SURELY, THE heavens must be playing with her!

What bloody good luck. The voice echoed around Angela's head while a rapid thought came to her: she could not appear stupid in front of this man.

And so, she tried to put aside her surprise and remained seated.

She had to admit with internal shame that she had imagined many ways to interact with him if she ever came across him again. She even reimagined and revised their encounter in the garden! But none of those prepared her for this surprise.

"Your bed is what?" she heard herself ask. It was not the best greeting, but it was an effective distraction. While waiting for him to recover, she used the time to gather her wits.

The anger in his eyes diminished, replaced by plain surprise as he eyed her up and down. "We can discuss my bed later."

She did not understand what he meant and cared very little to know. Her concern was her throat. It was too dry. "You are Mr Stark," she managed.

He blinked, the initial surprise now replaced by amused ambiguity. "And you are the lady with the wooden soles," he said, walking into the room. Eyes never leaving her face, he shut the door closed on the club manager who was about to say something. "Good Lord, you are indeed a magnificent view in full light."

That is unexpected, Angela thought. This conversation was not mirroring any of the ones she had imagined.

A deep chuckle vibrated from his throat. Angela thought it sounded pleasant. His sapphire eyes bore into hers as he expertly, without looking, settled behind his table. "Were you following me, madam?"

She blinked, realizing something. "That is why you were in the garden. You were curious about their conversation," she stated. "Has Lady Margaret acquired your services?"

The smile on his face remained, but the glimmer in his eyes was fading. "I do not divulge my business transactions with just anyone." He folded his hand under his chin. "Who are you?" he asked, eyes traveling from her eyes down to her mouth, and even lower.

She had heard stories from Millie, her maid, that there were men bold enough to stare at women in such vulgar ways. The best way to handle them, as Millie said, was to make them feel unimportant.

Her ears were burning, but she did not blink, nor flinch. "Did your manager not tell you?"

"No, he made me believe I will be facing an unwelcome lover."

He was too blunt. She should not, but she liked it. "Well, fortunately for you, I am neither." When he frowned at her last word, she elaborated, "I'm not a lover. Nor was I unwelcomed."

"My manager claims otherwise."

"I was reluctantly welcomed, then."

"This is a gentleman's club, madam."

"Yes, I'm very much aware." She looked around his small office. Not a window in sight; all paneled walls and a good number of books. "I prefer that we avoid tedious small talks. May I proceed with my business?"

His brows rose. She could tell from the way he was smiling at her that he would reject her. She was only here this long because he was choosing to prolong her stay for whatever reason.

"As you may know, I have become aware of your club's special and discreet services in the Averly Ball—at the garden," she added the last three words with emphasis out of habit because she knew that her thoughts and spoken words did not always have the best relationship now and then. Also, she was too aware of his intense attention on her, and it was making her more uncomfortable to formulate the correct sentences. For assurance, she added, "The garden where Lady Margaret and her friends were gossiping about—"

"I know what you're trying to say, madam. Go on," he interjected with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you," she curtly replied. "I want you to find my friend a match." And then she belatedly added, "He is a man." He only blinked. "I wish to find a woman for him."

His eyes filled with amusement. "Is this friend of yours a member of Stark's?"

She searched her memory. "He's a member of three clubs. I believe Stark's is one of them."

"And what's his name?"

"More information shall be divulged upon your acceptance of my offer."

He assessed her with mirth. Did he find her ridiculous? Did he think she was jesting? "And why would I do that?"

"I'll pay you, of course, for your professional service."

"No, I mean, why do you want to find your friend a match?"

She blinked. "Is it a piece of information that might convince you to agree to my request?"

The corner of his lips curled even more. He had fresh bristles. She liked that as well. "Perhaps," he replied.

She considered her answer. Tedious but necessary, she thought. "I learned that he intends to propose to me."

His smile disappeared, and he blinked. "Then I see no problem."

"I do not want him as a husband."

"Ah, now I see your problem."

"Well?" she asked, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. "Will you accept my offer?"

"How will you pay for my services?"

"With my own money, of course. I receive enough allowance."

His brow arched high in doubt.

Does this fool think I cannot afford it?

Then she remembered that he did not know who she was. Did his manager not tell him?

Angela could laugh at his expression, but who could blame him? She was amongst those whose name but not their face was familiar to many.

"I can pay you handsomely, given that you make a successful match between my friend and a lady that fits the standard of a good wife. She must be rich and have good standing in society, of course."

He scratched his slightly crooked nose and said, "No."

As expected, she thought.

Angela nodded and stood. She pursed her lips as she faced him. "Very well, good day."

His surprised and amused laughter brought her to a stop. She twisted her head to the side and found him looking at her while shaking his head. "Good Lord, woman, you truly know how to play your game."

"I do not know what you mean. You refused my offer. I am leaving to find the same service elsewhere as I have no time to waste. Did you expect me to beg?"

"No, but I expect you to tell me who you are." The amusement was no longer there. He was now eyeing her with suspicion, and that was the baffling part. Why would he?

"If you talked with your manager, you should know by now," she said. "Quite incompetent of him to have not told you my name."

His eyes studied her from head to foot. His voice was almost scornful when he spoke. "Who are you, really? What do you want?"

"I told you what I want."

He scoffed. "Do you truly expect me to believe that story?"

"Are you suggesting I have a ploy against you?" That must be it. He must think I'm a charlatan!

He shrugged, standing to his feet. "You attended a ball wearing leather shoes with wooden soles. And then you go out and eavesdrop on gossipmongers in the garden, and accidentally crossed paths with me."

"I'm surprised your memory is far better than your deductive skills, Mr Stark."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't know what scheme you are playing, so cut the chase and tell me who sent you or what plans you have." He hitched his hips on the table, arms folded over his chest. The air around him had changed. His eyes had gone dark with no sign of amusement from earlier. "How much are you getting to set me into a trap?"

Angela could only scoff and chuckle, astounded by his ignorance and delusional assumption. She would love to see his face the moment he found out who she was, but that was not her goal now.

Her goal was to make him chase after her and the money he just refused because he deserved the humiliation for the false accusation.

Instead of giving him what he wanted, she smiled and said, "You are pathetic, Mr Stark."

*****

Gerard watched her stiffly turn and reach for the door. And before he could figure out what was going on, she was already walking away.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor and watched as she turned into a corner. She moved like a proper woman, yet why could he not make himself believe that she was? Was it the shoes? Or the rather plain dark dress she was wearing? Or the lack of ornaments in her hair?

He could never allow himself to be fooled again, but—

Did she just call him pathetic?

He did not realize that Jacob was standing beside him. "I hope that you have satisfied her inquiry, sir," the man said, his words laced with a bitter tone, and Gerard wondered what that woman said to Jacob to cause it.

"I'm not certain I satisfied either of us, Jacob," he murmured, still at a loss.

"Did you not accept her offer?"

He shook his head in reply.

"That might be well, then. After our short encounter earlier, Lady Worthington may be the last person I would want to work with, if I may be honest to say."

Gerard stiffened, and he snapped his head at Jacob. "Who?"

Jacob looked up at him, baffled. "Who? Did she not introduce herself?" Reading Gerard's expression, Jacob continued, "The only daughter of the Marquess of Hartmour, and sister to the Earl of Hargrave," Jacob supplied. "Lady Angela Worthington."

Gerard racked his brain. He knew too many names, but most often they would either lead him to a face or nothing at all.

And then it occurred to him.

The garden.

Lady Margaret.

Marquess.

Earl.

Sister.

"Worthington," he breathed out. "That woman is a Worthington?"

Jacob nodded with a frown. "Forgive me, sir, but I thought you already knew—"

With a sharp turn, he grabbed the man by the arms. "Tell me, Jacob, what is the possibility that you may be wrong?"

Jacob shook his head. "I am not. I'm confident she is Lady Angela Worthington. She lives in the country with her father in their estate in Hartmour and is currently taking residence in her brother's villa. And she's friends with one of our members, Mr Spencer Pembroke—"

"Bloody tarnation!" Gerard roared, swiveling on his feet, his mind racing.

That was why she was eavesdropping in the garden! The ladies were talking about her brothers!

And she was friends with Spencer Pembroke, the only son of a very rich man who owned dozens of estates all over Sutherland.

"Lady Worthington!" he called, running as she reached the entrance of the club.

She stopped, and he slowed down. When she turned, her face was impassive, yet her sea-green eyes were filled with satisfaction. She slowly blinked, a corner of her mouth curling ever so slightly, telling him she had planned and expected this to happen.

His pride slightly pierced, Gerard tightened his jaw. Then he broke into a smile and said, "I am ready to discuss business, my lady."

Her lids fluttered as she rolled her eyes and sighed. "That was rather tedious but worthwhile," he heard her murmur before walking past him to retrace the steps back to his office.

*****

"All services my club offers are exclusive to its members." Gerard clasped his hands over the table, eyes on the stoic woman sitting in front of him. "The person you want me to apply my special services to is a member of this club. Unless Mr Spencer Pembroke himself approaches me, I cannot accept your offer." He leaned back with a sheepish grin. "But I'm willing to make adjustments."

Her long lashes were a mesmerizing sight as she blinked. Without a word, she nodded, satisfied with his last statement.

"But I have a question."

She lifted her brows, waiting.

"Why do you not want Pembroke?" When she only stared, he added, "This is for me to assess if you are irrevocably certain about this. You may change your mind and—"

"We are not a match," she interjected.

"But you are friends," he pointed out.

"Yes."

"Friends can be great as lovers."

She blinked. "No."

"Are you certain you do not want Pembroke? Perhaps you have another man in sight?"

"I do not need one."

"You do not need a man?"

"Nor a woman, if that's what you're thinking."

"But why?"

"Why are you asking too many questions?" she asked.

He eyed her sitting stiff and proud in the chair. "I'm a very curious man."

She did it again. She rolled her eyes with lids fluttering halfway closed. "Your curiosities are misplaced, sir. May we resume discussing business?"

He nodded. "Yes, of course. I will not be taking payment from you."

His statement surprised her. "You do not look like a man who does charity."

Gerard's deep chuckle echoed around the room. "No, I do not. The only charity I do is for myself."

"Clearly."

He ignored the insult with a wave of his hand. "I cannot take payment from you as I abide by the rules of my club. My services are only available to the members. But yours will be a special project."

"What do you want?" she asked.

Gerard smiled. She was quick-witted. He liked that. "I want you to take my sister under your wing for her first Sutherland Season." He watched the frown slowly form on Angela Worthington's face as he continued, "In return, I will help you find a match for Spencer Pembroke."

She blinked a few times. "You have a deal."

His browse cocked high in surprise. "You have no objections? I was expecting you would want to meet my sister first."

She shook her head. "There's no need. But I want to put our deal in writing."

"Of course. Right away, if you wish." He could not help but break out into a wide grin, already imagining the number of acquaintances his sister would make after one ball with a Worthington.

*****

Angela's lips stretched into a satisfied smile as soon as she boarded her carriage an hour later.

In her hand was a copy of the sealed agreement with Mr Stark.

"The fool," she said with a shake of her head.

"Was it a success, milady?" Millie asked across from her. Her maid was wearing an expectant smile, dark blue eyes filled with wickedness as they always were.

"Yes, Millie." She could not help the tiny, excited squeal in her voice. "Ah, you cannot imagine my relief at the moment!"

Millie frowned. "But why is he a fool?"

She handed the agreement to Millie. "Oh," Millie said after a while, hands to her lips. "He walked right into a trap."

Angela looked out the window. "He is clearly driven to climb the social ladder, and he is willing to use his sister. He thinks I can introduce her to my circle. He offered me the proposal upon learning who I am—or rather, who my father and brothers are."

Millie started to laugh, but then stopped. "But this will pose a problem, milady. You will have to do your part of the bargain. You do not have a circle here. Or anywhere," Millie added the last word under her breath.

"Well, clearly, I have to find a circle. Sponsoring a young woman this season shall not pose a problem. I have witnessed many do it and can very well imitate."

She sensed her maid's doubtful look. "Do you know how they do it?"

"Of course. They teach them manners and push them to unmarried gentlemen."

"I don't think that's the whole of it, milady."

Angela rolled her eyes. "I can manage it, Millie."

Millie continued to stare at her.

Angela gritted her teeth and stared at the woman. "I can befriend a duke if I choose to. The woman could be a duchess before the season ends should I will it. I can make friends and introduce this young Stark woman to as many people as I can," she declared with confidence. "Making acquaintances should not be a problem."

The maid blinked. "How many do you have in mind?"

Angela cleared her throat and looked out the window. They passed by a group of three women who coincidentally turned and looked on at Angela's passing carriage. She immediately pulled the curtain close.

Clearing her throat, she looked ahead and lifted her chin. "Enough," she retorted.