Geoffrey didn’t think she could have horrified him more, but he’d underestimated her. “You’ve lost your mind. I don’t know who this woman is. I don’t even know her name, what she looks like. She could be a descendant of Attila the Hun for all we know.”

“You’ll find out who she is when you arrive in Dallas. The important things that you need to know are that she wants to get married and she’s loaded. Your job is to be charming.”

Geoffrey put his foot down. “I’m not doing this, Charlene. And don’t try shoving any more guilt trips down my throat, because it won’t work. This would be the same as prostitution. I will not do it. There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind.”

She met his gaze and sighed. “All right, I’ll give you a choice. Find a way to get Danielle’s tuition by Tuesday, or you’re getting on the plane to Dallas. Otherwise…”

Her voice drifted off and she gave his piano a longing, sinister glance. She slid her fingers along the wood lightly.

His gut clenched. “You wouldn’t,” he said.

“It would never be my first choice,” she said. “But oh, yes, Geoffrey, I would.” She met his gaze again. “Much luck on eBay.”

Jackson was going insane.

Lori’s sisters had stayed longer than two days. It was up to four, and he’d culled five prospects from a long list. He’d put a shrink at the top of the list. If ever a woman could use one, he’d say Lori Jean Granger could. Late at night, she preyed on his mind. He was starting to wonder if she was a witch. Or a fairy.

“No fairy,” he said, shaking his head and splitting a piece of grass in half as he sat on his back porch with a beer. She just thought she was a fairy. She thought she was the Miss Fix-It Fairy with unlimited dough, and he was the heartbreaker who had to inform her of the sad truth that she was mortal like the rest of us.

He remembered how her face had paled when he’d told her he knew about the payments she was sending to the three women hiding from their abusive husbands. Jackson thought of his own mother and how she continued to hang in there with his father, despite his father’s verbal abuse. No matter how many times his father left, his mother took him back. He remembered begging her to change the locks, move away, but she would do neither.

He felt a slice of envy that Lori had been able to help women who were strangers when he hadn’t been able to get through to his own mother. He wondered how she’d done it-what kind of magic she possessed to help a beat-up person find the courage to follow through and make a new life.

Of course, nearly unlimited money didn’t hurt, he thought cynically and crushed his beer can against his chair.

Jackson was still torn about Lori. The rate at which she disposed of her fortune gave him hives. At the same time, he was starting to see how serious she was about trying to make a difference. Finding out about those women touched a sore point inside him. Her determination to keep it secret grabbed at him. In elementary school, he remembered that a history teacher had said that what a person did in secret said a lot more about what they were made of than what they did in public.

In public, Lori wore designer clothes and donated her money to crazy charities. In private, she clung fiercely to her independence at the same time she looked to her dog for acceptance while she tried to take care of the world.

Jackson felt oddly protective of her. He still wanted to talk her out of the marriage deal, but he was starting to understand her point of view, her impatience with her father’s manipulation.

He picked up the file of prospects again. One of these men was going to go through six years of heaven and hell. Heaven to be close to her. Hell not to have her.

Lori had a case of cold feet. After being around her sisters for the last several days and overhearing their lovey-dovey phone conversations with their husbands, she couldn’t help rethinking her decision to marry for access to her money. If only it wasn’t necessary, she thought, frustration zooming through her as her chauffeur negotiated the heavy traffic.

But it was, and Jackson had left a message that he wanted to meet with her tonight to show her the dossiers on five prospective husbands.

She felt another chill run through her-all the way to her feet.

It was temporary, she told herself as a doorman allowed her into the exclusive nightclub charity party. A band played in a back room while servers floated through the space with trays of champagne and food. A barrage of children’s paintings and baskets loaded with giveaways were arranged on tables for a silent auction. Lori’s friend Chloe was chairing a fund drive for children’s art programs. Lori had promised to attend, and she always tried to keep her promises.

In the back of her mind, she imagined Jackson James frowning in disapproval at her. He didn’t want her to spend a dime until she was married.

Lori made a face and wrote a bid for one of the children’s paintings. “It’s for a good cause,” she murmured.

Someone jostled her from behind, and her pen went flying.

“Bloody hell, do watch where you’re going,” a male voice said in a British accent. “Excuse me, Miss.”

The sound was so different from the Texas twang she was accustomed to hearing that it immediately caught her attention. She glanced around to find a tall man with floppy brown hair accepting a napkin and an apology from a server. He mopped at his damp jacket.

“Good start,” he muttered. “Spend the rest of the night smelling like a wino.” He glanced up at her. “Did he get any on you?”

She patted her hands over her black dress and shook her head. “No. I think you got the worst of it. Sorry,” she said, feeling pity for him. He looked so frazzled. Cute in a lost-puppy-dog sort of way.

“Par for the day. I should have gone to bed after that flight from London, but I promised a relative I would attend this function for her.”

“Would you like some champagne to drink? Would that help a little?” she asked, waving at a waiter.

“A bottle of scotch would be better,” he muttered. “But thank you. Champagne will be fine. What is this party for, anyway? My stepmother told me, but I forgot.”

“Development of the arts for children.”

He narrowed his eyes at the painting she’d just bid on. “Good cause. Definitely needs development,” he said and tossed back the champagne in two gulps.

Lori frowned. “That’s not very nice. A child painted it. You shouldn’t expect perfection. Unless you’re a snob,” she added.

Chagrin crossed his face. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have come tonight. I’ve been sent to do something I don’t want to do. It’s put me in a bad mood.” He glanced at the painting again. “You like it?” he asked doubtfully.

“I like the colors. They’re bright and cheerful.”

“Where the devil would you hang it?”

Lori couldn’t help smiling at the question. “My decorator would hang it in the closet,” she admitted. “I would put it somewhere prominent. The foyer,” she fantasized.

Mr. England smiled at her, his eyes glinting. “Ah, you’re a rebel underneath it all. Kindred spirit. So am I.” He dipped his hand. “Geoffrey Taylor. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

What lovely manners, she thought and shook his hand. “My pleasure. I’m Lori Jean-”

“Lori Jean!” a feminine voice shrieked, interrupting her. Looking over her shoulder, Lori saw a blur of her friend Chloe, dressed in a garish combination of chartreuse and orange, just before Chloe enveloped her in a huge embrace. “I’m so glad you came. What do you think? Is it fabulous? Do you think I’ll raise any money?”

Lori smiled at Chloe’s enthusiasm. Chloe was one of the few people with whom Lori felt totally comfortable. She wore her motives and her heart on her sleeve and didn’t fit in with the die-hard society types. Everyone except Lori had been surprised when a leading heart surgeon had swept her off her feet.