Free Rebel Baron by Shirl Henke

Lori was at last putting aside girlish dreams and could evaluate a man's ultimate worthiness more maturely. Miranda devoutly hoped so. Not only would Caruthers not squander Lori's inheritance, but he would also provide the social recognition that her insecure and often slighted daughter so dearly wished. As a baroness, she would be presented to Queen Victoria.
           Let Abigail Warring choke on that! Miranda thought with a sudden surge of vitriol. Lori would have a dashingly handsome peer for husband while Abby would be saddled with Varley's ogre of a son. Although son to an earl, the young Mr. Winters picked his nose. Miranda suppressed a chuckle of triumph and said, “I do believe I hear the baron arriving.”
           Lori could not resist peeking out the window at the street below, where the sound of hoof beats clattered to a halt in front of the iron gate enclosing their small front yard. A groom took the reins of a magnificent bay gelding as the rider dismounted with casual ease. “He's taller than I remembered,” she said breathlessly, straining to see his face, which was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat not at all in fashion.
           Looking over Lori's shoulder, Miranda noted the same thing, but could not help thinking the plumed headgear suited him. “A veritable cavalier,” she murmured dryly.
           “You did say he was a soldier for the Confederates. I suppose that is part of their uniform,” Lori remarked uncertainly.
           “And the frock coat? Somehow I doubt it, considering it's cut in the latest fashion. Fresh from Bond Street or I miss my guess.” Miranda knew he'd won a sizable purse at Epsom two weeks ago and surmised he'd invested in some new clothing, but she did not feel it prudent to share that bit of information with her daughter. ‘‘Come, let me introduce you to the baron.”
           Brand stood at the foot of the stairs, ignoring the servant who was holding open a wide oak door into the parlor in favor of observing the two ladies descending the steps. She was as lovely as a siren, he had to admit, but he could sense no air of sophistication to go with her striking beauty. Perhaps that was a mark in her favor. Lord knew, Reba had been aware of her power over men from the time she'd learned to walk.
           Lorilee Auburn's hair was pale gold, her complexion like milk and rose petals. She was slightly shorter than her mother, who was tall for a woman. Her slender figure was accented fetchingly in a day gown of light blue muslin sprigged with darker blue flowers. Most appropriate for a young miss in her first season.
           Every feature from her huge cornflower-blue eyes to her little red bow of a mouth was quite perfect...and perfectly untried. There was nothing...formed about her yet. A woman to mold any way he chose, if that was his pleasure. A vague sense of uneasiness mingled with his anticipation. He'd grown up around complaisant women who employed only soft wiles to influence their men, deferring to them in all matters of importance. But that was the South...half a world away from here.
           This was England, where a woman sat upon the throne. Brand didn't much care for the idea. Were all Englishwomen as strong-willed and self-assured as Her Majesty...and Miranda Auburn? His eyes moved from Lorilee to her mother. There was nothing untried whatever in those cool silver depths. Those eyes belonged to a woman who had seen much of life and was fooled by little of it. And to think he'd once dreaded Alvira Cunningham. Comparing Reba's coy, manipulative mother to this woman was like comparing a tabby cat to a tigress.
           He nodded and smiled at the widow, then returned his attention to her pride and joy, her only child. Lorilee held her skirts like a princess entering a throne room. She bestowed a hesitant smile on him, and again he was struck by how young and insecure she looked.
           Brand felt like a