Earl of Gold (Lords of Scandal 7)

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“My lord,” Winters called behind him. “May I enter to light more candles?”

Logan snapped his teeth together. “We don’t need candles. We won’t be long.” Truth be told, he wasn’t certain he wanted to see this woman in any more detail. Would she be as beautiful as he imagined or was partial shadow her friend? It was best he didn’t find out.

“Mr. Winters,” Miss Walters called. “Perhaps just one.”

The damn man slid behind him, crossing and lighting a candle just next to Miss Penny Walters.

He straightened up with a breath of irritation. What was happening that she’d usurped him in his own house? It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the man to get out of the room. For that matter, the man could leave the house entirely. But the words died on his lips.

Because Mr. Winters had never been a normal butler and Logan was used to the man, he supposed.

But he soon forgot all about his errant butler. Because bloody hell if Miss Walters wasn’t even more lovely with added light. “Mr. Winters, after Miss Walters is gone, you and I need to have a chat.”

“Of course, my lord,” the man answered, sounding wholly unconcerned. Then the butler left again without another word.

Penny cleared her throat. He studied her again and noted that while her features were as stunning as he’d first imagined, her clothing left a great deal to be desired. Threadbare, her dress looked as though it had been mended several times. His little Penny was as poor as her name implied.

“My lord, you’re right of course. I only need a moment of your time.”

“How much?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“I beg your pardon. How much of what? Time? As I said, just a moment,” she said, her brows drawing together.

Her hand trembled ever so slightly, betraying her nerves. Somehow that knowledge helped him relax. She wasn’t as immune to him as he’d first believed. He leaned against the door jamb, one foot kicking in front of the other. She’d unsettled him after a long day and her calm had further made him feel inferior.

He’d been an ass for forgetting their meeting, he knew that. But he was also the one with the fat purse. He could afford to be ill-mannered. She could not, he thought dryly.

“How much money do you need for your orphanage?” he asked, crossing his arms. Best to move her out as quickly as possible and now that he thought about it, he might feel better to have accomplished one of Daring’s two goals so quickly. He was glad she’d stayed after all.

“Well,” she paused “One thousand five hundred pounds—”

“Done,” he said before she could finish.

One of her brows quirked. “Annually should suffice for this first house.”

His teeth ground together. “Three thousand pounds this one time and I want my name on the front plaque of the orphanage.”

She shook her head. “The sum is very generous but without an annual income, I cannot afford the plaque because there will be no orphanage.”

He scrubbed his face then. “Try to understand, Miss Walters, that a one-time sum is all I am willing to contribute.” It would fulfill Daring’s request and allow him to move forward with the deal. That was all he really cared about.

She let out a sigh, her bosom rising in the most alluring way. “Very well. But you’ll have to provide the plaque yourself.”

Chapter Two

Lord, this man was odious.

Penny shifted, ever so slightly. She’d learned to adjust her posture without actually appearing to move in her first orphanage at the age of twelve. The head mistress had insisted that they line up in perfectly straight lines and stand there for a very long time. It was an exercise in patience and conformity and Penny, disliking the little wooden stick used for corrections, had been an apt pupil.

He didn’t seem to notice her movement and stared back at her with a thoughtful expression, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

She’d calmed the beast that had roared into the room, at least. It was her gift. Stay calm, talk slowly, ask for what you want with a concise detachment.

And he was a man who was used to people bending to his will. It was written in every handsome line of his face.

The Earl of Goldthwaite.