A ready smile curved her lips. “Lord Harrington.”

  “Edward,” he corrected softly.

  “Edward.”

  His name had never sounded quite so wonderful.

  Fool. Fool. Fool.

  “You are up and about at an uncommonly early hour.”

  She wrinkled her nose in a charming manner. “Having been consigned to my chambers yesterday, I felt the need for some fresh air. Besides, I have never been one to lie abed.”

  He stiffened. “You were consigned to your rooms? Because of me?”

  He instantly regretted his impulsive words as her eyes flashed with annoyance. If he had learned nothing else it was that Lady Bianca fiercely desired to be in control of her own destiny.

  “Because of me. It was my decision to sneak away. You did not force me to go with you.”

  “I should hope not.” He deliberately lightened his tone. “I have no particular talent for forcing women to do anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. A woman need only flash me a smile and I am clay in her hands. A sad case, indeed.”

  “Fah.”

  Edward blinked in disbelief. “Fah?”

  “I do not believe you for a moment. I have no doubt you have left a string of broken hearts behind you in Kent.”

  His laugh echoed through the nearly empty park. Good God, did the woman imagine him some sort of rake?

  The mere notion was ludicrous.

  “You are far from the mark, muirnin. I have never been a gentleman of leisure. Being a farmer entails a great deal of work.”

  “But you have always loved it?”

  He paused before deciding her interest was genuine. “I will admit there were times when I found it confining when I was younger.”

  “Ah.” Her smile flashed once again. “You wished to be a dashing pirate or perhaps marching off to battle as a soldier?”

  “I fear not. My dreams have always been boringly practical.”

  “Then what did you find confining?” she demanded, not seeming to realize that the restless movement of her mount had brought her close enough for his senses to be filled with the heat and scent of her.

  He, on the other hand, was painfully aware of her proximity.

  As well as the fact they were very much alone.

  Oh lord, concentrate, Edward, he told himself.

  And not on the soft swell of her breast or the ease in which he could pluck her from her horse and have her straddled across his stirring groin.

  “My father was a good man. Loyal and devoted to his family and tenants, but he believed that the old ways were the best ways.” He gave an unconscious grimace. “He refused to even countenance my notions of implementing the latest farming practices.”

  “But you did?”

  “I have always been fascinated with the various innovations.” He gave a lift of his shoulder. “I studied journals and even traveled to estates where they were experimenting with field rotations and fertilizers. It was obvious that we could make our lands far more productive for ourselves and our tenants.”

  “You made a study of farming?”

  He smiled wryly at her startled tone. Very few shared his enthusiasm for such a tedious subject.

  Absurd, really.

  If he were obsessed with gambling and lewd women, he would be all the rage in London.

  “I have already shared my opinion on investing money in any venture that has not been properly researched. Besides, my future, as well as that of those who depend upon me, rests on how successful I am as a farmer. Especially now that I am an earl. I have a great deal of land to keep profitable.”

  “I suppose that is true.” An impish humor touched the dark eyes. “You know, I have always thought that you put seeds in the ground and prayed for the appropriate weather. I did not realize it could be so complicated.”

  His heart skipped a beat at her luminous beauty in the early morning sunlight.

  Oh, damn. He was in trouble.

  Big, big trouble.

  “That is a mistake made by far too many,” he managed to husk, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. He was hard and aching in the midst of a public park. And before breakfast.

  Yes, definitely trouble.

  “Including your father?” she broke into his desperate thoughts.

  Edward cleared his throat. “His mistake was in believing that any sort of change must be bad.” He paused. “And I think it was difficult for him to accept that I was becoming a man with my own notion of how things should be done.”

  Her delicate features abruptly hardened. Clearly he had touched a raw nerve.

  “Oh yes. Fathers have little wish to acknowledge that their children might become intelligent adults with the ability to think for themselves.” There was no mistaking the edge of bitterness in her tone. “Especially if that child has the poor sense to be born a female. Why bother to allow us a brain when we are to be handed over to a husband to be treated as a witless idiot?”

  Edward gave a lift of his brows. He sensed that he and his entire gender had just been insulted.

  “I must beg to disagree.”

  “What?”

  “Not all husbands would treat their wife as a witless idiot,” he corrected in firm tones. “I assure you that my mother would have drowned my father in the nearest well had he attempted such a horrendous crime.”

  There was a silent beat, as if Bianca were contemplating the notion of a tidily placed well.

  Hopefully for her father, not him.

  “Your mother sounds a fascinating woman,” she at last murmured.

  Edward smiled even as a sharp pang of loss shot through his heart. He had been only sixteen when his mother had died of consumption. Even after all this time, he missed the woman who had taught him to search for the goodness in others, to trust in his beliefs, and never lose the ability to laugh at himself.

  “She was,” he agreed. “Intelligent, spirited, and yet filled with such kindness that there was not a soul who did not adore her.”

  “And that is the sort of woman you seek for your wife?”

  Edward was momentarily speechless.

  It was not so much from her perfectly mundane question.

  Women seemed to find it an essential task to badger an unwed man about wives and such.

  But before this precise moment, the mention of a wife had always roused nothing more than a vague, misty notion of the woman he might one day wed.

  A goddess, of course. But one without face or form.

  Now suddenly that goddess had a very distinct face. One with delicate features and flashing black eyes.

  He stiffened, not at all certain if he should be delighted or horrified by the startling image.

  Horrified seemed the more logical choice.

  “I think those are attributes any man would desire in his wife,” he forced himself to retort.

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You must be jesting.”

  His lips twisted. “Not deliberately, although I have discovered that people quite often find my notions a source of amusement.”

  She regarded him with suspicion. “It is only that most gentlemen desire a wife who is dutiful and well trained, not intelligent, and certainly not spirited.”

  Dutiful? Well trained?

  He gave a sudden laugh.

  “Good God, you sound as if I am choosing a hound, not a wife.”

  “For some gentlemen there is little difference.”

  “Then they are fools.” He met her gaze squarely. “I have no patience for shy, retiring misses or those who do not have the ability to think for themselves. I wish for a capable partner who can assist me in my plans for the future, not a pretty bauble to hang on my arm.”

  She gave a slow shake of her head, still far from convinced that he was sincere.

  “You have only been in society a short time. No doubt you will soon discover the delight of a demure maiden who is anxious to pander to your whims.”

  He battled the urge to reach out and grasp her. Whether to shake her or kiss her senseless was open to debate.

  Either was unacceptable.

  “Only a weak man need fear a strong woman. I may have many faults, but being weak is not one of them.” He said the words even as he knew that a part of him was lying. He was weak. At least when it came to this woman. She was a sweet temptation he possessed no defense against. “If you will excuse me, muirnin, I have a rather tedious appointment with my man of business. Good day.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The elegant gathering was much like any other.

  Vast townhouse. Expensive food. Glittering guests. Endless flirtations.

  The smell of money, power, and arrogance abundant in the air.

  It was the power that had attracted Edward. According to Biddles, the most influential members of the House of Lords would be assembled at Hellion Caulfield’s soiree. None would dare to miss the social event of the year.

  A perfect opportunity to begin assessing those who ruled England from behind the throne and to learn which noblemen dared to embrace the future rather than clinging to the past.

  With the organizational skill of a general going into battle, Edward set about cornering those gentlemen that Hellion kindly pointed out as his best choice to listen to his radical notions.

  At the moment it was a gruff old viscount who had slipped into the library to indulge in a taste of Hellion’s private stock of brandy.

  The man was ill-tempered and inclined to speak whatever was upon his mind but rumored to possess a genuine concern for those less fortunate.

  Gulping down the last of his brandy, the Viscount set aside the glass with a sharp bang.

  “Well, I cannot deny that a few of your notions are too radical for my taste. To even think of tenants and chimney sweeps holding political power and noblemen lowering themselves to manufacturing . . . bah.” A frown marred his ruddy countenance, but there was no missing the unmistakable glitter of shrewd interest in the pale eyes. “Still, you have a good, sensible head on your shoulders, and not even an old relic like me can deny that the future always demands change. If England is to maintain her power, she must be willing to accept that the old ways are not necessarily the best ways.”

  Edward was careful to hide his thrill of victory. Noblemen could be an odd breed. While they might grudgingly be forced to accept an interloper into their midst, they would most certainly balk at the notion he was thrusting his bourgeois nose into their business.

  “It is my belief that only a strong industry and open trade will allow us to avoid the fate of France,” he retorted with a suitably modest air. “Our people must have the opportunity to work and put food on the table for their families. A hungry lower class is a danger to us all.”

  The shrewd glitter was more pronounced, as if the old grouse was well aware that he was being slowly but relentlessly prodded down the road of reform.

  “You have made your point.”

  “Then may I hope for your assistance in creating the sort of legislation that is needed?”

  “We shall see, you persistent devil.” The Viscount reached out to clap Edward on the shoulder. “Come to dinner on Friday and I will attempt to collect a handful of associates who might be willing to listen to your seditious drivel.”

  Edward offered a small bow. “I am honored, my lord.”

  “Recall I have not yet offered my support.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The older man studied him for a grim moment and then without warning gave a short, rasping laugh.

  “Ah, to be young and idealistic once again, Lord Harrington. How I miss the days.”

  Edward smiled wryly. “Actually I have been assured I am tediously practical and more inclined to plod than dash.”

  Walking toward the door, the Viscount paused to regard Edward with a steady gaze. “Do you know the difference between a radical and a revolutionary?”

  “What is that, my lord?”

  “The radical is like the shimmering fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens. A great deal of noise and pretty lights that delight and frighten the crowd before fading as swiftly as they appear.” A faint smile touched the ruddy countenance. “A revolutionary is like a simple plow. Slow, steady, and yet capable of altering the landscape. The most dangerous sort of enemy.”

  With his parting shot delivered, the older man left behind a bemused Edward.

  He certainly did not consider himself a revolutionary, but the words did warn him that not all noblemen were all fluff and nonsense.

  At least a few possessed a well-honed knowledge of their power and precisely how to wield it.

  He would be a fool to underestimate the treacherous path he was treading.

  Satisfied he had at least made a start on his quest for change, Edward left the library and headed for the crowded salons.

  A part of him longed to slip from the elegant townhouse so he could return home and begin making notes for his upcoming dinner. A larger part of him, however, knew quite well he was not about to leave.

  Not when there was even the slightest possibility of Bianca making an appearance.

  He was mad, of course.

  Stark, raving mad.

  But he had at last come to the conclusion there was nothing to be done. Bianca had utterly fascinated him, and he had little choice but to allow his heart to lead him at the moment.

  A knowledge that was enough to wake him up sweating in the middle of the night.

  Moving out of the room and down the hall, Edward was still brooding upon his odd fascination with the raven-haired minx as he entered the salon.

  It was his distraction that allowed him to be suddenly waylaid by a tall, golden-haired dandy.

  Edward instantly cursed his foolishness as the gentleman raised a quizzing glass to peer at him with an obnoxious sneer.

  He had encountered such jackasses on numerous occasions since his arrival in London. The sort of arrogant pups who thought themselves second only to God. And a close second at that.

  As a rule he did his best to avoid them. He desired no quarrels with worthless fribbles who presumed they were better than him just because of the amount of blue blood in their veins.

  Even if he could rip them in two with his bare hands.

  “Ah, my lord, what an exquisite stroke of fortune,” the golden dandy drawled.

  Edward folded his arms over his chest. “Have we been introduced?”

  “Lord Aldron, at your service.” A disdainful gaze raked over Edward’s plain blue coat and breeches. “And you are the Peasant Earl.”

  “I prefer Harrington, if you do not mind.”

  “Yes, I can imagine you do.”

  Edward considered the perfect aristocratic nose. Ah, the pleasure of ensuring it was never so straight again.

  He clenched his teeth instead. He was here to claim his inheritance, not to indulge in ballroom brawls.

  A pity.

  “Is there some way I can be of service?”

  “You be of service to me?” A grating laugh rang through the air. “Hardly. However, I do believe I might be of service to you.”

  “Indeed?”

  “A gentleman newly come to London is always in need of guidance.” Dropping the quizzing glass, Aldron toyed with the lace at his cuff. “’Tis amazing the number of pitfalls that await the untutored.”

  A warning shivered over Edward’s skin. He sensed that there was more to Aldron’s sudden approach than a mere desire to torment the country oaf.

  There was a hard glitter to the blue eyes that spoke of a more personal dislike.

  “And you are offering to be that . . . guide?”

  “Egads, no. I have no taste for tutoring the less fortunate.” His gaze lifted to pin Edward with a challenging smirk. “However, I am prepared to introduce you to a few of my acquaintances. We were just about to gather for a few hands of cards. It would be a perfect opportunity for you to attempt to win their favor.”

  Good lord.

  The trap was pathetically obvious. Get the clodpole bosky and fleece him blind.

  The wise course of action would be to thank the man politely and walk away. Edward, however, found himself hesitating. He wanted to know more of this Lord Aldron and what grudge he might be nursing against him.

  And if he were being utterly honest, he would have to admit a rather childish desire to turn the tables upon the puffed-up peacock.

  Clodpole he might be, but the dandy would soon discover he was not easily fleeced.

  “Very well, my lord, I thank you for your gracious offer.”

  Lord Aldron waved his hand toward the nearby card room with the smooth confidence of a gentleman who was insufferably certain of his superiority.

  Edward allowed himself to be herded forward, the faintest smile curving his lips.

  The party would no doubt be toasted as the event of the season.

  Since their marriage, Hellion Caulfield and his eccentric wife had become the sort of mysterious recluses guaranteed to inspire a mad rush when they did condescend to open their doors.

  And rush society did.

  Bianca discovered herself in increasing danger of being squashed by the swirling crowd. And even breathing became a challenge.

  Still, she found herself lingering.

  She could not imagine why.

  It was certainly not for the pleasure of being elbowed by desperate debutantes angling for the best spot to preen in all their glory.

  Or having her slippers ruined by buffoons who had sipped too heavily of the rum and found her toes easier to trod upon than the dance floor.

  Or to share the same gossip with the same friends she had seen only an hour before at the Marshfield soiree.

  It was . . . She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  She might as well admit it to herself. She was waiting for Edward.

  It had been near a week since she had last spoken with him in the park, and she could not deny a vague fear she had said something to drive him away.

  Not that she expected him to flutter about her like one of those ridiculous fools anxious to gain her favor, she sternly assured herself.

  It was quite simply that she missed his calm, sensible presence.

  In a sea of frivolous stupidity, his solid presence was a welcome balm.