Page 20 of Heiress Gone Wild

“Da,” the older woman said, nodding. “Vouchers, yes. My friends lease the public ballroom, make the guest list, begin to sell the vouchers... all is superb, but—”

The baroness broke off, glancing past Marjorie to glare at the Englishwoman. “But then she comes to ruin all our good work. This ball was to be on the same night as hers, and she could not allow that, no. So, she spreads vicious lies about my friends, saying that they intended to keep the money and not help the poor émigrés.”

“Because her ball was on the same night? What an odious thing to do.”

“It was for her granddaughter to make the debut. But some of my friends are intimates of Alexandra, Queen Victoria’s own granddaughter, and favorites at the Russian court. All the most important British lords and ladies, they want to go to the Russian ball, and will not be so interested in this Lady Stansbury’s, so she spreads the rumors and makes the sabotage, and we must cancel.”

“How cutthroat.”

“That’s thetonfor you,” a low, deep voice murmured by her ear, and when she turned, she found her guardian beside her. “They’re a ruthless lot. If you wish to live among them, you must prepare yourself for that.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but the baroness spoke before she could. “Some acquaintances of mine have just come in. The Contessa de la Rosa and her son. There, at the pillar by the staircase. He is handsome, the count, do you not think?”

Marjorie followed the baroness’s glance to where a debonair man with a perfectly groomed mustache and well-cut evening clothes was standing by the door, greeting the captain of the ship, an elegant, silver-haired lady in midnight blue beside him.

“Very handsome,” she agreed, noting the count’s tall form and dark good looks with appreciation.

“He is also most charming,” the baroness replied. “Perhaps you would care to meet him?”

Happy to meet anyone, Marjorie nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

“Then I go to make the inquiries. I will see if he and his mama consent to the introduction.”

“As if there’s any doubt,” Jonathan commented dryly as they watched the baroness toddle off across the room, the feathery end of her stole trailing behind her. “And this so-called count is probably panting to meet an heiress. Once he sets—”

“Oh, I see.” Marjorie faced him, her delightful mood dampened a bit. “It’s not that a man might wish to meetme, that he might see me across the room and find me attractive. No, it’s that I’m an heiress, and any heiress will do?”

“Once he sets his eyes on you, my sweet,” Jonathan resumed, ignoring her acerbic reply, “he’ll think he’s found nirvana. And though I know you are inclined to always believe the worst of me,” he continued as she stared at him, astonished by the compliment, “you might wait for me to finish my sentences before you draw conclusions about what I mean.”

“Oh.” Marjorie grimaced, appreciating that she was far too prickly where he was concerned. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. But as we both know, most members of the aristocracy are broke. It is not unreasonable to question their motives.”

The disdain in his voice was palpable. “You hate them,” she murmured in surprise. “Why?”

“I don’t hate them.” He swirled his champagne and took a swallow. “I simply have little use for their way of life. Lilies of the field, most of them.”

Marjorie frowned, confused. “But you come from British society, don’t you?”

“My mother came from society,” he corrected. “My father did not. He was the son of a newspaper publisher—very lowbrow and middle-class.”

“But what about your sisters? They married into theton.”

“And they seem happy there, but I have no desire to join them in that sphere.”

“Why not?”

“I’d find it deadly dull. You see, I spent my first three years in America working across the continent. By the time I met your father in Idaho, I had been an oyster shucker, a fishing boat captain, a cattle wrangler, a journalist, the secretary to a railway magnate, and the manager of a gambling hall. For a while, I was even a bounty hunter. Good thing, too, for it proved to be good practice.”

“Practice?” she echoed, struck by the word. “For what?”

“Owning a mine. When your father and I staked our claim, we soon discovered that we’d have to fight off claim jumpers and mining magnates constantly in order to keep it.”

“I can see I shall have to take back what I said about you being stuffy,” she murmured. “It sounds as if you really are an adventurous sort after all. You must like a challenge.”

“Like it? No.” He paused, giving her a grin—a pirate’s grin, white teeth in a suntanned face. “I love it.”

“I suppose British country life would seem a bit slow-paced after the things you’ve done.”

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