A lady does not spartle about nor wear a grinagog’s expression when crossing a room.

—MISS PENCE

Charlotte held her head high as she regarded the green-eyed gatekeeper. “Apparently you and everyone else in London are speaking of me.” She looked past him to the man she’d come to confront. His right eye was still bruised and swollen, courtesy of Uncle Edwin and, by association, her. The urge to apologize again for her childish behavior prodded her, but Charlotte kept silent. Better, she decided, not to mention the topic at all. She turned her attention back to the gatekeeper. “Might I have a moment with Viscount Hambly alone?”

“Yes, of course,” the fellow said with far too much enthusiasm. “Though as his solicitor, I must inquire as to whether the matter you wish to discuss is business or personal.”

Charlotte leveled an even stare at him. “Neither.”

“Well then.” His smile broadened. “The viscount and I were just concluding our business. For today,” he added.

“Then my timing is perfect.” Just as she’d practiced, Charlotte took a deep breath and swept into the room as if she owned the place.

A trio of long windows on the opposite wall had been thrown open to the sea breeze, filling the room with a heady mixture of sunshine and salt air. With Miss Pence’s instructions foremost in her mind, Charlotte affixed the imaginary egg to her head and completed her journey across the room.

Helping herself to the empty chair, she settled in and smoothed her skirts before regarding the obviously shocked astronomer with her most casual expression. Only when the door closed behind Hambly’s friend did she allow a smile.

Miss Pence would have given her high marks for not only the execution of her walk across the room but also for the effort required to keep the imaginary egg balanced atop her head when her knees were about to buckle.

A lady does not spartle about nor wear a grinagog’s expression when crossing a room, Miss Pence was fond of saying. Charlotte had gone to three of Grandfather’s dictionaries before translating the statement. Thus, she walked as demurely as she looked, which was without grin or expression.

It wasn’t easy.

“Good afternoon,” she said pleasantly.

“Not particularly,” Viscount Hambly muttered as he sank back against his chair. He seemed to gather his wits and his manners at the same time. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Miss Beck?” He shook his head. “No, first, how did you find me?” A pause. “Did Pembroke send for you?”

“Pembroke? Who is that?”

“Never mind,” Alex said with a sigh. “Go on with your answer, and do make it brief.”

“Interesting story, actually.” And one she hoped never to admit to in its entirety. “Your houseman Franz is most helpful.”

“So he told you where to find me, did he?”

“I’m afraid he extracted a promise for me not to tell.”

Hambly smiled, a welcome change to his rather grouchy personality. “And yet you just did.”

Ignoring his comment, she spied a folded copy of the Times in the trash bin and retrieved it. “I see you’ve read today’s paper.”

“No, actually I’ve been quite busy. My solicitor, however, was kind enough to bring a copy.”

He glanced toward the window and Charlotte followed his gaze. A lovely view of a park beckoned—a scene begging to be painted—but she ignored it to return her attention to the viscount.

“If you’ve been informed of what the Times has printed today, then you understand my predicament,” she said. “Our predicament, actually.”

The nobleman’s laughter held no amusement. “I fail to see how the two of us are bound together in anything resembling a predicament. There was no mention of me in any of the glorious descriptions of your recent performance.”

Charlotte lifted a gloved hand to adjust a well-placed curl. “Then you’ve not spoken to your mother. Because you and I were recently associated in that unfortunate incident—”

“Unfortunate incident?” He shifted positions to offer a look that told her nothing and yet spoke of strong feelings. Slowly, he brushed his knuckle against the purple smear beneath his eye. “Would that be your unfortunate tumble from the heavens or the unfortunate demise of your fan? Or perhaps you’re speaking of the unfortunate way your uncle called me out in front of several hundred of my mother’s closest friends and then offered up a souvenir of the moment?”

“As I recall, Viscount Hambly, it was your brother Martin who suffered the indignity. At least that is the man to whom my friend Colonel Cody claims he was introduced.” She paused to revel in his obvious discomfort. “Never mind. It’s none of my business which Hambly twin is which.” Another pause. “Though you are Alexander, aren’t you?”

This time he responded with a glare. Charlotte suppressed a grin.

“In any case,” she continued, “your mother appears to be doing everything in her power to see that the Beck family is shunned from polite society.”

“Funny,” Viscount Hambly said. “It appears you’re doing fine in that endeavor without my mother’s assistance.”

“Fair enough.” Charlotte shrugged. “At least where it concerns the events that occurred at the Wild West show. But I assure you it was all a big misunderstanding.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” She studied her nails then lifted her gaze to meet his stare. “You see, the colonel and my father are old friends, so I’m quite comfortable in his presence, and many of his associates have been visitors to Papa’s ranch. When it was suggested that I might perform a postscript to the performance, the timing was most unfortunate. I’d just exchanged words with Gennie, you see.”

“Truly, Miss Beck, none of this is my concern.” He reached for a stack of papers, but she beat him to them.

Charlotte held the pages against her chest. “Do humor me a moment longer.”

His panicked expression was almost amusing. “Please,” he said slowly. “You’re holding my career in your hands. Quite literally.”

She suppressed a laugh and concentrated on her purpose. “Then I can safely assume I have your full attention.”

“You do, but I would appreciate it if you gave my notes back.”

“Of course,” Charlotte said sweetly. “Just as soon as you see to giving my family their reputation back. Starting with telling your mother to cease and desist with her insistence on cutting Gennie and Papa. Not that Papa’s here in London, but he’ll be furious when he finds out I am the cause of his banishment from proper society.”

“Banishment, is it?” the astronomer echoed. “I refuse to discuss anything with you until I am given my property back.”

He made a grab for the pages, but Charlotte moved too fast for him. “Viscount Hambly, do control yourself,” she said as she scrambled to her feet. “I mean you and your scribbling no harm. I merely wish to be heard.”

“Indeed, I’ve heard you.” He rose slowly. “What is it you’d like? Shall I arrange an appointment with my mother?”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think that will help?”

“Miss Beck, I know very little about what might work to persuade my mother to do anything.”

This she hadn’t expected. “But you’re her son. Surely you can persuade the countess of certain facts.”

“The countess prefers to consider only such facts as support her current position.” With catlike grace, the astronomer moved around the desk. “So unfortunately, you’ve come all the way to Greenwich for nothing.”

Charlotte took a step backward and collided with the chair, but she held tight to the papers the viscount seemed intent to retrieve. “I would just like some measure of justice for my family.”

“Starting with absolution from the countess and her well-placed friends for any sins you or your kin might have committed?”

Charlotte grasped the pages tighter. “Yes.”

“And this would be for what purpose? To enhance your standing in society?” he asked in a bitter, almost mocking tone as he moved toward her. “Perhaps to secure a marriage to some poor peer of the realm?”

“Honestly, Viscount Hambly, I couldn’t care one whit for standing in society. And as for marriage, I’ve no interest in hurrying the inevitable, be it to a peer of the realm or someone else.”

“And yet you’re quite anxious to see that your family’s standing is secure. Interesting.”

He made a quick move toward her, but Charlotte was faster, ducking under his arm before he could catch her. “Do control yourself,” she told him, her back to the door.

“I assure you control is no issue of mine.” His gaze swept the length of her. “Nor am I swayed by children posing as adults.”

His next lunge just missed her as she scooted between the desk and long wall of books. “Really, sir. You’re being quite difficult. And I’ll have you know I’m well removed from the nursery.”

“Hence the maturity displayed in holding hostage valuable research materials.”

“I’m going to ignore that.” She attempted a cursory glance at the too-handsome nobleman. “You do not appear to be advanced in years either.”

“Shall we compare?” he said as if daring her to respond. “I’ll soon celebrate my twenty-sixth birthday.” He paused. “And you?”

He appeared ready to vault over the desk, so Charlotte clutched the papers tighter. “I prefer to discuss a mutually agreeable arrangement.” At the lift of his brow, she hurried to explain. “I’ve a plan whereby the mess I made will be repaired and, in the process, your mother will be the envy of her friends. You see, I’ve no small measure of influence with Colonel Cody. The proprietor of the Wild West show whose acquaintance you recently made?”

“I’m no idiot, Miss Beck, though I confess interacting with you leaves me feeling like one. You didn’t come all the way to Greenwich to talk about a Wild West performer.” Fists clenched, his attention fell to the pages. “Time is a precious commodity today, so please return my property and state your business so that I may go about mine.”

“All right.” She cleared her throat and prepared to sound as formal as possible. “On behalf of Colonel Cody and the Beck family, I wish to extend an invitation for the countess to perform a stunt especially devised for her at an upcoming Wild West show performance.”

Alex Hambly leaned forward to rest both palms on the desk. And then he laughed.

Charlotte felt heat climbing into her cheeks. “I find nothing funny in that statement, Viscount Hambly. Nothing at all.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled again. “Then you know nothing of the countess. My mother astride a racing pony? Or perhaps aiming a weapon at some unfortunate man’s hat? I think not.”

Of all the nerve. The man hadn’t given her idea so much as a decent consideration before scoffing at it.

“I prefer to hear this from the countess,” she said, “so if you’ll be so kind as to make that introduction, I’ll—”

The astronomer made a grab for the pages and came up with half of them. The left half, while she still held what hadn’t torn off. When he realized what he’d done, the viscount reached for the remaining pages. Charlotte turned her back to hold the research between herself and the wall.

“Now that was completely uncalled for,” she said.

“Miss Beck,” he said through clenched jaw. “You’ve ruined my research notes, caused me bodily harm in my own home, and stolen my grandfather’s pocket watch.”

She peered over her shoulder. “I returned that watch.”

“Nonetheless,” he said as he spread the ruined pages on the desk, “you’d do me a great favor if you left.” He met her stare and she quickly turned away. “Please, just leave.”

For the second time that day, tears threatened. This was not at all going as planned.

Behind her, the shuffling of papers stopped. “Turn around,” he demanded.

She complied, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

“You’re crying.” He sighed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket then thrust it toward her. “Go on. Take it.” When she didn’t immediately comply, he added, “It’s clean.”

Charlotte almost smiled.

“Dribble on yourself then.” The viscount muttered something about stubborn women then dropped the handkerchief on the desk between them and went back to his work.

Well, that did it. Charlotte grabbed the handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes then tossed the remains of Alex Hambly’s precious scribbling onto the desk and pointed the soggy handkerchief at him. “Yes, I am stubborn,” she said. “But I’d much rather be stubborn in pursuit of righting a wrong I caused than stubbornly selfish for my own sake.”

He froze, and the page fell from his hand. Charlotte watched it flutter to the floor, some sort of diagram with a string of gibberish beneath it, and land upside down under the spindly legs of an old brass telescope.

Papa always said she would catch more flies with honey, and this was a fly that begged to be caught. Charlotte tucked the handkerchief into her sleeve, bent down, and grasped the torn edge of the paper.

“Miss Beck! Mind the—”

“What?” Charlotte rose abruptly and collided with something sharp that sent her stumbling backward. She landed in a tangle of skirts as a pair of hands reached around her to catch a tumbling telescope.

The earl and his treasure clattered to the ground beside her, and the tripod followed, slamming against Charlotte’s foot with a painful thud. The astronomer sat with the telescope cradled in his arms.

Her foot and her backside throbbed, but the viscount appeared to have emerged from the fracas unscathed. His stargazer, however, wasn’t as lucky.

“Is it bent?” she asked as she pushed the contraption off her.

Alex Hambly ran his hand through his hair then looked away. “Miss Beck,” he said in a tight string of words, “I am a gentleman and thus I must inquire as to whether you’ve been injured.”

She did a quick inventory of her condition and shook her head. “Nothing permanent.”

He muttered something that sounded like “a pity,” then gently set the telescope aside and climbed to his knees to move closer. “Miss Beck, has anyone ever told you that you’re a menace?”

The question should have stung, but Charlotte put it off to the combined indignities of a black eye and a broken telescope, both directly caused by her. “No,” she said as sweetly as she could manage, “you’re the first.”

Viscount Hambly dipped his head then lifted it again to regard her with an even stare. Goodness, he was handsome, even with the black eye. If he weren’t so very old at five and twenty …

And yet he was, and completely wrong for her in so many ways. Worse still, she became a complete embarrassment every time she came near him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte spied the item she’d bent to retrieve. Leaning away from the nobleman, she grabbed the torn paper and offered it to him. When he merely stared at it, she let the page drop between them.

The enormity of her situation hit Charlotte harder than the telescope. Humiliation, her all-too-constant companion, delivered the next blow, and her lower lip began to quiver.

“Miss Beck.”

Viscount Hambly’s image swam before her through the tears. “What?”

“Shall we strike a bargain?”

Charlotte swiped at her damp cheeks with her sleeve and tried to sniffle delicately. “What sort of bargain?”

He climbed to his feet, then removed the remains of the tripod and offered her his hand. The viscount’s grip was firm, his expression impassive as he hauled her to her feet then set her hat to rights.

“The bargain is this.” He turned her toward the door then ushered her forward with his palm against the small of her back. “I shall do as you ask and see that my mother is present at …” He paused to step over an errant page from his notes. “To which performance shall I deliver her?”

Charlotte stopped short. She hadn’t thought that far. A trip to Earls Court was in order, for the colonel certainly had to be informed of the plan.

“Perhaps I should collect that information and send a note,” she said. The viscount pressed her forward toward the door, and she complied as she tried to think. “I’m sure Colonel Cody will wish for her to practice at least once. Maybe more.”

“Fine, yes, anything you say.”

“Wait.” Once again she stopped. This time, she turned to face him, and his hand slid against her waist in a most disconcerting fashion. “I—um, that is—you’ll not forget that there is a greater purpose behind this bargain.”

He looked away, and Charlotte took the opportunity to stare. His lashes were long and dark, and his chin quite well-shaped. Once the injured eye healed, his features would be impossibly perfect.

“The greater purpose,” he echoed, “is for me to see that I am no longer plagued by your presence.”

Now that really was uncalled for. “I beg your pardon,” she said with the appropriate balance between indignity and propriety.

He gestured to the remains of the telescope. “A fine instrument has been irreparably damaged at your hands, Miss Beck.”

“Fine, Viscount Hambly.” All thoughts of Miss Pence went out the window as she pointed her finger at the arrogant nobleman. “Send me a bill and I’ll be happy to pay for it.” She paused. “Or any other damages, with interest. I will, however, hold you to our bargain.”

The nobleman gave her a weary glance. “Did we reach terms?”

“We did. Your mother’s cooperation in returning the Beck family to society’s good graces in exchange for …” The rest of the bargain escaped her. “I’m sorry, what is my part of this?”

Again, he pointed her to the door, now only a few paces away. “You will go from this place and leave me, never to return. And we shall vow that this conversation is never to be repeated.”

Charlotte crossed the threshold into the hall, then turned to shake his hand. “Agreed. And lest you think I will be tempted to go back on our bargain, you should know my time in London grows short. I’ve made arrangements to attend Wellesley College once my duties in New York and at court are satisfied.”

There. She’d said it.

Strange that she’d chosen the irritating Hambly fellow to be the first to know her plans.

“Wellesley?” His gaze showed more than a small measure of skepticism. “Dare I ask what you shall be studying?”

“I’m quite interested in several fields of study. Perhaps something that will allow me to assume a role in Father’s company.” Charlotte worked to keep a smug expression off her face as she allowed her gaze to land on the broken telescope. “If ever you decide reimbursement is required—”

“I won’t.” And Alex Hambly closed the door in her face.