The Bachelor Bargain

By Maddison Michaels

Bachelors, beware. For those who keep secrets and prey on the innocent, you will be exposed. And all your dirty little secrets laid bare to one and all…

Lady Olivia Haliford has had enough. Tired of seeing women lose their reputations, futures, and sometimes even their lives to scandal while the men walk free, she is ready to take back power and stand up for women everywhere. Along with her two closest friends, she’s creating an anonymous publication dedicated to dishing the dirt and exposing the secrets of society’s most eligible bachelors. But it means making a deal with the devil...

The Bastard of Baker Street is feared throughout London as the city’s most notorious gambling den owner and undisputed king of the underground. But while Sebastian Colver’s life is filled with darkness and danger, he’s shocked that the petite Lady Olivia seems anything but frightened of him. And he’ll agree to be a silent partner in the publishing of the Gazette—for a price.

Exposing the secrets of the rich and powerful is dangerous. But not nearly as dangerous as the consequences when a lady falls in love with the king of the underground...

Each book in the Secrets, Scandals, and Spies series is STANDALONE:
* The Bachelor Bargain
* The Bachelor Betrayal

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: May 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781682814796

Maddison Michaels

Maddison Michaels writes sexy history with a dash of mystery. She is the bestselling author of over seven novels, including her debut novel THE DEVILISH DUKE which won the 2019 Australian RWA RUBY award for best historical romance! Maddison’s novels are her way of time traveling back to Victorian London to experience a cornucopia of intrigue, romance and debauchery all from the comfort of her living room! She lives in NSW, Australia, with her own handsome hero, her beautiful but cheeky daughter, and her fur babies. Each morning she begins her day with a cup of liquid gold…coffee, of course!

Book preview

I dedicate this book to my mum, who is my greatest supporter and biggest fan!

I love you, Mama.

You really are the best mum a girl could ever have.

Content Warning

The Bachelor Bargain features themes, imagery, and content that may be triggering for some readers. Discussion of physical abuse, rape, suicide, and death appear within the novel. Scenes depicting graphic violence/death also appear. It is my hope that these elements have been handled sensitively, but if they could be considered triggering to you, please take note.

Chapter One

London, April 1885

The pelting rain lashed across Lady Olivia Haliford’s cheeks like the icy hands of death, battering the silent tears already coursing down her face without mercy. She stood there, soaked to the bone, her cloak and bonnet sagging after her parasol had long ago conceded defeat against the deluge, to now hang limply beside her cane.

But Livie was numb to it all. Numb to the cold. Numb to the pain. Numb to everything but the gleaming walnut wood of her friend’s casket as it was slowly lowered into the dark, yawning hole that had been freshly dug into the earth beneath.

Alice was dead. And Livie hadn’t been able to stop it.

She clenched her teeth tightly with the bitter thought. A thought that had been repeating itself over and over in her head since she’d heard the news.

The reverend snapped his bible closed, finishing his eulogy and jolting Livie from her grim musings. She watched, feeling frozen as the reverend nodded to one of the caretakers, who stepped forward and began shoveling some muddy dirt down upon her friend’s coffin.

The sound of the mud hitting the wood beneath was jarring in its finality. This was not a nightmare Livie was going to wake up from, as much as she’d been desperately hoping it was.

A sense of despair began to penetrate her numbness, and for a minute she couldn’t breathe as a tightness gripped her chest, her heart feeling as if it were being squeezed dry.

Instinctively, her fingers clenched even more firmly around the silver handle of her cane. Breathe, Livie, breathe. She inhaled a deep lungful of air, and then another, willing herself to maintain her composure as an overwhelming urge to rage at the heavens threatened to consume her. She mustn’t give in to the compulsion. Not here. Not now. She owed it to Alice to refrain from causing any embarrassment.

Alice, who had already suffered enough and was now lying cold and lifeless in that horrid box. Forever alone… Was this really her friend’s fate? Alice’s penance for being seduced and then discarded by an unknown scoundrel? A predator who had surely already moved on to some other unsuspecting young lady, having suffered no consequences for ruining Alice.

The injustice of it all was overwhelming, and Livie had to force down the fury trying to bubble to the surface. It was completely unacceptable. Someone had to do something, to stop such a thing from occurring again.

The fiend, whoever he was, had to be exposed and justice served.

Livie glanced first to her right and then her left. Her two best friends, Lady Kaitlyn Montrose and Miss Henrietta Merriweather, stood silently beside her. The expressions on their rain-streaked faces surely mirrored Livie’s own; equal masks of rage and despair.

This situation is completely intolerable, Livie whispered, loud enough for only her two friends to hear. We must seek justice for Alice.

I agree. It was Kat who spoke, her jade-green eyes flashing dangerously in the fading afternoon light, almost as wild as the wet strands of the flaming red of her hair peeking out from her bonnet, plastered against the sides of her face. We cannot let this go unanswered. Alice must be avenged and the man responsible made to pay.

Kat was the fiercest lady Livie had ever met, without exception, caused no doubt by her friend’s rather unusual upbringing. She had been raised by an uncle who had extremely liberal views when it came to women and what they should or should not be taught. As he was one of Britain’s most elite spymasters, he also believed Kat should be taught all he knew, regardless of the fact that she was female.

But Kat’s uncle was dead, murdered by an assassin not six months past, though the authorities had encouraged the rumor it had been a footpad who had stabbed the earl. But for those who’d known the man’s skills and clandestine occupation, the idea was ludicrous.

Not that such a thing was common knowledge—far from it, in fact. But the three girls, once four when Alice had been alive, were the best of friends and knew one another’s secrets well.

After her uncle’s assassination last year, Kat was also on a mission to find his killer, and she had control of her uncle’s extensive network of informants to do so. Livie assumed it would be only a matter of when the assassin was found, not if. And then, God help the fiend. But in the meantime, Livie knew how they could make excellent use of those informants to seek justice for Alice.

What do you propose we do? Henrietta asked, her warm chocolate-brown eyes fixed firmly on the grave. Etta was the only one of their group not born into the aristocracy, but Livie thought that was a blessing, even though the girl’s father obviously disagreed, throwing around a fortune to try to rectify the situation, much to Etta’s disgust.

I propose we find the bastard who seduced and ruined Alice, Livie answered. And then we ruin him in turn.

We shall not simply ruin him; we shall destroy him, Kat added, her words mirroring Livie’s own thoughts.

"What exactly do you mean by destroy? Etta glanced first at Kat and then over to Livie, a look of concern in her gaze. You do mean take revenge upon him, rather than physically destroying him, don’t you?"

For a moment, there was a grim darkness in Kat’s eyes that made Livie pause, but then Kat shook her head and the expression fled.

As long as he is made to pay for his actions, Kat continued, then such an extreme measure shouldn’t be necessary. Though he must be made to pay, for if it wasn’t for his actions, Alice would never have jumped from that tower and—

Careful, Kat, Livie said, glancing around, but the mourners had already mostly dispersed, heading for the afternoon tea that Alice’s sister, the Countess of Chilton, was hosting after the funeral. There’s speculation enough surrounding Alice’s death.

Though the authorities may have ruled it an accident, we all know what her death truly was. Kat’s voice was flat. A suicide.

Well, we don’t actually know that for certain. Etta spoke up before biting her lower lip in the usual manner she did when upset. Just because that is the current whispered rumor…for all we know, it could well have been an accident. It was raining that night; perhaps in Alice’s distressed state, she wandered too close to the edge of the roof and slipped?

Livie had thought of nothing else for the past several days, other than what the last terrifying moments of Alice’s life had been like. To first be seduced and abandoned by a scoundrel and then to fall to her death was heinous, but one thing of which Livie was certain, was that it was neither an accident nor a suicide.

In truth, Livie believed Alice had been murdered.

Especially after receiving a letter from Alice on the day of her death, where Alice had alluded to moving to the Americas and making a fresh start of everything. Alice had seemed positive and upbeat, certainly not like someone contemplating taking her own life.

Though Livie was not prepared to share the letter or her suspicions of Alice being murdered with her friends just yet, at least not until she had more definitive proof.

All three of the ladies fell into silence for a moment as they watched more dirt being flung into the grave.

I feel absolutely wretched she didn’t come and talk to us about it, Etta mumbled, fresh tears streaming down her face. I was too busy with my writing that I neglected to even notice something was amiss.

We all feel guilty, Etta. Livie placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder and drew in a shaky breath, for it was true. The four of them had been the very best of friends since meeting at the finishing school they’d all been sent to when they were younger. But in the last few years, they’d each become so busy with their own lives, they hadn’t stayed in as much contact as they’d all vowed they would. We were too late to do anything while she was alive, but we will not rest until we ensure that the scoundrel who ruined Alice is uncovered and punished for his actions. We will stop him and expose him before he’s able to seduce another young lady and destroy her life as he did Alice’s.

For too long, Livie had retreated as far as she could from Society, burying her head in books, unwilling to face the taunts and cruelty from her peers and the veiled glances of sympathy and intolerance that her limp seemed to illicit, even after all these years. Well, she was done caring about what others thought. If she’d been braver sooner, she would have noticed what was happening to Alice and she would have been able to help her.

But how are we to seek justice when we don’t even know who the man is? Etta asked, swiping away some of the tears still tracking down her cheeks.

We must discover his identity, Livie replied, raising her eyes directly to Kat.

Kat’s green gaze narrowed in understanding and she nodded. I will get my informants to begin making inquiries immediately.

Thank you, Livie said. Though I don’t wish to take away any of your resources in trying to discover who the assassin was who killed your uncle.

There are more than enough informants in my—in Victor’s network to reallocate some toward finding the bastard responsible for Alice’s demise. Kat’s voice brooked no argument as she straightened her shoulders to stand tall, her five-foot-nine inches towering next to both Etta’s and Livie’s rather average statures. Though it would assist if we had a short list of suspects to start with.

I will meet with Lady Chilton and see what I can discover, Livie said, her eyes straying to the far side of the cemetery where Alice’s sister was seeing off the various mourners and presumably thanking them for attending.

Good, Kat replied. Once we have a list, we can discover who the scoundrel is, and all of his dirty little secrets.

But then what? Etta asked. How will we stop him from ruining another young lady?

Livie adjusted her left leg, trying to ease the slight cramp that had gripped it, before standing straighter herself. We will ruin him, just as he ruined Alice. We shall reveal his secrets to the world. And if he did kill Alice, then he would spend the rest of his life in a rat-infested prison.

But why would Society listen to us? Etta asked. You know we’re considered oddities.

What Etta said was true. Even though Livie was the daughter of a duke, in the eyes of Society, her lame leg made her disabled and considered definitely not marriageable material. If it weren’t for her father’s position, or for her godmother’s iron influence on Society, Livie would have never been tolerated. And though Kat was the daughter and niece of earls, her lack of artifice and her bluntness had marked her as someone to be wary of, hence why no one would dare cut either of them.

Then there was Etta. Etta, whose father owned the largest newspaper in all of England. A man who none would dare slight for fear of being shredded to pieces in the pages of his paper. So Etta, like Livie and Kat, was acknowledged but never properly accepted, seemingly always on the periphery.

Probably why they’d been drawn to one another at school, for none of them had fit into what Society considered normal. So no, their peers probably wouldn’t listen if they began to speak the truth about a gentleman, especially as each of them was considered firmly on the shelf.

But Society would listen if those truths were printed by an anonymous source. After all, there was nothing Society loved better than gossip. And gossip in the form of scandal would be zealously consumed.

Livie glanced at both women. We are going to enter the publishing arena, my friends, and start an anonymous monthly gazette, dedicated to exposing the nefarious bachelors of Society and all their dirty little secrets.

Oh Livie, gasped Etta, her eyes twinkling in delight. That is brilliant! Society will flock to it like a moth to a flame. And it will make those no-good bounders think twice before ruining another young lady.

It certainly will. Kat nodded in agreement.

The gazette will have one mission and one mission only. Livie took a breath as the idea solidified in her head. To expose the men in Society who seek to deceive and exploit those weaker than themselves. We will ensure all their secrets and scandals are aired for one and all to read about in detail. For too long, the bachelors in Society have been able to get away with seducing and ruining ladies at their leisure, with no consequences. Well, no longer. Let us give them a dose of their own medicine. We will seek justice not only for Alice but for all those women who have been used and discarded like rag dolls.

A slow smile spread across Kat’s face, a rare occurrence on her friend’s more-often-than-not serious countenance. The gentlemen in Society didn’t call Kat the Ice Maiden for nothing.

You’re a genius, Livie, Kat said.

Livie’s lips twisted up as the idea took shape. Indeed. There will be nowhere they can hide. Nowhere they can run. When we’re finished with them, they’ll not dare show their faces in Society again.

Justice for Alice, Etta seconded. But what about the cost of starting such an endeavor? Though Etta was the writer in the group, she was also the most practical of the three of them, especially when it came to finances. Even a small gazette will take a lot of capital to start up. Considering none of us has any independent funds apart from our pin money, which certainly won’t be enough to start up a publishing endeavor, how will we afford it?

Taking in a deep breath, Livie glanced to the grave again and made up her mind. She’d known it would cost a lot to implement her idea, but she also knew of a potential source who had ample funds to assist them. An extremely dangerous source. But seeing Alice’s coffin solidified in her mind that something had to be done to seek justice for her friend. Whatever it took. Leave it to me. I know who has the blunt and the temerity to invest in such an endeavor. I need only convince him.

Who are you going to approach? Kat asked.

Livie straightened her shoulders. She’d never kept secrets from her friends before, and now she would be keeping two from them. But even Kat herself, who was the most unconventional woman Livie knew and could amply protect herself from threats, would think twice before approaching a man some called the most dangerous in all of London. Please don’t ask me that, for it is a name I cannot reveal just yet. I’m asking you both to trust me. Please.

Of course we trust you, Livie, Kat replied, her eyes narrowing, whether in concern or misgivings, Livie wasn’t certain. But you do tend to believe the best in others when you probably shouldn’t. And to be honest, I can’t think of a single gentleman who would be happy to fund a gazette solely focused on destroying the reputations of other gentlemen.

Trust me. That will not be a problem. Because the man Livie intended to ask was no gentleman at all. No.

The Bastard of Baker Street was said to hail from the devil himself.

Chapter Two

London, May 1885

Sebastian Colver, the Bastard of Baker Street, or the King of the Rookeries, depending on who you asked, carefully folded up the note before he strode back to his desk and placed it on the polished mahogany surface. He was deliberate to maintain his usual air of outward nonchalance, even though the two men seated in the chairs across from his desk were men he trusted.

Well, as trusted as Seb would ever allow anyone to be. Life had taught him the hard way that one could never fully trust anyone.

So, as usual, he kept his thoughts to himself and sat in his brown leather upholstered chair, even though inwardly his curiosity had been stirred greatly by the letter. A rare occurrence nowadays, especially after all Seb had seen and done. But this woman, who would clearly not take no for an answer as she’d plainly enunciated in her latest letter, was certainly rousing it. Greatly.

It had been a long time since anyone had dared question his decisions. He didn’t know if this Lady Olivia was daft or simply as stubborn as a mule. Perhaps both.

He leaned back against the comfortable padding that had been sewn into his custom-made chair and glanced to both of his men, determined to get his mind back to business instead of the persistent woman. How are we going with the Bunkerton deal? Seb looked to Lance Trantor, his second in charge, and a man more like a brother to him than simply a childhood friend and employee.

The owner is trying to play hardball, but he’ll sign the contract later today, of that I have no doubt, Lance answered, confidence radiating from his gaze. You will own Bunkerton’s shares in his railroad before nightfall.

Good. And what about you, Rowan? Seb glanced over to the younger man seated next to Lance, his head buried in an accounts ledger. Are we on track for the Fullerton Hotel buyout?

The numbers are good, Rowan Drake spoke without looking up, his pencil flying across the page as he continued to tally figures. And I’ve sent the contract over to the solicitor for a last check. His hand paused on the page and he raised his eyes briefly to Seb’s. Pending that, I imagine you’ll add it to your growing portfolio of hotels by the end of the week.

The news didn’t fill Seb with the usual sense of satisfaction it once would have, which was disconcerting, particularly as his business empire was what he lived for, or at least it had been. Has there been any more trouble on the wharfs?

Seb was talking about a new gang that had recently popped up in the Rookeries, who called themselves the Lads of Leybrook Lane, and had caused a bit of trouble for his men. Nothing they all weren’t used to. After all, when there were those who had power as Seb did, there were always others who tried to take that power. Not that Seb had any intention of allowing anyone to do so.

Nothing our men can’t handle, Lance answered.

Seb had anticipated as much, though it was best to stamp out the issue before it became a real problem. And have our informants discovered the leader’s identity yet?

Lance’s jaw tensed as he leaned forward in his chair, his hands fisting by his sides. Not yet, but when I find out who the wretch is, I promise you I’ll personally ensure his body never surfaces from the Thames.

His friend had always been particularly protective over their territory in the Rookeries and took it as a personal affront that any man would dare try to usurp Seb’s, and by proxy, Lance’s authority.

And though this new gang was more of a bother than a true threat, they did seem to be more organized and zealous than others he had quashed in the past. Which was why Seb had tasked Lance with discovering the leader’s identity, a fact that was so far proving rather elusive to uncover and was obviously frustrating Lance to no end.

Well, when you do find out his name, consult with me first before doing anything. Understood? Seb stared steadily at Lance until he reluctantly nodded.

I will, but you know a strong message will have to be sent to deter others from following suit, Lance replied. You can’t treat such a threat within the bounds of the law as you are now trying to do with your businesses.

I know. And Seb did. For as much as he had made the company and all of his businesses as legitimate as he could, there were still unavoidable aspects of his businesses that couldn’t be masked behind the doors of supposed respectability. He was still the King of the Rookeries, and he still had to maintain order in his streets. And the only real way of doing so was with force and fear, a fact Seb had learned well over the years.

His response seemed to placate Lance, who sat back, releasing his clenched fists as his eyes darted over to the folded note on Seb’s desk. Is the lady still demanding an audience with you? There was a note of unbridled curiosity in his friend’s voice.

Lance was nothing if not nosy about Seb’s life, and especially perceptive. Only to be expected after they’d grown up together on the streets, each having the other’s back in many precarious situations over the years.

Yes, Seb confirmed.

A tenacious little thing, isn’t she? Lance’s mouth twitched up at the corners. Isn’t that the fifth letter she’s sent you this past fortnight?

The sixth actually, Seb replied, careful to maintain a bland face. As much as he trusted Lance, Seb didn’t want him to realize just how curious this lady was making him. I didn’t know you were keeping track.

Lance shrugged. "When has a real lady ever sent you a letter, let alone persisted in doing so, all in an effort to meet with you? I’m intrigued, to be honest."

So was Seb, but he stayed silent.

Why don’t you just agree to see her? Lance suggested. If she wants to risk her reputation by meeting with you, then who cares? It’s her own good name on the line, after all, not yours.

He’s too busy to deal with some bored Society miss who won’t take no for an answer. Rowan spoke, leaving his head still firmly buried in the accounts book as he continued with his task. Besides, the lady’s brother is one of Seb’s partners in an investment, so he won’t wish to jeopardize that, no matter how curious he might be.

Rowan’s ability to add numbers and still follow a conversation was a trait that continually impressed him, and had since Seb had rescued Rowan from the streets when the boy was only ten years old. Even then it had been readily apparent that Rowan was an intelligent lad, which was why Seb had taught him to read and write. And in doing so, recognized the boy had a gift for numbers.

A gift Seb had made great use of, with Rowan now in charge of overseeing the account portfolios of Seb’s numerous investments and business endeavors. And considering Rowan was only twenty-six, having the Bastard of Baker Street’s confidence in matters of finance was a feat no one else had achieved. Even Lance, who Seb had known for twenty-five years, since they were boys of eight, wasn’t privy to Seb’s accounts.

A fact which had been a bone of contention initially, as Lance had been Seb’s right-hand man since Seb had become the leader of the Baker Street Boys gang when they were fourteen. But, eventually, Lance had come to accept Rowan’s gifts, especially as using them had almost immediately increased profits in the organization tens of times over, which benefited Lance, too, after Seb had turned the organization legitimate and listed his company on the London Stock Exchange, making them all a fortune in the process.

I did do a little bit of digging on the lady, though, as you asked, Seb, Rowan said, pausing in his calculations.

Ha! I knew it, Lance crowed with a pointed look at Seb. You are as curious about the chit as I am. His attention turned back to Rowan. What did you discover?

Not a great deal, apart from the fact that she has a limp and walks with a cane, and is the youngest spinster daughter of the Duke of Beresford. Rowan pushed his glasses up farther on his nose and frowned. She has three older brothers who would practically murder anyone if they dared to make fun of her for her ailment, the eldest brother being the one Seb already has a business deal with. Oh and her godmother is the Duchess of Calder, an apparent ogre in Society whom none dare offend.

What about her looks? Lance asked. My informants have not assisted with such information.

Your informants? Seb raised a brow.

Lance winked. As I said, you’re not the only one curious about the lady.

No, nothing about her looks, Rowan answered. Though one can assume she must not be right in the head for wanting an audience with Seb.

Laughter burst out of Lance at Rowan’s statement, while Seb simply shook his head. His friends clearly thought it highly amusing that a lady would seek him out.

I mean, seriously, Rowan continued, what ruddy duke’s daughter wants to meet with Seb? Clearly, she’s not of sound mind.

You think only a mentally unstable woman would wish to associate with me? Seb asked, even though that very thought had crossed his own mind, regardless that the woman didn’t sound unstable in her letters; quite the opposite actually.

Rowan nodded. "She’s not just any woman, though, is she? She’s a duke’s daughter. Besides, if she’s heard only even a quarter of what has been bandied around about the stuff you’ve done in your time, she’d never approach you. And there isn’t a person in London who hasn’t heard of you. Even a duke’s daughter would have paid attention to some of the rumors, so the fact she’s still pressing to meet with you even after you’ve ignored her requests does make me question her sanity."

But that’s the thing, isn’t it, Lance chipped in. She’s a duke’s daughter. She would have been spoiled and pampered all her life, without ever being told no before. Mark my words, she’s only miffed Seb is ignoring her, and if she ever did meet you, she’d be scared shitless. Of that, I’d lay a wager on.

Seb stood and strolled back to the windows overlooking Baker Street. The woman who’d penned those letters to him requesting a meeting was no scared wallflower, even if she was perhaps foolhardy.

Haphazardly, he glanced down at the passing carts and trams in the street below. London was always so busy, with nary a quiet moment. Usually, it invigorated him, but lately it was leaving him feeling somewhat caged in. I’m thinking of meeting her.

What? Lance sounded baffled. Even after you’ve repeatedly said you wouldn’t? You never normally change your mind. Rowan’s right, you must indeed be bored.

Bored but also curious, Rowan stated, unsurprised. After all, how often does a duke’s daughter make contact with someone from the Rookeries, let alone the king of ’em?

Rowan was right. And the more tenacious the lady got in her requests, the more Seb’s interest was stirred.

Well, perhaps she is daft, but I still reckon she’d run for the hills if she ever met Seb. Anyhow, it’s time I head off and get to work, Lance declared as he stood and wandered over to the office door. Lots of gentlemen needing encouragement to gamble away their fortunes, after all.

Seb turned from the window and glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was already five, which meant the night was fast approaching, and the night meant money for most of their business endeavors, a fact Lance always took seriously, unlike his other frivolous pursuits of ladies and liquor. Which was why Seb had placed him in charge of the overall running of Seb’s gambling and gentlemen’s clubs, along with ensuring that Seb’s other business endeavors within London’s underworld were running smoothly. Lance could be trusted to get a job done, and done to Seb’s liking.

What are you willing to wager? Seb asked as Lance pulled open the door to the office.

Wager? Lance stopped in front of the now open entrance and spun back to face him.

Yes, a wager. You think Lady Olivia will be scared upon meeting me and flee, whereas I think the lady is made of sturdier stuff.

Lance paused for a moment, his face lighting up with a grin. "You know I’m always up for a good wager. I’ll put down twenty pounds that as soon as this Lady Olivia claps sight of you, she won’t just be scared of you, she’ll hobble for the hills with that limp of hers, scared shitless of you."

I do hate to disappoint you, the velvety smooth voice of a woman spoke from behind Lance, her crisp upper-class accent sending a shaft of awareness through Seb, placing all his senses on alert. However, I have no intention of hobbling away scared of anyone.

Lance spun around to the side, giving Seb a clear view of the doorway.

Seb swore under his breath. There, standing at the entrance to his office, stood a bloody angel. An angel dressed all in black, who had obviously been waiting in his outer rooms. She’d gotten past his clerk, Clint Kofsson, with the lad himself standing behind her, wringing his hands in distress.

He’d have to have a word with Clint later and remind him not to let anyone, even a woman as clearly striking as this one, get the best of him. Though, for a moment, Seb could understand the lad’s acquiescence, as he’d never seen a more compelling face than hers. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but there was something about her high cheekbones and creamy porcelain skin, along with the determined set of her chin, that gave her character.

And her eyes. Good Lord, they were sparkling crystal blue, clear across the room, and he was certain he could drown in the depths of them.

He was intrigued in spite of himself. But it wasn’t just her looks that had him fascinated. No, there was a keen intelligence and purpose radiating from her that was compelling. And, rather than taking offense at Lance’s words, there was instead wry amusement dancing in her gaze. An unusual woman to say the least.

I’ve come to see Mr. Colver, the woman continued, and I have no intention of leaving until I do so. Now, which of the three of you is he?

She deliberately walked into the room, her cane leading the way, a limp definitely noticeable as she strode past Lance to stand in the center of the space a few feet from Rowan, her gaze scanning the three of them.

He supposed some men would be put off by her gait, with her body swaying slightly to the right as she balanced her weight away from her bad leg. But there was certainly nothing haggish about the lady. She wielded her cane like an adept swordsman—effortlessly and as if the cane were connected to her.

Seb unconsciously found himself taking in a deep breath, aware of her as he hadn’t been of anyone in a long time. She was wearing a tailored black bodice and black dress that molded her curves to perfection, though gave her the definite appearance of a widow. Her golden blond hair was artfully piled high on her head, with a black bonnet perched jauntily atop, and small ringlets cascading down to frame her heart-shaped face.

If this was Lady Olivia, which he highly suspected it was, she was going to be trouble with a capital T.

Seb knew it all the way to his bloody toes.

Goddamnit.

Chapter Three

Livie stood at the threshold of what many called the devil’s den, eyeing the three men, who all appeared like intimidating Vikings as they stood towering around her, a decided lack of amusement on each of their expressions.

They were probably unused to being visited by a lady at a place of business, particularly when the owner of the business and the building was Sebastian Colver, a man with a reputation of destroying any who came into his path.

But which of the three in this rather spacious and grandiose office was the notorious Mr.