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Ranulf, previously known as Viscount Mckinnon, at your service… Hell, I haven’t even asked your name.” One side of his mouth kicked up. “I’m usually much better at this sort of thing, only I confess—”
    “I distracted you,” she finished wryly, but her heart had started to pound. Mckinnon, the name was familiar. Why? Alarm bells clanged within her tender skull.
    “You’re very good it,” he admitted in a low voice.
    “Only when I’m trying.” Daisy licked her dry lips and inclined her head. “Daisy Ellis Craigmore.”
    Whatever she expected of him, it wasn’t the sudden shock in his eyes or the way he straightened and stepped away from her. “You are Miranda’s sister.”
    Apparently shock was catching. All the warmth within her left as though she were caught in a draft, and then she knew. “You!”
    Northrup’s slanting brows furrowed, but his tone was light when he spoke. “Me? Whatever do you mean?”
    Daisy’s elbow slipped a bit as she scrambled to sit up straight. “You’re the beastly man who tried to poison Miranda’s mind against Archer.” Miranda had told Daisy all about it months ago, how Mckinnon had tried his best to convince Miranda to carry on an affair with him. And now Daisy was sitting in the parlor with the vile man.
    He scowled. Whether it was toward the veracity of her statement or the fact that he’d been caught out, Daisy couldn’t be sure. The only certainty was the feral gleamin Northrup’s eyes and the way it made Daisy feel unaccountably nervous. However, having lived with much worse, intimidation did not easily cow her. She returned his look pound for pound, and his irritation seemed to grow.
    “ ‘Beastly’ is it?” he all but growled. “I’ll kindly ask you to remember who took you in and saw you set to rights.”
    A qualm of guilt lit through her, and he must have seen it for he stepped closer to loom over her in righteous indignation. “And I don’t recall you thinking me so beastly a moment ago.”
    No, she’d rather liked him, damn the man. It made her cheeks burn to realize he had noticed this as well. In the heavy silence, she heard the clatter of a carriage pulling up beyond the front windows. A coach door opened and shut. Northrup’s nostrils flared as if catching a scent, and a strange look passed over his features. “Well, won’t this be cozy?” he said, as he straightened his coat. “I believe the lady in question has come to call.”

Chapter Three

    S he was here. Miranda. He hadn’t seen her in months. And then it had been only a glimpse at some ball. He had wanted to speak to Miranda one more time. To apologize. Not for warning her about Archer—the bastard had no right to marry a woman without telling her the truth of what he was—but for putting the wariness in her eyes whenever she looked his way. Despite what others thought, Ian did not hold with frightening women. He had played out his dance with Miranda poorly.
    He heard Miranda’s voice in the hall, sharp with worry as she asked his butler Diggs where to find Daisy. How she knew to come here Ian did not know, but her presence plucked at the nerves on the back of his neck. Ian closed his eyes for a moment and pictured Miranda, golden-red hair, her long, willowy form, and alabaster skin.
    At one time, he’d fancied himself in love with her. And now? Seeing her was the last thing he wanted. He was thoroughly tired of redheaded women.
    Beside him, her sister gathered herself together. Shelooked nothing like Miranda. Curling hair of morning sunlight mixed with polished gold. Enormous doe eyes, not the color of celadon but of summer skies. Daisy. A preposterous name. Frivolous. And yet he could not think of her as Mrs. Craigmore. The name did not fit.
    Ian’s gaze slid lower. The unfortunate dressing gown she wore, a sad little orphan of some long-ago mistress’s wardrobe, did not fit but most certainly highlighted her undulating curves and that plump arse that practically