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She’d give anything to maintain her father’s contentment. That was why she was here now. Or at least one reason. She’d never deluded herself her purposes were altruistic. She sought advancement the way so many women had before her, with her body. Her heart was as black as Lord Burnley’s. And would turn blacker before she was done.
    â€œI’ll leave you to contemplate your mistakes and assess how to avoid them in future,” Burnley said silkily.
    He shuffled toward the door. Soon, he’d need a cane. Shortly after that, he wouldn’t be able to walk at all. They both knew what awaited Lord Burnley. That was what prompted this mad gamble.
    â€œGood evening, my lord.” Habit made her sink into a curtsy. He turned and arched an ironic eyebrow. He must guess her acid thoughts. He’d always delighted in the rebellious soul of his bailiff’s daughter.
    Once he’d gone, she slumped into a chair and stared sightlessly at the unlit grate. What was she to do? How was she to seduce a man who expressed no interest in her? Did she have the nerve to try again?
    Given what she gained if she succeeded, she couldn’t let cowardice deter her. Even though cowardice prompted her to pack up this luxurious little house right now and return to the familiar comforts of home and honest toil.
    She was so lost in her troubled thoughts, she didn’t hear the door open. The first she knew of anyone else in the room was Laura’s touch on her shoulder.
    â€œHe’s gone.” Her friend’s words were a statement, not a question.
    â€œYes.”
    Her friend sank into the chair opposite Diana. “He’s a bad man. You should run a thousand miles.”
    Laura loathed Lord Burnley. As well she should. He’d hanged her father and transported her mother. All that had been left of the Gypsy family was a small dark-eyed girl. For once Diana’s father had stood up to his employer, who wanted to cast the eight-year-old child out to beg on the highway. Instead, John Dean had raised the orphan as his adopted daughter. Now while Diana and her father ran Burnley’s estate between them, Laura managed their home.
    Burnley had insisted that Laura join her foster sister in London. Diana still wasn’t sure why. Perhaps for appearance’s sake, although this house would remain a secret from everyone apart from the few trusted servants necessarily involved.
    â€œYou know what I stand to gain.” Diana had continued this argument with herself since Lord Burnley’s offer several weeks ago.
    Laura’s face didn’t lighten. “Yes, you become chatelaine of Cranston Abbey. Once your husband meets his Maker.”
    Or goes to the hell he deserves.
    Laura had never approved of Diana’s involvement in this scheme. Diana had tried again and again to make her see that whatever price she paid now, the reward was worth it. Cranston Abbey was a generous return for a few uncomfortable weeks in a rake’s bed.
    Diana itched to take over the reins of the estate, to institute the improvements that had frustrated her all the years she’d played Burnley’s right hand. She’d be a fool to turn her back on what fate offered.
    She prayed fate was kind.
    Her possession of Cranston Abbey and her father’s comfortable old age relied on one incalculable factor. Whether she could get Tarquin Vale to plant a child in her empty womb.

Chapter Three
    A shcroft sipped his champagne, the cold bubbles bursting against his palate. It was the only coolness in the theater turned ballroom for the night. The oppressive heat that had hung heavy over London all day hadn’t eased with evening. Around him, the crowd heaved in sweaty, forced gaiety. Discordant laughter and chatter overwhelmed the orchestra scratching out the latest waltz.
    What was he doing here? He hadn’t meant to come, although his presence at the courtesans’ ball was as much an institution as the