she was not going to break down. Miles felt a sudden admiration for her. Most women would have given in to the vapors by now, or have withdrawn into a strategic swoon. Alice, it seemed, had nerves of steel and a fundamental strength of character he had seldom encountered in a female before, the only other exception being his cousin Laura Anstruther. Miles was not conventional enough to believe that women were the weaker sex-he had seen enough of their strength and courage under duress to know that they had a hardiness that many of his peers would deplore as unfeminine and unbecoming. But Alice had something in addition. She had enormous resolution.
He watched her narrowly as she paced the room. He was accustomed to weighing up his adversaries, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. Before he had gone to work for the Home Secretary he had been in the army and his work had taken him into dark places where he bartered for the lives of prisoners or hostages held by the other side, where he made bargains with men’s lives and futures as though they were no more than pieces on a chessboard, where he had always to consider the greater good and be prepared to sacrifice the individual. Over the years he had abandoned people whose only hope was that he could secure their safety. Always he reminded himself that a few had to suffer for the benefit of the majority. And gradually the choices had become less painful, more calculated, and with each decision another piece of his soul had been lost. He knew this was why he could look at Alice now and feel nothing but a tightening hunger for her and for her money, and a triumph that the game was almost won. He doubted that there was a man alive who was more unfeeling or cynical than he was now, so he felt no compunction about forcing Alice into marriage. She had something that he wanted. He had the means to compel her to his point of view. It was as simple as that.
“Even if I agreed-” Alice began and Miles’s heart leaped to know that what he desired was so close to being within his grasp “-and I have not said that I will-there is a difficulty.”
“I am sure,” Miles said, “that it is nothing we cannot overcome.”
Alice’s eyes flashed with disdain. “I think it most unlikely you will be able to overcome this particular problem, my lord.” She turned on her heel sharply and walked away from him, the lemon silk skirts of her gown making a soft swishing sound.
“Try me,” Miles said. Now that he was within an ace of winning Alice’s consent he was absolutely determined that nothing would stand in his way. He was aware of tension rippling through all the muscles in his body, and the hairs of the back of his neck standing on end. He only just managed to suppress a shiver.
Alice gestured him to a seat and sat down opposite him. All her movements were very precise, as though she had herself under tight control. She was remarkably self-contained but he could see how much it was costing her in the tense way that she held herself together. Her strain showed in the tight grip of her hands in her lap and in the taut line of her shoulders as she sat up very straight.
“The inheritance of my fortune is not without conditions,” Alice said, breaking the silence between them. She looked at him, her blue eyes fierce, as though she were daring him to challenge her. “My lawyer, Mr. Gaines, will confirm what I am about to tell you, my lord, lest you think this no more than an excuse on my part.” She swallowed hard and took a deliberate breath, meeting his gaze directly.
“The fact is that when she left me her fortune, Lady Membury also laid down a stipulation relating to the man I would marry,” Alice said. “It has to be fulfilled or all my remaining fortune reverts to the charity for the welfare and upkeep of the stray animals of the parish. Lady Membury,” she added sweetly, “was very fond of animals.”
“I can imagine,” Miles said. He had heard a little of the elderly widow who had left her housemaid a vast fortune. It was said she had been completely mad.
Alice’s blue gaze flickered over Miles again. “When she made this stipulation, Lady Membury was seeking to protect me from fortune hunters and to ensure that I chose to marry a man who loved and respected me for myself alone,” she said. Her tone was ironic.
“That was very laudable of her,” Miles said, “but probably a little optimistic.”
“So it seems,” Alice said coldly, “given the nature of your marriage proposal. Lady Membury’s wishes are quite clear, however. She stated that as she would not be present to scrutinize my suitors herself, she requires that the man I marry fulfill certain criteria. Specifically he has to be proven to be an upright and worthy gentleman.” She let the words drop into the silence of the room. “Perhaps if she had required that I should marry an out-and-out scoundrel, you would have a better chance, my lord.”
Miles laughed. “You do not feel that I meet her conditions, Miss Lister?”
“In no particular,” Alice said. “More to the point, my lord, Mr. Gaines, and my other trustee, Mr. Churchward, who was Lady Membury’s London lawyer, both surely know of your poor character and know that whatever else you may be, you are neither upright nor worthy. So I fear that your suit is doomed, my lord, blackmail notwithstanding.”
It was a setback, Miles allowed, but he could not accept that it was insuperable. He had not come this far in order to give up now.
“Churchward is my family lawyer, too,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps he could be…persuaded…to my cause.”
“I have met Mr. Churchward and I doubt that he is corruptible,” Alice said sharply, “family lawyer or not.”
“I am afraid you are probably right,” Miles conceded wryly. “Which is how it should be, I suppose. I do not really want a dishonest solicitor working for me.”
“Only when it suits you,” Alice said. “There is more, my lord.”
“Of course there is,” Miles said ironically.
“In order to
Miles sighed. He was starting to dislike the deceased Lady Membury quite intensely. He had no doubt that Alice was telling him the truth about the codicil to her inheritance-and that she was taking great pleasure in doing so. He supposed that it was the least he deserved for forcing her hand.
He sat forward. “Name Lady Membury’s stipulations,” he said.
“Her terms are that for three months you must be proven to be utterly and completely honest in your dealings, not only with me, your future wife, but with everyone else, too,” Alice said very clearly. “You must speak the truth on all occasions. You must be honest in all your transactions.” Her gaze held a hint of mockery as it rested on him. “You are a ruthless, deceitful manipulator, my lord. Never in a thousand years could you achieve such a thing as total honesty, though I do believe it would be the most painful punishment for you to try. I feel sure you would fall at the first hurdle.”
Miles stared at her. For a moment he thought-hoped-he had misheard her.
What had that mad old fool Lady Membury been thinking?
Utter and total honesty
He was not sure what was showing on his face. Alice was watching him with interest and a certain degree of amusement.
“I knew you could not do it,” she said with satisfaction.
“Miss Lister,” Miles said, “there are very good social reasons for not being honest all the time.”
Alice smiled slightly. “You need not tell me that,” she said. “I was not the one who set the condition. And I would not be expecting you to be honest if I ask you whether I look plump in a particular gown,” she added. “We are talking here about fundamental honesty of character, Lord Vickery. We are talking about you being at heart a sincere and worthy man.” Her smile grew. “Oh dear, you look appalled. I do realize that the concept of honor is completely foreign to you.” She raised a brow. “I take it, then, that you are withdrawing your attempt at blackmail and that we need not trouble Mr. Churchward and Mr. Gaines? I know you would not be able to meet the terms, anyway.”
“Oh, I can meet the terms,” Miles said. He got to his feet and turned away from Alice for a moment so that she could not see his expression and know he lied. It was impossible to open his heart and reveal the unvarnished truth about his thoughts, feelings and behavior. He had not done such a thing since he was a youth, in the last, appalling, disillusioning interview he’d had with his father before he’d left to join the army. Telling the absolute truth was to reveal one’s weaknesses and vulnerabilities. It was to lay oneself open to pain and hurt. Being honest never paid. It was not a course of action that he would ever take voluntarily.
And yet that did not mean he could not meet Lady Membury’s ridiculous conditions and win Alice’s fortune. Over the past ten years Miles had become so accomplished at disguising the truth, bending it, using it, molding it to his will that he was completely sure he could do the same now. Alice and her trustees would never know the
