One Night in London by Caroline Linden

Edward was silent for a long moment. “I could sue him for defamation.”
    “He would never print a retraction then,” she said. “He is . . . somewhat stubborn when confronted.” Sloan was an ambitious man who’d worked his way up from nothing to a position of some power. Of course, he’d done it by printing the most scandalous gossip and salacious stories in his gossip sheets, which were consequently in hot demand. If Lord Edward filed a suit, Sloan would react like a caged bear and print everything he could find about the de Laceys, even if he libeled himself right into debtor’s prison. That, Francesca was certain, would help no one, least of all her. “But I believe, because of our acquaintance, he would listen to me.”
    “And you could persuade him to retract this?” He slanted her a dry look. “No doubt he will be reluctant to withdraw such a shocking story.”
    “I can persuade him,” she said, ignoring any whisper of doubt in her mind. If she couldn’t persuade Sloan, she would have nothing to entice Lord Edward into helping her.
    He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the bare, beautiful room. At the window he stopped, feet braced apart and hands clasped behind his back, the newspaper still between his fingers. Only when he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back did Francesca see any sign of tension in him. She had to admire that, given what Sloan had printed in his gossip sheet. She never found it easy to keep such tight rein on her thoughts and feelings; in Lord Edward’s place, she would have broken something by now, most likely.
    “And what service would you ask of me, in thanks for this favor?” he asked after a few minutes, turning his head slightly to ask over his shoulder.
    Francesca took some eager steps forward before catching herself. “I require help with a legal matter. My niece, Georgina, has been living with her stepmother since her father’s death. My sister, her mother, died two years ago. Her father had promised to name me in his will but he did not; there is no legal guardian living. I am godmother to Georgina, and I would like to raise her now that both her parents are gone, but her stepmother refuses to allow me even to see the child, and has moved house without telling anyone where they went. I want to find my niece and have her given into my care.”
    “I am not certain I see how I could help you at all.”
    She sidled a few more steps toward him, but moderately this time. “James Wittiers was the only solicitor who didn’t shake his head in regret or patronize me for being a hysterical female. If you merely help me find another reputable solicitor who will take my case seriously, I would consider it very fair repayment.”
    He half turned, not quite facing her, and cocked his head. “You wish me to interview solicitors for you?”
    “No,” she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly as hope dug its shiny talons into her heart. “I wish you to help me interview solicitors. They have all dismissed a woman alone, of no great standing and no great fortune. I have funds to pay,” she rushed to assure him. “I am not asking for charity. I merely need . . . consequence.”
    He inhaled deeply, still staring fixedly across the room, not toward her. Francesca studied his profile, hardly daring to breathe. He had a firm jaw, which was now tensed tight, and a slight crook to his nose that wasn’t apparent from straight on. Somehow the thought of him fighting and having his nose broken at some point in life made him seem more approachable, more like her and less the exalted son of a duke. He also has a nice mouth, a small part of her noticed. She remembered the way he had smiled at her yesterday, at the end, and thought to herself that he would be a very dangerous man if ever roused to passion. And for some reason she found the image very attractive.
    She stopped her wayward thoughts with a guilty flinch. She wanted his help in her quest to find