met, possessed him. A man lucky enough to be loved by Caro ought to have made her happy.
    â€œRunning off with a young girl is disgraceful behavior,” he said. “What did you think of him?”
    â€œI didn’t know Robert well. My grandfather disliked him, but he was fond of Caro, and she came to visit us at Camber, usually without her husband. I’ve missed her, so when the opportunity arose to come to London, I grasped it.”
    Thomas should have been shocked by her stratagem. Instead, he admired her loyalty. However, talking to Miss Brotherton about her all-too-attractive cousin was not the way to woo her. He wished they had more interests in common. It was probably a good thing for a husband and wife to like at least some of the same things. His own parents had not. Odd that he’d never given the matter much thought before.
    He wondered if she was interested in horse racing. Probably not, alas. Landscape improvements perhaps. She certainly owned enough land, and surely some of it must need improving. This promising topic died at birth when Thomas noticed a new arrival approaching Mrs. Townsend. It wasn’t the same striped coat, but he recognized the style.
    â€œD—” He bit back an oath. “Is that Horner with your cousin? They are leaving the room together. She shouldn’t give the fellow the time of day!”
    â€œCaro seems determined to tolerate him, but I confess I did not like the man when he called two days ago.”
    T he evening had been going so well. Anne was happy with her barrow man. The Duke of Castleton had been delightfully stuffy and 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.
    â€œSir Bernard, what a pleasure,” she said. His moist breath on her hand made her shudder.
    â€œMy 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.
    â€œAnd 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.
    â€œNot protectors but friends.”
    â€œGenerous friends? May I expect payment soon? Within the week, perhaps?”
    â€œYou always hurry me, Sir Bernard. A lady needs time to arrange her affairs.”
    â€œAnd if her affairs are not to be arranged, what then?”
    â€œAffairs may always be arranged.”
    â€œMy 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