The Bachelor Trap Read Free Page B

look. His eyes reflected nothing but polite interest.
    Sometimes she didn’t know what to make of this man. He’d appeared on Fanny’s doorstep the day after they arrived in London. It turned out that he and Reggie, Fanny’s husband, were good friends; they attended the same clubs and shared an interest in politics. Reggie was the member of Parliament for a riding in north London. In fact, Reggie was hopeful of persuading Mr. Hamilton to become a candidate in the next by-election. Mr. Hamilton, he said, had risen from humble beginnings to become, at the age of thirty-three, the owner of a fleet of newspapers stretching from London to all the major cities in the south. Fanny was more explicit. Mr. Hamilton, she said, was the son of a duke but born on the wrong side of the blanket. Both she and Reggie agreed that with his ambition and influence, Mr. Hamilton could go far in politics.
    There was, however, more to Hamilton’s visits than friendship with her relatives. He’d called on them, he said, because he’d once lived in Longbury and had known their aunt quite well. She thought he must have known her aunt very well indeed, for he never referred to her as Miss Gunn, but by her Christian name, Edwina.
    At any rate, he’d taken a proprietary interest in Edwina’s nieces, and gone out of his way to make sure that they enjoyed their first Season in London. But there was no getting round the fact that he was a newspaperman. He was naturally curious, and that made her cautious.
    When the carriage pulled up outside the house, Hamilton got out first, then turned back with outstretched arms. “I’ll carry you,” he said.
    Marion balked at the thought of him putting his arms around her, not because she was missish but because she was fiercely independent and quite capable of taking care of herself. Then she remembered that she’d fainted and he must have carried her into the carriage. Too late now to assert herself.
    â€œMarion,” he said, gravely patient, “you’re not wearing shoes. We had to remove them so that I could examine your toes.”
    â€œI have them right here,” Emily piped up.
    â€œDo you want to walk into the house in your stockinged feet?”
    Her smile was a little tight, but she gave in gracefully. As he held her high against his chest, Emily ran to pull the bell. Since Hamilton was watching the door, Marion took a moment to study him. His features were too harshly carved to be truly classical, and his brilliant blue eyes were sometimes a little too intense for her comfort. Luxurious brown hair brushed his collar, and the thin silver scar that sliced one eyebrow lent an air of recklessness.
    It was the scar that fascinated her. She knew that he’d come by it when he’d challenged a celebrated French swordsman to a duel. Hamilton was a shrewd man of business; he commanded respect and admiration. So why would a man like that risk everything in a duel?
    â€œI hope you like what you see.”
    She’d been caught out staring. At the sound of his voice, she jerked her gaze from his scar. Never at a loss for words, she said coolly, “You were lucky not to have lost an eye.”
    White teeth gleamed in the lamplight. “True, but that is not what you were thinking, Marion.”
    The front door was opened by the butler, and Marion was saved the indignity of appearing speechless as Hamilton climbed the stairs.

Brand Hamilton took too much upon himself. This was Marion’s thought as she assessed the distance between her bed and the dresser. On top of the dresser was her evening pochette, the one she’d had at the theater. She couldn’t remember dropping it, though she supposed she must have when she fell. A maid had brought it in when the doctor arrived, and from that moment on, she could hardly keep her eyes from straying to it. The accident at the theater did not seem nearly so innocent now, and she could not