Free A Perfect Gentleman by Bárbara Metzger Page B

the blue-eyed Adonis with a smile that could tempt birds out of trees, or ladies into his bed. “How can you be sure it was all untrue?”
    Timms pushed his spectacles back on his nose. “I told you, butlers know everything. Besides, it is simple, really. He’d have been caught long since, were he visiting the paddock with the fillies before the races, so to speak. If he’d been serving the old mares, he would not have needed to keep half his house shut up to save money.”
    “So you think he can be trusted?”
    Timms nodded. “He’ll give good value for your coin or have me to answer to, miss. As for your father’s money—if that is what you are worried over, that he’s seeking more than temporary employment—his lordship could have wed an heiress anytime.” Granted, few with so large and tempting a fortune as Miss Ellianne Kane, but the principle was there. “He didn’t. The lad is no fortune-hunter, and bless him for that.”
    “Good, because he’ll only be disappointed.” Ellianne sat up straighter on her chair. “I do not intend to marry, as I told you.”
    And she told him again, to Timms’s disgust, and once again after most of the wine was gone.
    “No, I am better off single,” Ellianne finished with a yawn, “than with a man who likes my money better than he likes me. Besides, the spinster life was good enough for Aunt Augusta.”
    Timms emptied the bottle into his glass. “Who left her house to a blessed dog.”
    * * *
    So Ellianne consulted the dog. “What did you think of Lord Wellstone?” she asked as they went for a short walk in the small walled garden behind the house, all the old dog was capable of before he wheezed himself into a faint. “Will he do?”
    Atlas had no tail to speak of to wag. He did raise his leg, though.
    “Well, you liked his flowers.”
    So had she, before the dog ate them, anyway. Despite what she’d told her aunt, she still liked the fact that Lord Wellstone had thought to bring her a token. Ellianne had received flowers before, of course. At eight and twenty, she had enjoyed her share of suitors. Unfortunately, she had not truly enjoyed them. She always doubted their sincerity, wondering how many would call, how many would bring flowers or sweets, if her dowry were less generous. Lord Wellstone did not have to bring a bouquet to win her regard; he already had her check.
    None of those other gentlemen, the well-born ones who deigned to honor a banker’s daughter with their attentions, or the ambitious ones who thought to ally themselves with her family, had impressed her. Not the way Lord Wellstone had.
    Ellianne reassured herself that she was far past the age of being swept off her feet, not that the viscount was wielding a broom or anything. He was simply devilishly attractive, and she could appreciate that—the way she could admire a painting in a gallery without having to own it, or touch it, or sit staring at it for hours like a moonling.
    She was in no danger of falling for his practiced charm, of course, flowers or no flowers. Aunt Lally was right about that. Along with the bouquets and bonbons, she’d had more than her share of hot, wet, horrid kisses from men claiming ardor while calculating her income. She’d been pawed at and pressed into corners by men claiming affection while trying to compromise her into marriage. They had shown her how revolting, how self-serving and sycophantic a man’s attentions could be. The charming ones had been the worst, for she’d almost believed them, especially when she was younger and less experienced. Now she wanted nothing to do with men or their passions or their promises.
    All she wanted was her sister back.
    She had everything else: a busy, rewarding life, a respected place in her community, friends who shared her interests, and the wherewithal to help better other women’s circumstances. Her charities were making a difference, not just holding meetings. She ran orphanages and training schools and