“I need more time.” Murien came to kneel by Fiona’s side, gripping her arm once again. “You must make him stay.”

“How?”

“Oh for the love of—must I think of everything? Plan something in his honor—a hunt or a ball—and he will be forced to stay until it is done.”

“Without asking his permission? Wouldn’t that be rude?”

Murien grimaced. “Don’t you wish to see me wed to one of the wealthiest men in the country?”

“Of course, but—”

“Don’t you wish to see me wed to one of the handsomest men in the country?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you must do this for me.” Murien stood, swiftly walking to the mantel to inspect herself in the mirror that hung there. She rubbed her cheeks to give them more color. “This is fate, Fiona. I know it. He will be here for weeks, with nothing else to do. I cannot fail under such circumstances.”

With all her heart, Fiona hoped Murien would succeed. If Murien was right about Fiona’s marriage already being over, she had to win the wager. She simply had to.

Murien clasped her hands together, her eyes narrowed in thought. “Devon St. John at my sister’s house. And with no competition to contend with.”

“Well, there is some competition. A little, anyway.”

Murien whirled on her, her eyes blazing, her face contorted in sudden fury.

Fiona drew back, saying hastily, “It’s only Kat.”

“What? Malcolm’s half sister?” Murien laughed. “Good God, I thought you were serious.”

“Well, I am in a way. You see…” Fiona hung her head. “Murien, this is more important than you know.”

“Why?”

“Because Malcolm and I made a wager.”

“A wager? On me?”

“I hope you don’t mind, but he was so smug, saying that Mr. St. John had shown a decided interest in Kat and positively gloating about it, so I…well, I made a wager that you were more St. John’s type and that you could attract his interest much quicker than his sister.”

Murien merely smiled. “I hope you wagered something of great import.”

“I did,” Fiona said. She wet her lips nervously. “Murien, if I lose, I fear my marriage will indeed be over.” It hurt, just saying the words aloud.

Murien frowned. “You aren’t going to cry, are you?”

Fiona blinked back the tears. “No! No, of course not.”

“Good. I hate it when you cry. But you needn’t worry. If I have anything to do with it, I will not only attract Mr. St. John’s interest, but I will secure it.” She held up her hand and looked at it as if admiring a ring. “By this time next month, Mr. Devon St. John will be mine.”