“Lord, Tess, it’s you!”
“What?”
“Look.” Daisy pointed, and Tess’s mouth dropped open as she recognized a figure that was unquestionably herself, depicted in a scandalously low-cut red dress. She was dancing with a man who bore an obvious resemblance to Thornton; he was gazing down at her with a hungry, besotted look on his saturnine face. Even in caricature he was handsome.
In hideously bad taste, a closed coffin with a plaque reading “No. 8” on the lid was propped up on the ballroom wall behind her, presumably a reference to the oldduke, and behind Thornton stood a long list of other dukes, including Wellington and the Duke of Clarence, all apparently waiting their turn.
The title beneath read, “Her Grace, the Duchess of W—hopes that the Second Duke’s the Charm. Or: If at first you don’t succeed…”
“How rude!” Tess fumed, torn between outrage and amusement.
“It’s an excellent likeness,” Ellie said reasonably. “He’s even got that freckle by your mouth.”
“Your bust is bigger, though,” Daisy noted. “He’s given you melons, instead of oranges.”
“I expect melons sell better,” Tess scowled. “At least he hasn’t put me in a see-through dress.”
She peered at the illustrator’s signature in the bottom corner of the print, and sure enough, it saidStockdale. “I suppose I got off lightly. It could have been worse.”
Daisy straightened her bonnet. “I’ll go inside and make sure he’s the same man who approached us at Lady Greenwood’s.”
Tess and Ellie lingered on the street, and a few minutes later Daisy reemerged with a rolled paper in her hand.
“Definitely our man,” she said. “A clerk served me, but I caught a glimpse of him in the back room.” She thrust the rolled paper at Tess. “Here. I bought you a copy of your print. You should give it to Thornton, as a wedding present. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”
“Daisy! I can’t believe you gave that scoundrel a single penny! This is encouragement.”
“Aiding and abetting.” Ellie nodded solemnly.
Daisy laughed. “How many other women can boast they’ve been immortalized in print? It’s like having a sonnet written about you. It’s an honor.”
“A dubious honor. This basically says I’m a shallow strumpet, desperate for money and a title. That’s exactly what Thornton thinks of me.”
“Only because he doesn’t know you,” Daisy said stoutly.
Ellie gave her a quick hug. “Weknow it’s not true, and that’s what matters. Besides, why do you care for his opinion?”
“I don’t,” Tess protested, but she knew she lied.
She wanted Thornton’s respect, his admiration. Which sheshouldn’t.She’d agreed to a union based on logic and physical pleasure. There was no room for feelings, for emotions other than desire. Gaining his good opinion shouldn’t matter to her.
But it did.
She pushed the matter aside, and when the three of them returned to Wansford House it was to find a packet of papers waiting on the silver tray in the hallway.
Tess took them to her study—the same one in which she and Thornton had first discussed his outrageous plan—and started to read.
True to his word, the contract contained every one of the stipulations she’d asked for. Ellie and Daisy read every line closely, to make sure there were no surprises hidden in the small print.
“A thousand pounds a year?” Daisy spluttered. “Bloody Hell, Tess.”
Tess shrugged. “One can’t deny he’s generous.”
“Or ruthless in getting what he wants.”
“That, too.”
Tess’s hand shook only slightly as she signed her name at the bottom of the final sheet, next to Thornton’s own. His signature was strong and confident, just like the man,and her stomach fluttered in anticipation of their next confrontation. Matching wits with him was a delightful challenge.
