Page 353 of From Rakes to Riches

“You do?”

“You live next door,” he said dryly.

She tried to smile. “Oh yes, of course. My lord, I am looking for?—”

“A servant named Tom,” he interrupted. “I overheard.”

“Does he still live here? If not, perhaps I could speak with your steward for a forwarding address.”

His examination made her feel uncomfortable and even annoyed.

“Miss Shelby, there is no other way to say this except to be blunt. I’m Tom.”

2

David Thurlow was ready for any reaction, from hysterics to satisfaction, but Victoria Shelby just blinked up at him slowly, her face draining of color. He felt a stirring of something, a jolt of emotion that escaped his usual iron control. He hesitated, for once unsure what he should do.

And it cost him, for she suddenly whirled away, flung open the door, and ran down the front steps. He stopped at the doorway and watched her run next door. With a sigh, he retreated inside. He had always worried that his lies would be taken as a betrayal, and evidently he’d been right.

Could this day get any worse, after thesecondhousekeeper in two months had just quit?

He’d spent much of his childhood trying to meet Victoria Shelby in person. It had been a game between them, and she’d proved herself a worthy player by always managing to sneak away before he could catch a glimpse. The mystery of her had lured him on, as much as the kindness she’d shown to a lonely little boy.

She was…not what he had expected. She was a plump little hen dressed in unrelieved black. The hair peeking out from beneath her bonnet was a pale blond, as if it couldn’t decide what vivid color to be. In those brief moments when their gazes had met, he saw big wide eyes, the most flattering of her features, the vivid color of amethysts, so violet as to seem unreal. They had flashed the powerful emotions of desperation and despair before she’d fled. What had happened to the optimistic young girl he once thought he knew? She’d been calm and sensible as a child, her words infused with a quiet joy. He’d admired her simple life and her siblings, and had read her journal entries to him with a voraciousness that even then he’d recognized as envy.

Whyever would she be looking for…Tom? He’d almost forgotten about the pretend life he’d created to escape his problems. He’d known even at ten years old that his father would be angry if David had encouraged a real friendship. One simple lie had expanded each year into a larger web of lies. All because of his father.

David’s whole life had revolved around his father’s whims, and the old man was still exerting his control over the household from his sickbed.

Ever since his father’s illness, and David’s subsequent move back into the family town house, David’s orderly life had spiraled out of control. He hadn’t wanted to deal with his father, a man who for years he had spoken to only once a month concerning business matters of the estate. The earl had done enough harm to the family name and position, and it was time for him to retire to the country and do whatever bitter old men did.

Except the earl wouldn’t go. It was as if he thrived on making David’s life a hell.

David stepped back into his study, his personal retreat in the house. But even amid his favorite scents of old books and beeswax polish, he could not relax.

He glanced at the precise stack of mail that awaited him, and wished he hadn’t. The top letter was addressed in the scrawled, sloppy hand of his cousin, the wastrel who would inherit the Banstead estate if David did not marry and produce an heir. He was probably wheedling for an increase in his allowance again. If only David could be rid of him. He could not let his own hard work be wasted. Marriage would seem to be the only solution.

He shook his head in resignation. Twice he had asked for a woman’s hand in marriage, only to find that no one of the right bloodlines would have him. He’d made the mistake of fancying himself madly in love with the first woman, and though he thought she loved him in return, she hadn’t fought to keep him when her family had refused their permission to marry. It was then that David had begun to realize that his father’s scandals would continue to taint his own life.

David had approached his second attempt at marriage with a much more practical mind, knowing he would never allow his heart—suspect as it was—to be involved again. He had thought he’d planned the campaign well, choosing the daughter of a family that surely could not refuse a future earl. Noble yes, but the finances were not quite what they once were. But refuse him they had, leaving David full of anger and frustration. After that last debacle two years before, he had completely retreated from society’s affairs until he was ready to plan a new strategy for marriage. He was glad to avoid the kind of parties where he’d been stared at, whispered about, and made the object of an occasional dare.

But there was still the puzzle of Victoria, and what she wanted with Tom after all these years. He’d been a lonely child with an ill mother when, from his nursery window, he’d watched a little girl hide something beneath a bench in her family garden. He’d found that journal and written in it, meaning to tease her. The fictional identity he’d created of a kitchen boy suited hisfather’s constant demand for privacy where the lower classes were concerned. It was also David’s way of escaping his life. What started as a lark resulted in his only childhood friendship, since all the other boys of his age went off to school, and his mother’s health would not permit him to join them.

Too late, he’d realized he could not undo his lies without hurting Victoria.

Now, ten years later, the revelation of his identity had obviously hurt her. His childhood curiosity came rushing back; he had to find out everything about her.

Victoria openedher town house door and slammed it shut behind her as her heart pounded and her breath came much too fast. She couldn’t make sense of her racing thoughts, could only hear “I’m Tom,” over and over again.

Oh God, she’d been such a fool.

“Miss Victoria?” Mrs. Wayneflete came into the entrance hall, wiping her hands on her apron. “Did everything go well at the shop?”

It took her a moment to remember her first reason for leaving the house today.

“Of course, Mrs. Wayneflete.” How she managed to make her voice sound so normal, she couldn’t explain. “Mr. Tillman gave me a fair price. I’ll be down to help you with dinner shortly.”

She hastily began to climb the stairs and pretended that she didn’t see the housekeeper’s confused frown.

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