Free Secrets of a Scandalous Heiress by Theresa Romain Page A

curricles and…I don’t know. I’m not a man with deep pockets.”
    â€œI am not either,” Joss replied. “But I see your point. And to men of business, I suppose, money is not the means, but the end in itself.”
    â€œPrecisely.” Augusta’s look of gratified surprise was rather lowering, as though she had not expected him to follow her reasoning. “When dealing with self-made men, one must persuade differently.”
    What was the means, or the end, for a man such as Joss? For years, he had been bound to Sutcliffe’s employment by family ties and poverty. Long enough, it seemed, that he had lost the knack for doing business with anyone who responded with subtlety and sense. In Bath, he had won himself a little distance. He had traveled a step closer toward independence. But it was only a single step, and then—what next?
    He would figure that out when the time came. Surely.
    Impatience seized him. “I shouldn’t have brought you out here. It’s too cold for walking.” He took up Augusta’s hands, rubbing her gloved fingers between his. He had thought of his own escape, but not of her comfort.
    â€œThat doesn’t matter,” Augusta said. “I’m always cold.” She caught his eye for a moment, then looked away. Not quickly enough to hide the truth: though she attempted a smile, her eyes looked lost. Deep and worried and afraid and still. Oh, so still. Hoping if she were just still enough, no one would notice.
    Or maybe he only saw his own reflection.
    They had made a circuit of the garden by now, and the northern face of the square was visible again. Once they stepped outside the bounds of the garden’s fence, she would become Mrs. Flowers again, and he—no one of significance. Best to remember that. “I should get you inside so you can warm up. Bath doesn’t need another invalid to add to its ranks.”
    â€œI told you, I’m always cold. Even indoors. Yet I’m healthy enough.” Pulling her fingers free, she walked forward. “It looks like a new lodger has taken the house next to Emily’s. See the carriage? It must have just arrived.”
    When Joss reached her side, he shaded his eyes below the brim of his hat until he could pick out the lines of the carriage’s crest. “Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered. “Not four days, and he’s followed me.”
    â€œWhat? Do you know whose carriage that is?”
    â€œYes,” he replied. “I do. Lord Sutcliffe has decided to grace Bath with his presence.”

Six
    After seeing Augusta back to her doorstep with more speed than grace, Joss marched next door and rapped on it with a fist. He wished he had something larger to knock with—a cudgel, maybe, or a mace.
    An unfamiliar manservant opened the door, all high-bridged nose and supercilious smirk.
    Joss ignored both. “I need to see Lord Sutcliffe. Please tell him his man of business is here.”
    The cursed man began to swing the door closed in Joss’s face, but thundering footsteps sounded on the staircase. Joss craned his neck to see over the shoulder of the servant. As he expected, within a few seconds Sutcliffe skidded across the marble-tiled entryway.
    â€œLet him in! Let him in! Let Everett in!” Panting, Sutcliffe tugged at the door. The servant still seemed disinclined to grant Joss entry, but after a pause that was slightly too long, he bowed and stepped back.
    â€œEverett,” Sutcliffe said. “Thank God. I thought I’d have to search high and low for you. Where have you been? We arrived ten minutes ago at least.”
    Everything about the baron was quick, impulsive, scattered. In his mid-thirties, he was blond and gray-eyed to Joss’s dark coloring. Though too thin for handsomeness, his free-spending ways and boundless energy were enough to keep him at the center of any crowd.
    â€œA red coat, my lord? How elegant you