One Golden Ring. Cheryl Bolen

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СКАЧАТЬ was that poor Lady Fiona had been spurned by Lord Warwick. Such a pity, it was said, after all those years of being promised to one another, and the poor lady wasn’t getting any younger!

      Of course Fiona didn’t give a farthing what was said about her. She didn’t even think it so utterly humiliating that she had brazenly offered herself to the dashing Mr. Birmingham—even if he was a Cit. What was humiliating was that the man had not been remotely interested in having her for his wife.

      Her thoughts flitted to the beautiful Diane Foley. She wondered if Mr. Birmingham was actually in love with the actress who was his mistress. For some unaccountable reason, Fiona’s heart thumped with an unexpected burst of jealousy. Not jealousy of Miss Foley but of envy to experience the fulfilling relationship the actress and Mr. Birmingham must enjoy, a relationship Fiona would never know.

      Trevor scooted across the seat and patted her hand. “I simply must learn to become a swashbuckler so I can call out any man who dares affront you, but for the life of me I have no idea how one becomes a swashbuckler.”

      She giggled through her tears.

      “I don’t suppose,” Trevor asked tentatively, “you asked who his tailor was?”

      She giggled some more, and the tears that had been threatening to gush remarkably vanished.

      “I honestly don’t understand how the man could have turned you down,” Trevor said with complete gravity. “You’re absolute feminine perfection.”

      “I prefer to think his refusal had more to do with the fact he has no wish to marry than that he finds me repulsive.” What she preferred to think and what constituted the truth, however, were two completely different matters. Deep in her breast she was convinced Mr. Birmingham was not in the least attracted to her. What a fool she had been to believe he would salivate at her presumptuous offer.

      “The R word is never ever to be used in conjunction with you!” Trevor’s voice softened. “Wish you’d have let me come with you to that awful man’s office.”

      “He’s not really an awful man,” she defended. “He actually offered to give me the twenty-five thousand pounds.” Oddly, she found Mr. Birmingham’s remark about her being another man’s greatest joy even more welcome than the fortune he offered.

      Trevor gulped. “Give?”

      She nodded.

      “Surely you didn’t turn him down?”

      “Of course I had to turn him down! I couldn’t possibly accept the arrogant man’s charity.”

      Trevor’s brows lowered. “Would that not have been preferable to marrying a man you don’t love, a man you don’t even know?”

      Oh dear, Trevor was right. Why had she not considered Mr. Birmingham’s generous offer in that light? She’d been so set on negotiating a reasonably fair exchange with him that she had been unable to leap on the alternate—far more palatable—scheme Mr. Birmingham had proposed. Her shoulders sagged. She found herself shaking her head. Never, though, would she have leaped on his charitable proposal. Fiona was incapable of accepting the man’s pity. “I have my principles!”

      Trevor lifted her chin. “Let me see if I understand this. You’d sell yourself but not accept a donation?”

      “I know it sounds decidedly foolish, but I simply cannot accept the man’s charity. Even for Randy.”

      “Then you’re not going to try to save Randolph?”

      “I didn’t say that! I’ll do anything to save him—or, almost anything.” Her face brightened. “Mr. Birmingham said there must be any number of men of the ton who would wish to marry me.”

      “The Cit’s right.”

      “Then I simply find another man. A wealthy man. Quickly.”

      “Now see here, I don’t like this at all. Ain’t right that you shackle yourself for life to some detestable man in order to come up with the funds.”

      “I told you, Trev, I don’t mind. Truly. Since . . . since last year I’ve known I’ll never love another man. I’ve come to accept that. So why not marry a man of wealth, a man who can save my brother?” And why not a man as sinfully handsome as Nicholas Birmingham? Her heart fluttered at the memory of his fierce black eyes lazily perusing her. She could not have felt more undressed had he stripped her bare. It was suddenly clear to her that a marriage to Mr. Birmingham would not have been so terribly repugnant.

      “You don’t need to marry at all. Go back to Birmingham and accept his offer.”

      Her brows lowered. “I can’t do that.”

      He scowled. “You’re being very obtuse.”

      “Help me think of wealthy bachelors.”

      His pointed chin thrust out. “Don’t think I will!”

      “Now you’re being obtuse!”

      Nick was in a foul temper. He had snapped at Shivers simply because his secretary had asked if Nick was going to the ’Change today. Nick always went to the ’Change. But not today. He was in such a bloody bad humor that even the prospect of making money did not satisfy him. He had torn up today’s Times because it contained a lengthy article on Foreign Secretary Warwick. He had slung his teacup into the fire. And he had enumerated and cursed every eligible bachelor in the ton. Which of them would Lady Fiona offer herself to next?

      Stalking angrily from his office, Nick gave Shivers the rest of the day off in a meager attempt to apologize for his sharp tongue, then he summoned his coach and headed to the West End. He felt like sparring with Jackson. At least to Jackson, his money was as good as the next man’s.

      But after riding for only a few blocks, Nick demanded his coachman turn around and take him to his brother’s bank.

      Adam, his brows dipping to aV with anxiety, leaped from his desk and sputtered forward when he saw his elder brother amble into his office. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

      “Nothing’s wrong!” Nick barked, plopping into a comfortable chair in front of Adam’s desk.

      “You never miss a session of the ’Change. Are you ill?”

      “You sound like my secretary,” Nick mumbled.

      Adam moved closer and bent to look into Nick’s pupils.

      “I tell you I’m fine!” Nick hissed. “Can’t a man take off a single afternoon without creating a commotion?”

      “But you never take off! I’ve seen you propped up against the plaster pillar on the floor of the ’Change burning with fever, and still you wouldn’t take to your bed. Something’s wrong.”

      “Nothing’s wrong,” Nick insisted.

      “Shall I ring for tea?”

      “I don’t want any blasted tea!”

      “Mind if I have some, old boy?” Adam lifted a fine porcelain cup and took a drink, then sank into his own chair. СКАЧАТЬ