"Perfect," she declared, congratulating herself for achieving precisely what she'd intended, when a moment earlier it had seemed as if her entire plan was about to explode in her face.
How much time did she have?
Squinting, she tried to focus on the clock on the mantel. "What time is it?"
"Half after ten. What the hell do you mean, 'perfect'? Perfect for what? What did you think you were doing down there just now?"
She sighed, lifting the cool pil
low and pressing her cheek against it to still the throbbing in her head. "Staging my own ruin. At least what others would assume to be my ruin. Although, had you not come along, I fear my downfall would have been fact rather than fabrication. For which I'm extraordinarily grateful." She massaged her temples. "The situation was looking quite grim. Now, thanks to your intervention my scheme will succeed. Any moment now."
Aurora watched as Merlin pulled a chair alongside the bed and straddled it. He was sinfully handsome, she noted. That was an indisputable fact—foxed though she might be. True, his good looks weren't the classic kind Lord Guillford had, nor even the chiseled kind Slayde boasted. Rather, Merlin was handsome in a darkly alluring way that hinted at danger, open seas, freedom, and adventure—the kind of life she yearned for and couldn't begin to fathom. His powerful build, clad in an open-necked shirt and breeches, defied convention; his black hair, rumpled and longer than fashion dictated, swept his forehead in harsh, rebellious lines. His eyes, those fiery chips of topaz, were turbulent, alive, exciting. He looked like a pagan god-wicked, seductive—ideal for convincing the ton that she was in fact a fallen woman.
"Merlin," she murmured. "How unusual. Is it your given name or your surname?"
"Neither. 'Tis an acquired name."
"Ah. Then you're as brilliant as Arthur's advisor?"
"No. I'm as formidable as a falcon."
"The merlin?" Aurora inclined her head, puzzled. "But he's one of the smallest falcons. And 'small' is hardly a term I'd use to describe you."
"Agreed. But the merlin is also swift, unerring, and deceptively nonthreatening. All of which describe me perfectly." With that, Merlin leaned forward. "You said you were staging your own ruin. Or what others would assume to be your ruin. Why? Or should I say, for whom?"
"For the benefit of a kind, charming, and incredibly conventional man," she supplied. "However, that needn't concern you. All you need to do is sit there. Well, perhaps not just sit there." Frowning, Aurora tossed masses of tumbled hair from her face. "I suppose the two of us should look a bit more compromising than two friends sharing coffee. Perhaps an embrace? Not until the dowager arrives, of course. Until then we can just chat. In any case, I'll pay you handsomely for what will amount to no more than an hour's work…"
One dark brow rose. "Pay me? For staging your ruin?"
"Exactly."
"How much?"
Aurora propped herself on one elbow, groping in her pocket. "A hundred pounds."
"A hundred pounds?" he repeated.
She heard the incredulous note in his voice and interpreted it as scoffing. Swiftly she reacted, reaching out and gripping his wrist to stay his flight. "Please don't go. I originally intended to offer two hundred pounds. But the remaining funds were in my brother's study. And I couldn't snatch them without being spied." She searched Merlin's face. "I'll owe you the other hundred pounds. I'm honest; I promise you that. We'll arrange a time and place to meet, at which time I'll pay you the rest. Only please—don't leave."
His gaze fell to her fingers, although he made no move to pry them from his wrist. "Two hundred pounds—a lavish sum. Tell me, Rory, who is this man for whom you want to be ruined?"
"My prospective husband. You see, I'm being forced to marry him. The only way I can free myself from the betrothal is to compromise myself."
Merlin's lips twitched. "I take it your conventional groom-to-be expects an untouched bride?"
"Absolutely."
"And I also assume that to complete this facade you've arranged for us to be discovered?" He awaited Aurora's nod. "By whom? Your father or the bridegroom himself?"
"Neither. By the biggest gossip in Devonshire. In fact…"
Aurora was interrupted by a knock.
"Is that she?" Merlin inquired, calmly remaining in his seat.
"No. 'Tis too soon."
"Then it's probably our coffee." He rose. "I'll get it. You're in no shape to stand up, much less walk." He crossed over and opened the door.