"They do say he's desperate handsome," the first housemaid said as she scrubbed the door panel.  "And a wild man in bed!"

"Tell me some'um I ain't 'eard," the second maid jeered.  "The earl's famous for 'is way wid the ladies.  And I 'ear 'e's dumped the 'igh priced ladybird e's been supportin' in such style.  She'll 'ave to find some'un else to pay for 'er 'igh perch carriages and diamond studded boots.  Wish I 'ad a chance to take over her post, and she could 'ave this 'ere mop!"

Grinning at this fantasy involving the Quality's love lives, she sloshed her mop about on the staircase landing, splattering drops of dirty water.  Thick with muscle, her arms wielded the handle with ease.

"Ha!"  The first servant snorted.  "You and me and half of London's females, besides.  He's probably built her a castle--and--and--God knows!  Who wouldn't want to be mollycoddled with jewels and pretty clothes, and made love to night an' day?"

"It'd jolly me just to spend a few 'ours alone wid a man like that!"  The other maid groaned in mock ecstasy, and both servants dissolved into fits of giggles.

Who indeed?

Seated on the stairs a flight above them, Lauryn Applegate Harris wrapped her arms about her knees, feet drawn up beneath her, and wondered if she would ever meet such a man.  It didn't seem likely.

She had been in London for six weeks, and this--eavesdropping on the hotel maids as they worked--was as close as she had come to any social life.  Not that Lauryn had clothes suitable for entering Society, anyhow.  She was still wearing the rusty black gowns she had dyed for her unexpected widowhood last year, and now she lacked the money to replace them.  Just this morning she had found a hole in her last pair of good stockings.  Being poor was enough to make a saint curse.

And she was no saint--just a young widow who was acutely weary of always making do with too little and forever covering up her own sadness as she tried to help her father-in-law the squire cope with his.  He had taken the loss of his only son so hard that she'd feared more than once for his sanity.  And the only comfort that might have assuaged his misery was beyond her power to offer.  If only she had given him, and her late husband, an heir. . .  

Then Squire Harris would have had something to console him and take his mind off the terrible deprivation they both felt.  And she would have had some part of her husband to hold on to, and a child to love. 

She pushed away the guilt which rode as constant companion with her lingering grief.  She had to look forward, not back, as her four sisters reminded her in their letters. 

"If you will not come home, if you are determined to stay and aid the Squire, please try not to dwell on the past," her older sister Madeline had written.  "You know we love you, Lauryn.  I write this for your own good."

Everyone had advice.  Easy for Madeline to say, Lauryn thought, as her sister cuddled her own firstborn, with a husband beside her to offer his strength and support.  But Lauryn knew the counsel was sincere.   Early on, she had made herself ill with grief, and at some point, she'd realized she could bear no more tears and sleepless nights.  None of it would bring Will back.  Now--if she could just hear a little laughter again, once in a while enjoy an outing and a pretty dress--was she terribly selfish to think such thoughts?

She'd had few enough such entertainments to enjoy even before Will's death.  Sighing, she glanced at the sewing basket beside her and the abandoned stocking she'd been trying to darn. 

Wedding her childhood sweetheart when both were quite young, Lauryn had expected to live a agreeable life with her husband, bearing many children, with long happy years to enjoy them together.  But the babies had not come, and as the years passed, Will had seemed to accept their childless marriage. 

Their first flush of post-wedding passion had drifted into occasional love-making and  pleasant companionship, and her husband had amused himself instead with hunting and shooting and the details of running their small estate.  Perhaps more aware of time's relentless passage, Will's father the squire had appeared more concerned about the lack of an heir--the next male in the Harris family line was a distant cousin whom the squire detested--and Lauryn herself had felt the guilty burden of her barren state. 

Then Will had been struck down by a sudden illness.  Now, at the age of nine and twenty, Lauryn found herself a widow, doomed to a life of sitting on the sidelines, wearing her widow's weeds and her matron's cap, and watching other young ladies dance--if, indeed, she ever had the chance to attend a ball again, which didn't seem probable.

And now--

A new brightly colored dress, nothing black or gray or even violet. . . a handsome man with eyes only for her. . . a man who made her blood quicken once again, a man who made her feel alive, not in the grave with her poor, struck down too soon young husband. . .

Oh, was she a terrible person to allow such wistful reflections to dwell in the farthest reaches of her mind? 

Despite herself, Lauryn's reflections turned to the scandalous earl of Sutton.  What did he look like, this much talked about lord?  What would it be like, to be the lady he sought out?  For a moment, her pulse quickened, then the fantasy faded.   Turning back to her basket, she picked up the wooden darning egg which she thrust into the heel of her stocking.  She'd better darn that hole, unless she wished for cold feet, as she and licentious earls were most unlikely to meet! 

Hours later when her father-in-law returned at long last, his face appeared gray with fatigue.  He had looked weary before, but this was worse.  His eyes had seemed lifeless ever since Will had died, but now--now, the light inside them had retreated even farther.

Lauryn opened the door to their rooms for him. Observing his slumped shoulders, she swallowed hard.  "Are you all right, sir?"

"I've lost it all, Lauryn.  All.  I'm an old fool."

Her first feeling was one of relief.  Perhaps now he would return to Yorkshire and give up this reckless behavior, drinking too much, gambling with men with deeper pockets.  The squire had never spent so much time in the city before.  Normally, he was content in his own shire, on his own acres, but after losing Will, it seemed as if he could not stand the sight of his own land, not without the son who should have inherited it.

Without an heir. . .  Guilt moved once more inside her, and she tried to push it back.

"Do you have enough left to pay the hotel's charges?  We can return to Yorkshire--"

"You're not attending, child.  There's nothing to go back to."  He rubbed his hand across his face.

"What?"  She felt the first stirring of panic.

The squire's voice shook a little, and she could smell the drink thick on his breath.  That had likely not helped his skill at cards, but she would not remark on it.  It did little good to offer censure after the fact.

"I don't know how I shall pay the hotel, or how we shall eat.   The pot had gotten so large, and I was in so deep--it was all I had left to cover my losses.  I thought with just one more good hand, I might redeem it all--"

He named a figure that made her blanch and reach for the support of the back of a chair to keep her legs from folding.

"And then I lost again.  Now the land is gone, the estate in Yorkshire, and the worst of it is, I don't think the earl even wants it.  He was making jokes about moth-eaten sheep to the rest of the table when I took my leave.  I've already written him out a deed--best to get the thing over with, don't you know--but he'll like as not toss it away or throw it into tonight's card game."

The squire dropped down onto the side of the bed as if his legs would not hold him.  He buried his face in his hands.

She patted his shoulder, but her stomach roiled, and she thought she might be ill.   The squire's land--the land that had been in his family for generations--the land that should have been Will's some day--gone in a game of cards?  The squire wouldn't survive this!

"Who is it--to whom did you lose it?" she asked, when she could make her voice work.  Could she call on some of her brothers-in-law to come together and as a group loan the squire enough to get his land back?  Would his pride endure such a lowering blow?  She doubted she could get his permission to even ask.

"The earl of Sutton," he told her, his tone grim.  "It might as well be the devil himself. . . he has the devil's luck at cards, I can tell you."

Lauryn was glad her father-in-law was lost in his own misery and not watching her face as he lay back on the bed.  She had gone quite rigid.

Sutton?  The notorious rake the hotel maids loved to gossip about?  He was the one who now possessed the Squire's deed and other vowels?  Good heavens!

Was the earl a cruel man?  Had the gossip about him ignored that side of him--was this an aspect she had not realized as she'd painted him in her daydreams?  Or were the eternal card games that the men played just ignorant of all real life outside of the patter of cards and the skill or the luck that determined who came out on top?

And if the Squire had been lost in the deepening circle of his despair, would someone, if not the earl, been bound to have won. . . Should she blame the earl for being the winner or was it just fate?

Yet why should she let the earl off the hook?  She didn't even know the man!  It was the Squire who was suffering, who would suffer. . . .  Was there anything she could do to help?

That land had been in the Harris family for over a hundred  years.  Even though not formally entailed, it was meant to stay in their family.  She had not dreamed of anything else, and she knew the Squire hadn't, either, so she could not think what momentary madness had led him to offer it up as collateral.           

Could Lauryn do anything?  Although Madeline had been the 'little mother,' Lauryn  had always been there to offer help, the gentle middle child who looked out for her younger sisters, who assisted around the house when her mother had died too young, who had made her father smile by being mature beyond her years--it was second nature.

And to be truthful, if aiding the squire now brought her into contact with a handsome, dissolute lord who might bring some excitement into her subdued, even bleak existence--she felt a small thrill deep inside, and she was aware that idea didn't exactly displease her.

Feeling guilty at once, she pushed the feeling back.  She had to think first of the Squire.  She went back to check on him and found him dropping off to sleep.

Lauren pulled a blanket up over her father-in-law as he shut his eyes and fell into a troubled slumber, muttering and tossing about now and then.  She went into the next small room and paced up and down as she tried to think.

Despite the lateness of the hour, she was suddenly wide awake.  She went to the window and opened the pane, leaning out to look and listen.  The street was still busy with carriages returning from evening engagements, many of them elegant carriages, some with crests on their doors.

Lauryn thought of the affluent, perhaps titled personages inside, with their fancy clothes and rich and privileged lives.  That was the existence the earl of Sutton must lead.  What would he want with the Squire's small Yorkshire estate, and how could she convince him to release it?  If she told him how devastated the squire was and why--no, no, it would be unfair to strip away all her father-in-law's dignity.  Plus, if he should find out, he would never forgive her.  

Men were stubborn, as well, about gambling winnings--it could become an affair of honor if she were not careful.  And then both men's hands would be tied as to what they could do.

Sighing, Lauryn rubbed her temples, which all at once threatened to ache.  One would think she must have something of worth to give the earl in return, in order to get the squire's estate back, but imagine what was near impossible.  She looked down at her empty hands.  She had nothing of value to give.   She had no jewelry, except a few trinkets that Will had given her, and they had sentimental value, little else.  She had had no real dowry, her own family was not wealthy.

For some time her thoughts flew from one impractical scheme to another.  And then the obvious answer came to her.

She had only herself. . .

Lauryn blinked.  What about--no, no, that was unthinkable.

Was it?

Jumping up, she ran across to the small looking glass on the wall.  She strained to see her reflection in the faint light now coming from the window as the sun fought to rise over London's horizon, its weak rays pushing valiantly through the haze of coal dust from countless chimneys. 

In her girlhood Lauryn had been called pretty by swains in her shire.  She made out a familiar, pale, heart-shaped face, with large green eyes, delicate features, and long hair of a golden hue with reddish highlights, just now pulled back behind her head.   No longer the girl she had been, but not totally repellant, surely.  Was it enough to satisfy an earl known for his discerning taste in women?  If she went to him and pledged to serve as a--a courtesan, would he engage her?

How did such a woman work?

Her heart dropped.  She had no clothes!  How could one look alluring in faded black mourning gowns?

Still, perhaps she could ask for a wardrobe as one of her terms of engagement, Lauryn told herself.  That would solve the problem quickly.

Was that typical of courtesans?  She wished she knew more of such women.  But really, how could she be expected to?  Ladies were never informed about that side of life.  Lauryn bit her lip.  The earl must not know her background, or he might not retain her--even the notorious earl of Sutton might have some scruples.

She would just have to hope for the best.  She balled her hands into fists, wondering if she had the nerve to carry through with such an outrageous, highly improper scheme. 

If anyone found out, she would be ruined for life.  Still, it wasn't as if she expected to ever have the chance to marry again; she had no money to attract another husband, and she expected her first husband's property, even if they should get it back, would stay with his family line.  It would be different if she had borne him children, but--

What would her father, her sisters, say? 

Perhaps they would not have to know.

Even if the earl agreed to such an arrangement, he would surely tire of her quickly.  She had a dim idea that men like that did, and didn't the maids' gossip bear that out?  Then she could return to her real life.  And courtesans did not go into company with ladies of quality.  Lauryn knew that much!

She would use an assumed name, she would stay away from anyone who knew her, and no one in London did know her, as she had not been out in company, not having the clothes or the money to do so.

And she was not an innocent young thing, virginal and untouched.  She was a married woman, or at least, a widow now, but the main thing was she had experience in the marriage bed.  She would not be shocked, Lauryn told herself, and she could--she hoped--keep him interested for a few weeks, at least, enough to make their bargain valid.

She paced up and down again for several hours, trying to think of possible loopholes, likely weaknesses in her scheme.  Was there any better way to save the squire's home?  She could think of none.

Finally, she stared into the looking glass again and observed the look of determination on her face.  She tucked a few straying locks into place before she picked up her simple bonnet trimmed with black ribbon.

If she were going to do such a thing, she had to do it now before she lost her nerve, Lauryn told herself.  She checked on the squire, who still slept, his breathing heavy with the aftermath of too much drink.

She hesitated for a moment at the door to the hall.  Was she really going to go through with this insane idea?  It was madness.

But a thrill of excitement moved inside her at the thought of living with a handsome lord, of being indiscreet, of kissing and romancing an experienced lover--surely she deserved a few weeks of being wicked after spending most of her life obediently toeing propriety's line.

After Will had died, she had ached for him, and their bed had seemed so painfully lonely.  She had been so agonizingly aware of how much her body had craved a man's touch. . . .

Could she not try life as a bad girl just briefly, just for once?  Surely a man who had sought out so many women must know how to please a lady. . . or any woman at all! 

And it would be for a greater good, if she could retrieve the Squire's land.  She couldn't bring back Will, but she could give his father back his home.

Taking a deep breath, Lauryn headed down the stairs. 

At the bottom of the landing, she almost bumped into the hotel owner's daughter, a quiet, rather shy young woman, who must be a year or two older than Lauryn herself.  They had chatted a few times since Lauryn and the squire had taken up residence here.

"Are you all right, Mrs. Harris?" Miss Mallard asked.

"Yes, I just--I wasn't looking where I was going, forgive me."  Lauryn paused for a moment and gave the other a brief smile.  "I may be going out of town for a time if I--if I get a post with a--ah--noble family.  Would you--could you keep an eye on the Squire for me?  Sometimes he doesn't think about ordering dinner when he gets into a despondent mood. "

"Oh, the poor man misses his son, I'm sure."  Miss Mallard shook her head.  "And it will be worse with you not here.  I will try to make sure he remembers his meals, without being too intrusive.  You take care."

"Thank you," Lauryn told her.  And then, feeling that she had done what she could, she pushed open the outer door and stepped into the courtyard.

---

Sutton was halfway through a stack of letters, most of it business and all of it, sadly, demanding his personal attention, when his butler coughed from the doorway.

It was the--your attention is needed, truly needed, my lord, or I would not interrupt you--cough, so he reluctantly raised his head.

"There is a young lady to see you, my lord.  She says the matter is urgent." 

"At this time of day?"  Sutton knew his tone was skeptical, but most young ladies of the Ton were still abed at nine in the morning, or at the most out riding in Hyde Park, where they could be seen by other fashionable ladies or admired by young sprigs of fashion.

He had been up late himself, playing cards at a smoky gaming hell in a disreputable part of town, but he never indulged himself by sleeping late when he had business to be seen to, and besides, he hoped to leave London by tomorrow.

His half-brother Carter was at the Lincolnshire estate, and if left to himself, was sure to get into trouble. 

And what the hell did she want of him?

"Did you make my excuses?"  The butler was usually good about shielding him from those  kindly souls collecting for good works or from matchmaking mamas foolishly endeavoring to introduce him to giddy daughters.  "I am in no mood for charity seekers."

"I did, my lord, but she is quite--ah--persistent," Parker said, his usually bland expression covering some emotion Sutton could not quite read.

The earl was aware of a flicker of curiosity.

"Very well, show her in, but warn her I have time for only a short interview."  He put the  paper, a ship's bill of lading, back on his desk.

At first glance, the female who entered his study did not seem particularly prepossessing.  Of medium height, dressed in shapeless, drab black garments, her figure was obscured, and beneath a bonnet which had seen better days even before it had developed a fatal droop, her face was hard to make out.

But when, standing, he motioned to a chair in front of his desk, she sat down and loosened the hat, removing it so that he got his first good look at her, his interest quickened.  She had the face of a classical beauty, pale skin and delicate features, with hair of a pale reddish gold.  She met his gaze with her chin up and a defiant intelligence burning in her clear green eyes, and that stirred his curiosity even more.

"How may I help you, Miss--?"

"Smith, Mrs. Smith," she said quickly.  "I--I have come to you seeking employment, my lord."

"Indeed."  He paused, not sure how to go on.  She might be poverty-stricken.  Indeed, she looked it in a genteel kind of way, as a country parson's daughter might, but she was, in her speech and her deportment, also obviously a lady, so how on earth she could expect to serve in his household, he could not think.  She did not mistakenly think he was married with children, and be looking for a post as a governess?  It was about the only situation in which indigent ladies could earn a respectable income.  He opened his mouth to disabuse her of the notion, when she spoke again.

"I realize--I realize this is unexpected, but--but I have need of a position, and I--I have reason to think that you have a vacancy --that is, that is I have heard gossip--I mean, I have heard   comment--"

She stopped again, her face flushing as she seemed to search for words.  She was not looking for a post as governess, he decided.

Fascinated, Sutton gave up trying to guess.  This was too entertaining, even though he knew it was too bad of him to be amused by her discomfort. 

"I wish to obtain a post as--as a courtesan," she blurted.

Sutton knew that his eyes must have bulged.  "What?"

"Yes," she said, looking relieved that the word was out.  "That's it.  I realize I have no recommendations--"

The earl had to hold his breath to keep from whooping--he wanted to laugh so badly he had to ball his fists and stiffen his whole body.  "I see.  That is a problem," he managed to say.

She stared at him anxiously.  "But I do have experience, my lord, and I assure you that you would not regret taking me on."

With a surge of heightened awareness flooding his whole body, he had a sudden image of tipping her over the desk and 'taking her on,' then and there.  He drew a deep breath.

Perhaps she also realized how the term could be construed.  Blushing, she turned her gaze toward the marble surround of the fireplace.

"Indeed," he said, his tone neutral.

Oh, God, he thought, wondering that he had been so bored this morning that he had longed to walk out on the desk full of business and social correspondence.  Now he wanted to roar with laughter  and--and more.  He wanted to tilt up that heart-shaped face and try out those 'experienced' lips and see just how much of a hoax this all was!

What in hell was she playing at?

"And what kind of wages are you expecting, may I ask?" he inquired, his tone very polite.

"Oh, the--the usual," she said, her voice airy.  She waved one hand.  "A--a new wardrobe, of course."

He nodded.  "Of course."  He would burn that black gown she currently wore with absolute pleasure, he thought.  It made her look like a pudding insufficiently cooked.  But her slim hands and the well-shaped ankles he had had a glimpse of when she had sat down suggested that her figure deserved much better.

She glanced at him, as if to gauge his response.  "You may--you may shower me with jewels, if you like," she suggested.

Sutton swallowed another shout of laughter, managing with some effort to keep a straight face.  "I will consider it," he said instead. 

Had she been reading the worst of the scandal sheets?  This must have to do with his recent 'retirement' of his poorly chosen and short-lived --ah--courtesan, as this surprising guest chose to call it;  harpy would have served for his last companion, greedy, scheming, selfish, and untrustworthy were a few other terms that came to mind.

"But the main thing," she went on, and this time he saw the effort it cost her to keep her voice level and her expression calm, "the main thing is--I should like a small estate."

"Really?"  He narrowed his brows, watching her.  "That is quite a costly proposition, Miss--Mrs. Smith."

"It does not have to be close to London," she added quickly.  "So it does not have to be quite so costly, my lord.  In fact, it can be a good deal farther away, perhaps in the North Country, somewhere like Yorkshire. . ."

So that was it, the earl thought grimly.  Had Squire Harris sent this innocent to get back what he'd lost?  If the man had done this in cold blood--what was she, young wife, daughter, what?

His face must have shown his disgust, because the young lady in front of him looked alarmed.  Sutton tried to smooth out his expression.

"Yorkshire, you say?"

Still watching him anxiously, she nodded.

"It seems to me I might have recently won a small estate such as that in a card game.  I will turn out the contents of my pockets and peruse my winnings.  Then I will give some thought to your proposition.  But now it is your turn."

"My turn?"  She stared at him as if he had turned into a bear from the circus.

"I must see a sample of the wares if I am to consider buying," he told her, his tone pleasant and noncommital.  "That is a reasonable request, as you know."

Her eyes widened, and she looked as if she might slide off the chair.  But she pulled herself together quickly.

"Oh, oh, of course, my lord," she stuttered.  "What do you wish me to do?"

"Take off your gown," he ordered.