Page 1 of The Paid Companion

PROLOGUE

ARTHUR

Arthur Lancaster, Earl of St. Merryn, was sitting in front of a crackling fire in his club, drinking a glass of excellent port and reading a newspaper, when he received word that his fiancée had eloped with another man.

“I’m told young Burnley used a ladder to climb up to her window and assist Miss Juliana down to the carriage.” Bennett Fleming lowered his short, sturdy frame into the chair across from Arthur and reached for the bottle of port. “They are headed north, by all accounts. No doubt making for Gretna Green. Juliana’s father has just set out after them, but his coach is old and slow.”

A great hush fell upon the room. All talk stopped. No papers rustled; no glasses moved. It was almost midnight and the club was full. Every man in the vicinity appeared to be frozen in his chair as he strained mightily to eavesdrop on the conversation taking place in front of the fire.

With a sigh, Arthur folded his newspaper, set it aside and took a swallow of his port. He looked toward the window where wind-driven rain beat furiously against the glass panes.

“They’ll be fortunate to get ten miles in this storm,” he said.

As was the case with every other word he spoke that night, the remark became part of the St. Merryn legend.... So cold-blooded that when he was told that his fiancée had run off with another man, he merely commented upon the damp weather.

Bennett hastily downed some of his port and then followed Arthur’s gaze to the window. “Young Burnley and Miss Juliana have an excellent, well-sprung carriage and a strong, fresh team.” He cleared his throat. “It is doubtful that the lady’s father will catch them, but a single man mounted on a good horse might be able to overtake the pair.”

Expectation seethed in the crystalline silence. St. Merryn was indisputably a single man, and it was no secret that his stable housed some extremely prime horseflesh. Everyone waited to see if the earl would elect to pursue the fleeing couple.

Arthur got to his feet in a leisurely manner and picked up the half-empty bottle of port. “Do you know, Bennett, I seem to find myself suffering from the most extreme case of boredom this evening. I believe I will go see if there is anything of interest happening in the card room.”

Bennett’s brows shot up toward his receding hairline. “You never gamble. I can’t even begin to count the number of times that I have heard you claim that it is illogical to wager money on a roll of the dice or a hand of cards.”

“I am feeling unusually lucky tonight.” Arthur started toward the card room.

“Devil take it,” Bennett muttered. Homely features creased in alarm, he climbed to his feet, seized his half-finished glass of port and scrambled to catch up with the earl.

“Do you know,” Arthur said midway across the unnaturally silent room, “it occurs to me that I miscalculated rather badly when I asked Graham for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“Indeed?” Bennett slanted Arthur an uneasy glance, as though examining his companion for indications of a fever.

“Yes. I believe that the next time I set out to find myself a wife, I will approach the project in a more logical manner, just as I would one of my investments.”

Bennett grimaced, aware that their audience was still paying rapt attention to everything Arthur said. “How in blazes do you intend to apply logic to the business of finding a wife?”

“It occurs to me that the qualities that one requires in a wife are not unlike those one would expect in a paid companion.”

Bennett sputtered and coughed on a mouthful of port. “Acompanion?”

“Only consider the matter closely.” There was a clink as Arthur tilted the port bottle over his glass. “The ideal companion is a well-bred and well-educated lady possessed of a sterling reputation, steady nerves, and a meek and modest manner in both her actions and her dress. Are those not the exact specifications one would set down if one were to describe the perfect wife?”

“A paid companion is, by definition, impoverished and alone in the world.”

“Of course she is poor and without resources.” Arthur shrugged. “Why else would she apply for such a humble post?”

“Most gentlemen would prefer a wife who can bring them a fortune or some property,” Bennett pointed out.

“Ah, but that is where I have a great advantage, is it not?” Arthur paused at the door of the card room and surveyed the busy tables. “Not to put too fine a point on it, I am filthy rich and getting richer by the day. I do not require a wealthy wife.”

Bennett halted beside him and reluctantly conceded the point. “True.”

“One of the great things about paid companions is their condition of dire poverty,” Arthur continued. “It makes them suitably grateful for whatever employment is offered, you see.”

“Huh. Hadn’t thought of that.” Bennett swallowed more port and slowly lowered the glass. “I think I am beginning to follow your reasoning.”

“Unlike sheltered, romantic young ladies whose views of love have been sadly warped by Byron and the novels of the Minerva Press, paid companions must, of necessity, be a far more practical lot. They have learned the hard way just how harsh the world can be.”

“No doubt.”