Chapter Two

L eopold Mayweather, Viscount Briarwood, lurked at the fringes of Lady Jarvis's ballroom, clutching a half-full glass of the bitterest lemonade he'd ever tasted. At his side was a plant set on a white marble column. The long, green leaves draped over the edge and waved in the breeze made by passing, tray-laden servants.

He focused on Saffron, standing in the shadow of a velvet curtain outside the refreshment room. She reminded him so much of Sabrina, with the same hair, black as a raven's wing, and the same defiant eyes. When she'd pulled back her sister's hair, tenderness written across her features, he'd felt a spark of something deep in his soul.

"Hello there," a cheerful voice said.

He turned to see the grinning face of his cousin. Simon Mayweather was dressed as fashionably as any of the other young dandies in a dark-burgundy jacket with a plum-colored waistcoat over a patterned silver vest and burgundy trousers. His dark hair was held back with a ragged strap of leather and his cravat was lopsided, as if he'd rolled out of bed moments before dressing.

Knowing Simon, that's exactly what happened.

Simon clinked his glass against Leo's. "As cheerful as ever, Briarwood."

Leo grunted. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you."

Servants dodged around Simon, who sipped his drink. "I did not expect you would ever leave that old house."

Leo put a hand on his cousin's arm and pushed him out of the flow of foot traffic. "What do you mean?"

"You're stuck in the past," Simon said, exchanging his empty glass for a flute of champagne from the tray of a passing servant. "After the accident, I was certain you would never leave. I thought I might see an article about you in the newspaper one day, that they'd found you dead in that tomb of a house. But enough of that. What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," Leo said honestly. "I didn't intend to stay this long."

He had not seriously considered that his housekeeper's gossip would hold a kernel of truth. The plan had been simple: inspect each of the paintings to disprove the rumor, then retire with a willing woman or two. He'd completed the first phase of his plan, with the help of Marie, and had been well on his way to completing the second phase when the Summersby sisters had stumbled into his hiding place. As a result, he knew the rumors were true. Somehow, Lady Jarvis had acquired a rare piece of artwork that belonged in a museum.

Simon peered through the crowds. "What has caught your interest? A new fish?"

Leo nodded to the refreshment room entrance. "Not new, but newly discovered. What do you know about the Summersby family?"

Simon tugged his cravat. "Where to start? Old family, distantly related to royalty. Or so I hear. Tragic story, really."

"Tragic?"

"Consumption, both the baronet and his wife in the same year. Over a decade ago. The widow of the baronet's brother took them in."

Leo cracked the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders. That explained the haunted expression Saffron wore, and the way she'd hovered over her sister.

He remembered how it felt to have someone to protect. To care for a sibling like a parent. When that bond had been torn away, something vital inside him had withered and died.

He understood why Saffron had stood up to him in that cramped room, defiant and trembling beneath his stare.

They had more in common than she realized. "It gets worse," Simon continued. "The eldest child died, and with no male heirs, the Crown awarded the baronet title to a distant cousin. The family title, fortune, even the lands. From what I understand, the ladies barely keep above water." He leaned closer. "Rumor says they have pinned their hopes on a suitable match for the younger sister, Miss Angelica Summersby."

Leo downed his lemonade and turned his gaze to Angelica, standing next to her sister. If he had not been told, he would never have guessed they were related. Saffron's dark hair was confined in a tight bun, set with tiny gems that sparkled like the night sky. She wore a severe gown more suitable for a housekeeper or governess and clung to the shadows like a footpad.

Angelica, on the other hand, wore her spun-gold tresses piled atop her head, with small ringlets dangling at her nape. Her brightly colored gown was high in the rear and low at the bodice. When she laughed, the surrounding crowd joined in.

The Summersby plan was likely to meet with success. The Ton valued beauty and charm in a lady above most other characteristics.

His cousin stared in the same direction, his mouth turned in a scowl. But it wasn't Saffron who had caught Simon's eye.

"Angelica Summersby is rather young for you," Leo said.

Simon coughed. "She's of age, although she often acts as if she were still in short skirts. Despite that, she's gathered a horde of suitors. Poets and artists."

The disapproval in Simon's voice made Leo smile. "Not unlike the horde of fanciful ladies you string along."

"It's not the same," Simon protested.

Leo snorted, then asked, "What about the elder sister? Is she also seeking a match?"

He didn't know what had prompted the question. The lady had nothing to do with him. Long before his sister's death, society had lost its appeal. He was content to languish in hedonistic delight, or so the newspapers reported. He had no intention of telling them that most of his waking hours were spent at an easel.

The image of Saffron standing between him and Angelica flashed into his mind again. Her heaving chest, showing off an expanse of creamy skin. The way she licked her bottom lip, the tip of her tongue flashing in and out. Her shapely form disguised within a poorly fitted gown.

He flushed and adjusted his stance so as not to embarrass himself. Who was this woman, to summon from his barren heart such passionate desires?

Simon blew out a breath, then shook his head. "No. Miss Summersby does not dance. There is something odd about that girl. The way she stares, like she can see right through you. It's unnatural."

He watched Saffron adjust a curl on her sister's cheek before melting back into the shadows. She didn't seem odd at all. Captivating, caring, and skittish, but not odd.

"Why do you ask?" Simon waggled his eyebrows. "Are you seeking a new mistress? Or has the bachelor finally decided to take a wife?"

Leo stared into his glass. It was true that he was expected to marry and produce an heir, even though he had never expected to inherit. His father had succumbed to poor health two summers past and, soon after, an accident with a horse had claimed his unmarried brother's life. The trauma of those deaths had damaged his mother's mind and he had resolved never to allow himself to care for anyone again.

Simon smacked Leo on the back with his open palm. "Don't look so dour, cousin. There are worse things than marriage."

"Indeed," Leo said, upending his glass and letting the last few drops fall to the floor. "I can think of several things that are worse."