avid found himself studying Victoria's every emotion, so openly revealed on her face. She was worried about his marital requirements, but he couldn't decide if it was the thought of sex, or how she could carry off her position as a future countess. He didn't know whether to be flattered by her concern or annoyed.

He still couldn't forget the horror in her expression when he'd revealed himself as Tom. She certainly had a way of taking him down a peg or two without even trying.

He was having to convince her to marry him, she a poor spinster with no other prospects. He had thought he'd gotten used to women rejecting him because of his father's notoriety, but Victoria's reservations seemed even more personal. He refused to continue thinking of it that way. She was a scared woman taking care of an ill mother, with little choice left in her life.

"So do my conditions for marriage meet with your approval?" he asked.

"You know they do, my lord. I would ask nothing less of myself as your— as a wife. But if you don't mind, I have conditions of my own."

He raised a brow in acknowledgment of her courage. "Please speak them freely."

"I ask that you make a place for my mother in your household."

"Of course, Miss Shelby."

She went on quickly, as if she hadn't heard him. "I promise I will take care of her, and she would cause no— " She stopped, and her wide-eyed gaze found his.

He was feeling properly insulted. "Did you think I would turn your mother out on the street?"

"Forgive me if I gave such an implication, my lord," she said quietly. "It was not my intent. But my mother has not been well since my father's death, though she is showing signs of improvement. I felt the need to make everything clear between us."

"There is nothing else you wish for yourself?"

"Just that my sisters be allowed the occasional…lengthy visit, my lord."

"Of course. You are a rare woman, Miss Shelby. In the interest of making everything 'clear,' allow me to assure you that I will provide you with a comfortable life, including an extensive wardrobe and spending money of your own."

Her complexion had deepened to scarlet throughout his speech. It was obvious that she was a proud woman, unused to having to ask anyone for anything. He wondered how well he would have handled her situation were he in her place, how it must feel to be condemned not to work by society. He knew some of that feeling, of course, because his business dealings crossed the line into commerce, something that would be frowned upon by other gentlemen if it were common knowledge. Other than investments and land dealings, gentlemen did not lower themselves to trade. Being told how he could earn his money did not sit well with David, but it wouldn't stop his railway venture.

Victoria had no way to earn money at all as a gentlewoman unless as a companion or governess, which her sisters had done, two positions that demanded the utmost work and the utmost in humbled circumstances.

"My lord, your generosity is appreciated," she said. "If there is anything else you wish of me, please say so before we agree on this arrangement."

"Arrangement," he said in a chilly voice. "This won't be an arrangement, Miss Shelby, but a marriage, a real one in every way."

In two strides he was right before her, and she stared up at him with wide, beautiful eyes. But she didn't shrink from him, and for that he was grateful. He reached for her hand, deftly unbuttoned her glove at the wrist, and slid off the offending accessory. She inhaled sharply. Her hand was not as soft as that of every other lady of his acquaintance. This woman had worked hard to feed and shelter herself and her mother. And he admired her.

He brought her trembling hand up and bent over it, never taking his eyes off hers. For just a moment he let her see the sensuousness in his gaze. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, lingered, inhaled the elusive scent he couldn't quite place. Ah, the smell of flour and baking, a woman who helped prepare meals. He found her practical nature and his lack of familiarity with it almost erotic. He dipped his tongue against her skin to taste her.

Her strangled gasp satisfied him in a very primitive way. She was not so immune to him as she tried to pretend. He released her, and though she dropped her hand, she bravely stood her ground.

"My lord, we don't know each other well." Before he could speak, she quickly added, "As adults. I ask for your patience to allow us to become reacquainted."

"My patience?" he echoed in a low voice, beginning to understand where this might lead.

"Yes. We would have a real marriage, of course, but could we not…"

Her face flamed red and her gaze centered squarely on his chest. She pulled her glove back on.

She bit her lip. "That is, could we take our…relationship…slowly?"

She was asking for a reprieve on their wedding night. He understood that she was a virgin, and some delicacy on his part was required. But the longer she withheld her affections, the greater the risk that their marriage would fail. He could not allow that. He would have to think of a solution that would satisfy them both.

"I understand and accept your terms, Miss Shelby. You will marry me?" He posed it as a question, instead of the statement of fact they both knew it to be.

Her gaze never left his, and her words, though softly spoken, were firm with intent. "Yes, my lord. And I thank you."

He wanted to tell her not to thank him yet, not until she'd met his father and seen his disorganized household, but the reality of that could wait for another day.

"I'll have the banns read," he said. "The wedding will take place a month from today. You will have time to have a gown made. Does this meet with your approval?"

"My lord, I am not quite out of mourning yet, so my gown will be— "

"I request that you not wear black, Miss Shelby. I'm sure that your father would understand, and wish you to celebrate our marriage."

"But my lord— "

"Humor me in this, I beg you. Mourning attire is not something I would wish for my wedding day."

She studied him. "Do men have dreams of their wedding day?"

He was startled. Dreams of a wedding night might be more accurate, but he could hardly say that, not after her recent request.

"Perhaps I didn't have dreams, Miss Shelby, but I know a wedding day only comes once to a couple, and it should mean something."

There was a wry twist to her lips, but he did not remark on it. Theirs would not be a normal marriage, he knew.

"Go to your mother now, Miss Shelby. Please send Mrs. Wayneflete to discuss the wedding details with my steward."

He bowed over her hand again, but this time did not kiss it. He hoped she regretted the omission.

Victoria stared at the receding back of Lord Thurlow, running her fingers absently over her hand, the one he'd kissed just a little while before. It still felt…burned, not as if he'd hurt her, but as if he had marked her in some way as his.

His. She would be that now, under the care of a man she truly didn't know. Did he have a music room? Would he care about her dreams beyond their wedding day?

Or their wedding night. She shivered and tried to make sense of what she'd felt as he'd pressed his lips against her skin so intimately. When he'd opened his mouth and touched her— she squeezed her eyes shut, feeling uncomfortable and hot and confused. He wanted a baby. And she had some sense of how one achieved that. Yet he had agreed to take his time.

Victoria walked into the hall. "Mrs. Wayneflete!" She came up short as she found the housekeeper leading her mother back toward the drawing room.

The housekeeper threw up her hands. "I am so sorry, Miss Victoria! Mrs. Shelby was helping me prepare tea, and then she was gone— "

"Your worry is all for naught, Mrs. Wayneflete," Victoria said. "Lord Thurlow did not mind Mama's interruption."

Her mother peeked into the drawing room. "Did he leave? I'm sorry I didn't get much of a chance to speak with him."

That sounded more like the mother she knew. "You'll have plenty of opportunity to get to know him, Mama. The viscount has asked me to marry him."

Victoria had not expected great rejoicing, but Mrs. Wayneflete's obvious trepidation was a little frightening. Even her mother frowned. Didn't she understand what Victoria was doing to save the family?

She regretted her selfish thoughts. She turned to her mother. "You never allowed me to hear of the scandal surrounding the Earl of Banstead. Perhaps I should hear it now, even though it's too late."

Mrs. Wayneflete and her mother exchanged a glance, but it was the housekeeper who spoke.

"I don't know the details, Miss Victoria. Though servants gossip, even the Banstead maids seemed embarrassed by their master's behavior. There were parties at Banstead House, miss, the kind no one of good society would go to. And they started within a month of the countess's death."

Victoria sighed. "That's all you know? I always thought you were withholding something due to my young age."

"No, miss. But the servants' silence made me realize something scandalous had to be going on there. Are you sure marrying the viscount is the correct decision?"

"How could I say no, Mrs. Wayneflete? We'll have a place to live, food to eat. And I'm marrying the viscount, not the earl himself. We can't blame a man for his father's actions."

"But we don't know what those actions were."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Wayneflete. This is the best I could do. Will it bother you if I try to find a position for you in the Banstead household? But of course if you'd rather not work there— "

"Oh no, miss, it would be a great relief for me to be able to look after you and Mrs. Shelby," she said, dabbing her tears with her apron. "I am relieved that you've found a man who wants to marry you."

"He has taken pity on me," Victoria correctly her dryly. "And I sense that we will be helping him as well." She couldn't put her suspicions into words.

"We have so much to do," Mrs. Wayneflete said, leading Victoria and her mother into the library. "Let's make our lists. When will the wedding take place?"

"In one month."

"Heavens, Miss Victoria, that will barely be enough time!"

"The first wedding in the family." Mama suddenly smiled.

When a tear slid down her mother's cheek, Victoria wanted to melt.

"It is what your father and I always wanted for you," her mother said softly.

But it wasn't what Victoria had wanted for herself.

When David arrived back at Banstead House, he had already decided to face the most difficult task first: telling his father about the upcoming marriage.

He walked down the hall on the ground floor to his father's bedroom. He knocked briskly on the door, and his father called for him to enter.

Alfred Thurlow, the Earl of Banstead, was sitting in his wheelchair in his usual place, staring out the window at the garden. There was a book beside him on a table, but David knew he seldom read— he seldom did anything but brood on his illness and ever progressing infirmity.

And take out his misery on the entire household. The maids were often crying from his verbal abuse when they were only trying to clean his room. David had finally given strict orders that no one was to even attempt to clean unless his father was somewhere else. But that was less and less often. The man's greatest joy seemed to be making housekeepers quit.

The earl looked up at David with flashing blue eyes, obviously ready to yell at the intrusion. But he caught his breath when he saw who it was and only grumbled something before looking back out the window. His white hair was longer than it should be, but the earl didn't care about such things anymore. It was hard enough to get him to bathe regularly. His face was lined more with anger and bitterness than age, and those once broad, imposing shoulders were bony and bent. But the earl had made sure by his intolerable behavior that no one offered him pity anymore.

"Good afternoon, Father."

"Not so good here" was all the earl said.

David clenched one fist behind his back. "I won't disturb you for long. I wanted to tell you that I'm to be married in a month's time."

That brought the old man's head around. "You negotiated such a thing without consulting me?"

"I'm twenty-six years old, Father. I am quite capable of procuring a bride."

"You hadn't been able to prove that before."

And whose fault is that? David barely stopped himself in time. Too often, he sank to his father's level, but not today. Today he would wallow in the satisfaction of his accomplishments.

After a length of silence David refused to break, the earl glanced at him— showing no remorse or guilt, naturally.

His father said, "It's about time you provided the earldom with an heir besides that useless cousin of yours."

David stiffened. His father's endless quest for children had been what killed his mother. She'd endured pregnancy after pregnancy, all ending early or with a stillborn child. The town house had always been draped in black crepe, and David had worn mourning clothes for much of each year.

But still the old man had spent David's adulthood hounding him about an heir. Was Father oblivious to what he'd done?

And again, David found himself experiencing a passing feeling of worry about Victoria, but he pushed it ruthlessly away. The earldom needed an heir.

"Did you negotiate the terms with her father?" the earl demanded.

"He died ten months ago. I negotiated with the bride herself."

"Unheard of!"

"But necessary. I'll speak to my lawyer about the papers tomorrow."

"Who is this girl?"

"Miss Victoria Shelby."

"I know that name," the earl said, his brows lowered in rising anger.

"You should. The family has been our next door neighbors my entire life." The people you insisted we ignore socially, because you said they weren't good enough.

"One of the Shelby girls?" his father cried.

"Victoria."

"But their father was in trade!"

"He was a wealthy banker, Father. You yourself did business with him."

"But he was not a gentleman!"

"Perhaps not by your definition. But his daughter has been raised well. I've already asked her to marry me."

"She will bring nothing to this family in politics or land. If you would have consulted me, I could have told you— "

"It's interesting how you follow the dictates of society only when it pleases you. Regardless, there is nothing you could have said to change my mind."

"Tell me you're not in love with this girl!"

David was about to make a disparaging comment— their arguments followed such a predictable pattern— but something in his father's face stopped him. It wasn't anger there now but despair, as if he'd thought love was a tragedy not to be experienced because of the pain.

David's mother knew all about that.

But he couldn't say the words that would hurt the old man, not when he already looked so devastated. Did the earl stare out over his garden and remember all his mistakes, the way he'd treated his wife?

David didn't want to feel sympathy for him.

"Father, in one month, Miss Shelby will be living here, as the new lady of the house. You will conduct yourself properly."

"I am the earl!" his father thundered. "She will have to— "

But David had already walked out of the room.

Night after night, Victoria lay sleepless in bed and stared at the shadows on the ceiling, wondering if Tom was still there somewhere inside Lord Thurlow. Or was she being naive? Her underlying sorrow wouldn't go away. Except for her sisters, Tom had been her closest companion, her staunch ally, a sounding board when times were difficult. But to remember those times now only made his betrayal sharper, sadder. She finally resolved the Tom debate in her mind by putting it aside for now, pretending that she was just like every other woman about to marry a stranger.

Two weeks before their wedding, her future husband surprised her by coming to call on her unannounced. Mrs. Wayneflete came to find Victoria, who was sorting through her belongings for the move. Victoria followed the housekeeper down through the house, asking twice if her hair looked presentable.

"Surely I have cobwebs or something in it!" Victoria said with exasperation.

Mrs. Wayneflete patted her trembling hands. "You look fine, miss."

And then they were in the drawing room, and he was standing there, so tall and very foreign in such a feminine room. His gaze swept over her, making her wonder what he thought about her appearance. She should not care, because their bargain had already been made. But…he smelled of fresh air and cologne, a masculine mixture, and it made her shiver, though she was not cold. The engagement— the very thought of marriage— still seemed so unreal.

He had his hat and gloves in his hands, and Victoria wondered why Mrs. Wayneflete had not taken them from him.

"Good afternoon, Miss Shelby," he said in that deep voice.

"Good afternoon, my lord."

"Would you care to take a carriage ride with me?"

Was he actually…courting her, when it no longer mattered? She felt ridiculously warm at the thought of such flattery. "I— of course. Just give me a few minutes to prepare myself."

Then she and Mrs. Wayneflete went looking for a bonnet and shawl and gloves. Soon she was sedately walking down the front steps to the pavement, her hand just resting on Lord Thurlow's bent arm. At the edge of the street waited an elegant phaeton, with its top down, led by a matching pair of white horses. If he was trying to impress her, he was doing a decent job of it. Behind the main bench, a maid perched on a small seat.

Victoria smiled at her, and the girl shyly smiled back. She was surprised by the chaperone, being that she and Lord Thurlow were an engaged couple— but she was certain he did not want even a whiff of scandal. She tried to put aside her unease.

He held her hand as she stepped up into the carriage, then he climbed in beside her and lifted the reins. He took up much of the bench, and his shoulder brushing hers made her feel rather strange inside.

She was not surprised to find that he was an excellent driver. He'd always been the kind of person who achieved whatever he put his mind to.

Or had he changed? She didn't know what to make of him, how to bridge the ten-year gap in her knowledge of him. People could change so much when the responsibilities of adulthood settled in. A conversation would help, but he seemed to be concentrating on his driving and his occasional nod to people who called out his name with a wave.

No matter what his father had done, Lord Thurlow still had a place in society; he still had friends, if only in politics. All people whom she'd have to meet. She'd never imagined herself in such company.

But if Lord Thurlow was not going to talk, she herself could not sit here silently, each minute growing ever more awkward. As he guided the carriage into Hyde Park and down the Row, she wet her lips and tried to think of a topic of conversation.

"My lord, I hope you won't think this a prying question," she began.

He glanced at her. "We are to be married. Ask whatever you wish."

"Most boys of your class went off to school at a young age. Why didn't you?"

He concentrated on a sudden slow down of carriages. She almost thought he'd forgotten, until he said, "My mother was often ill. She did not wish to be separated from me, her only child. My father hired tutors."

"I see." That left him plenty of free time to tease a lonely little girl next door. She kept reminding herself that he'd been very young when he'd lied to her, but that could not erase the feelings of betrayal deep in her soul. She thought they'd been sharing…everything.

Had he enjoyed writing to her? She glanced at his profile, so stern, yet handsome to her in an unusual way. She kept expecting a mischievous smile, for that was how she'd always pictured him. But his face was like a mask that hid all the truth behind it. Why couldn't she know what he was thinking, as she once knew Tom's every thought?

She sighed. "At least now I know why you never spoke of yourself."

"Pardon me?"

"Your real self. I knew the earl had a son, but since you— since Tom never mentioned him, I always thought he— you were away at school."

"You make it sound more complicated than it was. Except for the change in my name, it was always me writing to you."

"Then why did you stop?" Oh, that was far too personal a question. But she couldn't take it back. She wanted him to tell her everything, but he no longer seemed the kind of boy— the kind of man who would reveal intimacies about himself.

He kept looking straight ahead, guiding his magnificent horses, a man at ease in at least this part of his world.

"We were both almost grown," he finally said. "I was sent off to school."

"So there was no time for a brief explanation?"

He glanced at her, his eyes narrowed, and though she wanted to back down, she couldn't. She stared at him, silently demanding the truth.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said. "I was a stupid boy who got caught up in the excitement of finally being allowed to escape that house."

"What did you have to escape? It seems like a perfectly acceptable house." But it wasn't the house— she knew that.

"I chafed at not being allowed to be with other boys my age. I was simply glad to feel like I was growing up."

She knew that that was only part of the truth. His writing would have revealed a need to be gone, and there had been none. But she could hardly accuse her future husband of lying once again. After all, how could she trust her own judgment where he was concerned?

In silence they drove out of the park, then turned away from the street leading back to their homes. Victoria frowned and looked up at him, but felt foolish asking where they were going. After all, he'd only offered her a ride.

Gradually the buildings grew closer together, bland brick buildings of commerce rather than the pleasing architecture of the West End of London. They finally came to a stop before a building with a sign proclaiming SOUTHERN RAILWAY. A boy came bounding out of the door to steady their horses, as if he'd been waiting for Lord Thurlow.

Victoria could hold her tongue no longer. "My lord?"

He set the carriage brake and glanced at her absently. Had he forgotten she was even there?

"Miss Shelby, I must deliver some important papers. I'll be but a moment."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he had already dropped to the street, a leather satchel under his arm. He took the stairs two at a time and disappeared inside.

Victoria glanced over her shoulder at the maid, who was looking around them with wide eyes. Victoria gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. It was not that the street was in a decaying neighborhood of London, but it was obviously an industrial area, where few women were seen, to judge by the stares she received from passersby. Even Lord Thurlow's sleek white horses looked like something out of a fairy tale compared to the draft horses pulling heavy carts through the streets. Men in plain tweed coats and trousers tipped their hats as they walked by. One man, without a coat to hide his shirt and suspenders, whistled as he looked over the horses.

"Liedy, whot a fine matched pair they is," he said.

What was she to say to that? "Thank you, sir."

More and more she was feeling as if Lord Thurlow had forgotten her. He should have at least invited her inside to wait, away from the dust and noise of the streets!

The door finally swung open, and he emerged. She saw the surprise on his face before he tucked it away.

He had forgotten her. After all, he must have had this errand planned, and taking her for a ride fulfilled two purposes for this trip. How convenient for him.

The horse admirer hurried on his way, and Victoria noticed that even the little boy holding the horses seemed relieved at His Lordship's presence. Lord Thurlow swung up, and as the carriage tilted beneath his weight, she gripped the rail behind the bench. To her shock, his…hips grazed her as he sat down, pinning her hand between him and the rail. Blushing furiously, she yanked hard to free herself. Lord Thurlow shifted and eyed her beneath one raised eyebrow.

"Miss Shelby, have you ever ridden on a train?" he asked as he flicked the reins to guide the carriage into traffic.

"I have not," she said tightly.

"It is an exciting experience."

"I've heard it is very loud and very dirty."

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But the railway is England's future. Haven't you noticed how in just the past few years, the price of coal sharply dropped and food from outlying farms became fresher?"

She stared at him. "No, my lord, I have not."

"Of course, of course, your father would have dealt with such things."

She lifted her chin. "The prices must have already lowered since I began overseeing our household purchases less than a year ago."

He studied her intently, and she wished he would watch the traffic instead.

"I had not forgotten your recent accomplishments," he said in a lower voice. "I admire you for them."

She wished it wasn't so easy to be distracted just looking at him. She wanted to stay angry. "I was not looking for admiration as I kept food on our table."

"Of course not. But the railway will make everything easier, not just travel. It's a new era, where men who control the flow of goods and services control industry— and the future of our country."

She stared at him in confusion. He sounded like a little boy obsessed by the roar of a passing train. Memories flooded back of the detailed observations he'd written every time he discovered a new frog or snake. Had trains become his new interest? Many peers became railway shareholders, of course, or so her father had once tried to explain to her. But how many delivered their own paperwork? Lord Thurlow was such a puzzle to her.

They drove in silence for several blocks, until the streets began to widen, and the carriages turned elegant.

"Miss Shelby," Lord Thurlow said, "would you do me the honor of accompanying me to a luncheon next Wednesday? I would call for you at one o'clock. There will be several couples in attendance, so you will not feel so alone should the other gentlemen and I have business to discuss."

Her entrance into society had begun. Her stomach seemed to turn over as she remembered every dreadful luncheon she'd ever attended— and there had been many. But she had never been to the ton's events. Her mother had once resented that she herself could not break into the ton, and had thought to do so with her daughters. Victoria and her sisters had been expected to shine at parties, to eventually marry well, and the pressure had weighed on her.

She could never put into practice the skills her mother drilled into her. She had barely been able to meet a stranger's eyes. After one dance with a man, tripping all over his toes, she was not asked again. She was never at ease in conversation— except writing to Tom. Toward the end, she sat more and more with the chaperones and wall-flowers, content that her mother had finally given up on her.

She wanted to refuse Lord Thurlow's invitation, but she felt so petulant and childish, so she only said, "Of course, my lord. I'll be waiting for you."

They finally drove past Banstead House, her new home. She stared up at it, worried for the future, frightened of her new duties as viscountess, yet allowing her relief to take precedence. She had a place to live.

Outside her town house, he drew the horses to a stop.

Victoria glanced over her shoulder, smiling distractedly at the maid, but still looking at Lord Thurlow's home. "I didn't get a chance to see much of Banstead House on my visit a few weeks ago."

When she turned to face him, he was holding a flat, rectangular box toward her. "Let me present you with a gift in honor of our engagement."

She reached for the box, then opened it. A lovely diamond necklace nestled within. She stared at him.

"For the wedding day," he said.

He climbed down from the carriage without another word, as if he hadn't just offered her a fortune in jewels. She pressed her lips together to hold back a slightly hysterical giggle at the thought of what she could have done for her household with the money this cost.

"Thank you for your generosity, my lord," she said, closing the box and slipping it into her reticule.

He helped her to the pavement. "As for Banstead House, I will be honest with you, Miss Shelby. I am in the process of hiring a new housekeeper, and my butler would be appalled if I invited the future lady of the house at such an unsettled time."

Lady of the house…

That almost distracted her from the important part of his speech. "You need a new housekeeper, my lord? Could you perhaps consider Mrs. Wayneflete for the position?" Before he could answer, she hurried on. "Our house will be handed over to my cousin, but I know Mrs. Wayneflete would prefer to remain with my mother and me. She's been with us my whole life."

"I would be happy to interview your housekeeper, Miss Shelby. Do send her by to speak with my butler."

Not a definitive answer, but it would have to do. Lord Thurlow escorted her up to her door, then turned to face her on the top step.

She wanted to move away but restrained herself. Was he going to take her hand again? The memory of his mouth on her skin still arose at the most inconvenient times.

Lord Thurlow wore the faintest smile, as if he knew what she was thinking. Would it always be this way, he full of awareness, she ignorant of everything he was contemplating?

"Hello!" came a sudden call from next door.

Victoria and Lord Thurlow both looked toward Banstead House, from where a man was just leaving. As he came closer, she saw that he was very blond and pleasant-looking, smiling at her as if she should know him. Twenty-six years of maidenhood, and on the same day, two different men at her door!