By Cheryl Bolen
Lady Fiona Hollingsworth felt wretchedly guilty for sitting there
in her theatre box, and even more guilty for pondering a
flame-haired actress, when her brother's very life was being
threatened--not that Randy was likely to expire this very night. She
had a week before the situation turned truly desperate.
"Who is that beautiful creature?" she asked her theatre
Trevor Simpson screwed in his quizzing glass and, following
Fiona's gaze, stared at the actress on the stage below. "Ah,
that would be Diane Foley. Lovely, is she not?"
"She certainly is."
Trevor bent his head to hers and whispered. "Miss Foley's
protector sits in the box opposite us."
"You are not supposed to discuss such matters with a
maiden," Fiona scolded as she playfully swatted the
flamboyantly dressed man beside her with her fan. Trevor's disregard
for convention could always bring a smile to Fiona's lips. She did
not know what she would have done this past year of overwhelming
grief had she not had Trevor to cheer her. It was Trevor who had
insisted she come here tonight. "Do you good," he had told
her that afternoon, "to get your mind off the wretched business
with Randolph." Though she had tearfully protested, Trevor's
persistence eventually won out.
Curious to see the lovely actress's "protector," Fiona
immediately swept her gaze to the lone man in the box across from
hers. He was an extremely handsome man in his early thirties, tall
and dark and exceptionally well dressed. She thought that even were
he not possessed of such striking good looks, the man's haughty air
of bored arrogance would have commanded attention. Only once before
had she seen such a man. Her spine stiffened. She had met
this man before. "Is that Mr. Nicholas Birmingham?" she
asked her companion.
Trevor's eyes sparkled, and a grin pinched his slender cheeks.
"He's utterly gorgeous, is he not?"
Fiona found herself smirking into her fan. Randy would be
appalled over Trevor's blatant effeminism, but she had always found
it rather amusing. "I don't think Randy likes Mr.
Birmingham," she said.
"Of course not, my dear lady! The man's completely
"Then why did Randy introduce him to me?"
"Can't imagine Birmingham being at the same gathering with a
viscount's daughter. He's not of the ton, you know. Where
could you have met the fellow?"
"Actually I persuaded my brother to allow me to go to
Tattersall's with him. Once. Since Randy had been to Cambridge with
Mr. Birmingham he must have felt compelled to introduce us when Mr.
Birmingham greeted him, but Randy was exceedingly cool to him."
"As well he should be! Even though they're wealthier than
the Duke of Devonshire, Birmingham and his brothers are as ruthless
as their late father--a man who was brilliant at banking and making
money but who made a poor choice in a wife. The boys' mother's
painfully crass. And . . . " Trevor lowered his voice,
"It's said Nicholas Birmingham even has one of his bastards
living with him."
Decidedly improper, she thought.
"He's the one," Trevor said authoritatively,
"who's building that disgustingly opulent mansion on
Piccadilly, you know."
No, she did not know, though she certainly knew about the
Piccadilly mansion. London was agog over the palatial structure
rising from the rubble that had been Lord Howard's townhouse.
"It's said the man building it is the richest man in all of
Trevor examined his fingernails. "I daresay he is. Pity he's
Throughout the remainder of the play Fiona watched Mr.
Birmingham, who watched his beautiful mistress glide elegantly to
and fro while saying the most suggestive things to the men who
shared the stage with her. Once when Fiona was staring into Mr.
Birmingham's box, his gaze flicked to hers. And held. Fiona quickly
Though she dared not risk staring at him anymore, she could not
free her mind of the exceedingly rich Mr. Birmingham. During the
final curtain call, she asked, "Is Nicholas Birmingham
"No," Trevor said. "Deuced awkward for a man in
his position to find a bride."
"I should think Mr. Birmingham could buy any woman in the
Trevor shrugged. "The late Mr. Birmingham raised his sons to
be gentlemen. Had the best education his wealth could buy, use only
the best tailors, speak the King's English and all that. But they're
still Cits. Too good for women of their own class and not good
enough for women of our class, though I daresay their father had
hoped for an aristocratic match for the eldest boy, Nicholas."
Trevor's head inclined toward Mr. Birmingham's box.
While Fiona and Trevor waited outside the theatre for their
carriage, shivering from the December night's frostiness, Fiona half
wished to see Mr. Birmingham to confirm that he was as handsome as
she remembered, as handsome as he appeared across a dark theatre,
but he was nowhere in sight. She supposed someone of his vast wealth
never had to wait for anything.
Once she and Trevor settled in her family's rickety coach she
broached the subject that had dominated her thoughts all evening.
"I'm planning to ask Mr. Birmingham to help me free
Trevor's eyes widened. "You cannot be serious!"
"Because the man's mercenary. He doesn't give away his
precious hoards of money. You'll not be asking for a few guineas.
What you need is a fortune. Men of Birmingham's ilk don't give away
twenty-five thousand pounds."
Fiona squared her shoulders and spoke firmly. "I mean to
strike a bargain with him."
"My dear lady, you have nothing left to bargain with. All
your father's property--except that which is entailed--has already
been sold off. You've nothing to offer as collateral."
"I do have something," she whispered.
Trevor spun toward her. "Pray, what?"
She took a deep breath. "Myself."
For once Trevor was speechless. When he recovered enough to close
his gaping mouth, he said, "A viscount's daughter cannot marry
a Cit!" His eyes narrowed. "Besides, have you not always
said you would marry only for love?"
Her lips thinned. "I once believed in love, but you know
what became of that. Since I shall never love again, why shouldn't I
marry a man who can save my brother's life?"
"Randolph wouldn't like it above half if you was to throw
yourself away on the likes of Birmingham. Even if the man is
A sudden rush of tears filled her eyes. "It's not as if I'm
not already dead inside, Trevor, and if I were to be fortunate
enough to tempt Mr. Birmingham, I would at least rejoice over saving
Randy." Her voice cracked. "Do you know how long it's been
since I had something to rejoice over? In the past sixteen months
I've lost Mama, then Warwick, then Papa, then the family
fortune." Her voice cracked. "I couldn't bear it if I lost
Trevor took her hand and pressed it between his own gloved hands.
"I know, my pet. Things have been dreadfully wretched for you.
If I had a feather to fly with, it would be yours."
"But neither of us has a feather to fly with. That's why I
must throw myself at Mr. Birmingham."
Trevor winced. "I beg that you wait, my lady. Surely we can
think of something else."
She shook her head solemnly. "No, Trev. You said yourself
twenty-five thousand pounds is a fortune. We'll never come up with
that much money. And I only have until next week."
"I should like to wring your brother's neck," Trevor
muttered in a guttural voice. "I told him he had no business
rushing off to the Peninsula. Look what's it's gotten him."
"He didn't know Papa would die and leave his finances so
muddled, and Randy couldn't have known those wretched bandits would
"Still, he should have stayed here with you after that
beastly business with Warwick."
"But he was as upset as I when Lord Warwick married. Randy
had offered for the countess himself."
Trevor's lips stretched to a flat line. "He'd only known the
countess a few days, certainly not long enough to form the kind of
attachment to her that you had with Warwick. Pray, how many years
had you loved Warwick?"
Her heart stung at the memory. "Thirteen," she said in
a hoarse whisper. It was still difficult for her to believe the man
she had loved since she was twelve and been pledged to for three
years had married someone else. It was still difficult to imagine a
future in which she wasn't Edward's wife, wasn't Lady Warwick. It
was still difficult to accept that she would likely go to her grave
without knowing a man's love.
"If I knew how to use pistols or swords I'd have called
Warwick out myself," Trevor said.
The image of the milksoppish Trevor brandishing a sword brought a
smile to her lips. She squeezed his hand even more tightly. For as
many years as she had been in love with Warwick she and the
diminutive Trevor Simpson had been the greatest of friends. "I
don't think I hate him anymore, nor do I still love him," she
said with resignation. "All that's left is a huge hole in my
When the carriage pulled to a stop in front of Trevor's lodgings
at Albany, he turned to her. "I beg that you don't do anything
"Where does Mr. Birmingham live?"
"Doubtless in some unfashionable neighborhood you can't be
seen in. Piccadilly won't be finished until the Italian painters
complete the ceilings."
She lowered her fine brows. "Does Mr. Birmingham have
offices in The City?"
"He's known as The Fox of the Exchange--but you must know
women cannot go to the Exchange."
She smiled. "Women cannot go to Tattersall's, but I went
"Now see here, Lady Fiona! You simply cannot go into The
"I'm not, Trev dearest. You'll come with me. Tomorrow
* * *
Nicholas Birmingham rose from his broad desk to greet the Foreign
Secretary, Lord Warwick. Despite that he had not seen Warwick in
many years, Nick had kept abreast of the peer's affairs, including
his jilting of the lovely Lady Fiona Hollingsworth last year. How
any man could reject such a perfect creature was beyond Nick's
comprehension, and the fact that the most superior Lord Warwick
humiliated the lady did nothing to endear him to Nick.
What a remarkable coincidence that Warwick should call the very
morning after Nick saw Lady Fiona at the theatre. All morning Nick
had been unable to purge his mind of the vision of the elegant blond
beauty staring across the dark theatre at him. How lovely she had
looked in her sapphire gown that matched her extraordinary eyes.
Nick was somewhat surprised that a man of Warwick's importance
had sought him out. Though the two men had been at Cambridge
together, their disparaging stations had prevented any sort of
friendship from forming. "Your servant, my lord," he said.
"Please be seated."
Warwick sat on a sturdy wooden chair that faced Nick's desk.
"What can I do for you, my lord?" Nick never wasted
time on pleasantries. As long as the sun shone, he could make money,
and every minute wasted was money lost.
The Foreign Secretary cleared his throat. "I'm here in an
official capacity, Mr. Birmingham."
Nick's brows rose. "I am completely at your service."
A single corner of Warwick's aristocratic mouth twitched as he
somberly eyed Nick. "As you know, defeating Napoleon by any
means is my objective in all that I do at the Foreign Office."
Why in the hell doesn't the man just get to the point?
"As it should be, my lord."
"We've been bloody successful at sea, and our peninsular
armies are making great strides in subduing the maniac Corsican, but
there's one more area I wish to dominate."
He wants to crush the French treasury. Nick smiled. "Now
I understand why you've come to me."
"There's only one man in England with the resources--and the
knowledge--to manipulate the markets."
"What's needed is not a manipulation of the market but a
devaluation of the franc."
The earl pondered this for a moment, then nodded. "At this
point, such a devaluation can only be precipitated by someone
possessed of a great fortune."
Nick laughed. "What you propose is that my brothers and I
beggar ourselves in order to crush the French?"
"I'll admit there is a certain risk," the earl said,
"but the English government is poised to enter into a contract
with you. Should you fail--should you lose your vast resources--we
would provide handsomely for you for the rest of your life."
"Then why doesn't the English government use its resources
instead of mine to foil Napoleon?"
"Because the war's taking everything!"
Nick peered at the earl through narrowed eyes. "And if
France wins this war?"
"That is an eventuality I cannot conceive of."
"You'd make a damned poor businessman, Warwick." Nick
disliked the pompous Foreign Secretary even more now. It was bad
enough that he had humiliated the delicate Lady Fiona, but now he
was asking that Nick throw away his family's fortune on a poorly
thought-out scheme that would in no way benefit Nick and his
brothers and that the English government was not capable of funding.
There was a tap on his door, and his secretary entered the
chamber, closing the door behind him. "A Lady Fiona
Hollingsworth to see you, my lord," the young man said.
Nick and Warwick exchanged icy stares, then Warwick got to his
feet. "I was just leaving. Oblige me by not mentioning this
matter to anyone."
"And please, Birmingham," Warwick added, "I beg
that you give the matter careful consideration. I shall call on you
again next week."
As Warwick went to leave the office, Lady Fiona swept in. When
she met Warwick's gaze, her face blanched. "Edward!" she
said in a shaky voice.
He bowed. "May I hope you're as well as you look, Lady
Except for her ruffled composure, she did indeed look very well.
The tomato color of her well-cut velvet pelisse perfectly matched
the hue of her lovely mouth. The lithe, dainty blond exuded more
elegance than any woman Nick had ever seen. Warwick was an utter
fool to have cast aside this beauty.
"I'm quite well," she answered. "And Lady
"She presented me with a son in September."
"Yes, I know. My felicitations."
After Warwick left, Nick crossed the room, bowed before Lady
Fiona, then took her shaking hand and brushed his lips across it.
"Allow me to say what a pleasure it is to see you again, my
lady. Won't you have a seat?"
He pulled up an upholstered chair in front of his desk, and she
sank into it.
Nick returned to his desk and faced her, for once not spurring on
his visitor to get to the point. "My sympathies on your
father's death last year," he offered. "I suppose Randolph
is the new Lord Agar?"
Her pale blue eyes were utterly woeful when she looked up at him.
"I would be most happy to assist you, my lady, in
communicating with your brother. My courier service is second to
"I do need your assistance, Mr. Birmingham, but not for
that." She began to fumble in her reticule, then she removed a
single piece of parchment and handed it to him.
"What's this?" he asked, his glance leaping to the
masculine scribble on the page.
"A ransom demand I received yesterday. It was wrapped around
my brother's signet ring--which I know he would never willingly part
with. Randolph has apparently been abducted by Spanish
Nick took the letter and read.
We have in our custody the son of the wealthy English Lord Agar.
If you wish to see Senor Randolph again, you must pay us twenty-five
thousand pounds. We will give you a week to secure the funds, then
we will be communicating with you once more. If you fail to comply,
Senor Randolph will be killed.
"Your brother was in Spain?" Nick asked.
"Why did you not take this letter to Warwick?"
"If you must know," she said proudly, "I'm out of
charity with his lordship."
"So you expect a stranger to give you the twenty-five
thousand pounds?" At the wounded look on her delicate face, he
wished he could retract his insensitive words. Lady Fiona was under
a great deal of strain. She was extremely close to her brother and
quite naturally worried about him. "I'm sorry for being so
brutally blunt, my lady. I'm flattered that you've come to me, but
you must realize this is an exorbitant amount of money." He
stopped short of reminding her that the Agar fortune had gone the
way of powdered wigs. It was Nick's business to know everyone's
financial business. The late Lord Agar had lost vast sums in African
mines, and that loss was followed with a huge blow on the market.
The man had been forced to sell all his ancillary properties and
much of his renowned library and art collection just to meet present
"To me, yes, it's a great deal of money," she said.
"To most people, it's a great deal of money, but not to you,
"If it's a loan you seek, you need to see my brother Adam.
He's the banker of the family."
"I don't wish to speak with your brother," she said,
her blue eyes glittering defiantly, her spine ramrod straight.
"It's you I wish to deal with."
"Why am I to be so singularly honored, my lady?"
"Because you're not a complete stranger."
"You think one brief meeting gives you access to my
money?" Damn, but he was behaving abominably to the poor lady!
"Forgive me for my shockingly bad manners."
Two perfect little white teeth nipped at her lip as she watched
him. God, but she was exquisite!
But of course he wouldn't give her the money. "I must tell
you, my lady, that in order to obtain a loan, one must secure it by
pledging property or belongings of equal or greater value than the
amount borrowed. What do you propose to use as collateral?"
She did not answer for a moment. Her hands folded and unfolded
nervously as she stared at him. Then she finally cleared her throat,
stared at his neck, and said, "I mean to offer myself as your
bride, Mr. Birmingham."