Page 2 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

“All dead?”

“Well, not at the same time, you understand. As I said, a run of very bad luck. And now the title falls to you,” Mr. Brewer said. “I require your signature on the last page.”

“I don’t want to be an earl,” Merritt said.

Mr. Brewer looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “But it comes with a significant estate as well as the obvious status and a seat in Parliament.”

“Yes, though it also seems to come with a curse of death.”

Mr. Brewer released a shaky laugh. “Certainly not. As I said, you sign that last page, and you will officially be the Earl of Ashby.”

Merritt made no move to sign anything. This was asinine. A sum of no more than five collective hours in the man’s presence certainly did not qualify Merritt to be the man’s heir. He had always understood the earl to be a distant relative, someone they visited out of familial duty and not because there was any chance at all that he might be close enough to inherit.

Granted, his mother had died when he was not more than fifteen, so they hadn’t much discussed her family line.

“It shouldn’t be any problem for you to locate a buyer for this newspaper,” Mr. Brewer said. “Then you can begin your life anew.”

“Sell the paper? Why the devil would I do that?” Merritt asked.

Mr. Brewer cleared his throat. “It is not customary for earls to have paid positions.”

“I don’t give a damn what is customary for earls. This is my paper, and I’m not selling it, nor am I leaving my position as editor,” Merritt said.

“My apologies for upsetting you,” Mr. Brewer said. “You can certainly manage the newspaper. I am not in the position to tell you what you can and can’t do.”

Merritt nodded once then glanced again at the stack of papers that would irrevocably change his life. But it didn’t have to change everything.

“Lucy,” Rand said quietly.

“Pardon?” Mr. Brewer asked.

“My sister,” Merritt said. “She will be over the moon about this advancement in our social status.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Brewer said.

Merritt paused once more before scrawling his name on the last page.

“Now then, I suppose I should refer to you as Lord Ashby,” Mr. Brewer said. “Please do feel free to call upon me in the future.”

Merritt nodded noncommittally as the solicitor left his office.

“Do not say one word,” Merritt warned Rand.

“This changes everything,” Rand said, ignoring Merritt’s threat.

“No, it changes nothing.”

“Don’t be so foolish. You cannot be one of them when you have spent the last four years making every jest at their expense,” Rand said.

“Nonsense. This merely affords me closer access to the scandals.” Though he was hell-bent on keeping true to that statement, he wasn’t foolish enough to deny that this would change some aspects of his life. An earl. He was a damned earl.

Chapter One

London, 1851

Lady Iris Bennington adjusted the strap of her parasol so that it hung loosely from her right wrist. Today was important. She had been waiting for this opportunity since joining the Ladies of Virtue three years before: the day when she could become instructor to a new member. The new recruit walked next to Iris, matching her every step. Millicent Harris had an impeccable reputation and an eye for detail; so it was that she had been invited into the ranks of the Ladies of Virtue.

To those outside of their elite group, they seemed nothing more than a group of ladies providing funds to the needy. In truth, they did far more. Lady Somersby saw to it that all her ladies were well trained in the art of personal protection, as she herself had been years before while she’d worked undercover, posing as Queen Victoria. Their training proved useful in putting a stop to pesky crime inundating their London streets. Iris had become quite accomplished at stopping pickpockets. And they did all this while maintaining their own personal reputations.

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