He sounded a little like the Marquess of Allingham. Was /that/ why she had hesitated so long about accepting his marriage offers? It seemed disloyal. He was all those things, and she had always liked him. She had always considered him a friend. /Friend/, not lover.

The Earl of Sheringford had called him a dull dog.

She had been horribly disconcerted by the marquess's announcement last evening. But had she also been /upset/? Did she feel heartbroken today?

In light of everything else that had happened, she had spared him scarcely a thought.

These people wanted her to be happy. But how did they know what would make her happy?

Did /she/ know?

Once she had thought happiness and Crispin Dew were synonymous terms.

But today he had offered her marriage again, and she had refused because … Oh, there was a host of reasons.

But she realized something as her family all looked at her in love and concern and waited for her to say something.

She was ripe for rebellion.

Or else she was just stubborn.

She had such a short acquaintance with the Earl of Sheringford that she could not even remember clearly what he looked like. She knew he was tall, well built, dark-haired and dark-complexioned, with angular features and almost black eyes. She knew that her first impression of him was that he was almost ugly. She remembered too that her eyes had nevertheless been drawn to that face while they talked. There had been an intensity there, in his eyes, in the tautness of his almost morose features, that had somehow fascinated her. /He/ had fascinated her.

She had never held a conversation with any other man that even remotely resembled her conversation with him. His honesty had fairly taken her breath away. He had urged her to marry him in almost the same breath as he had admitted to being a wife-stealer and a man who had abandoned his bride on their wedding day. And he had not pretended to any sudden infatuation for her, Margaret. He had told her exactly why he wished her to marry him. He needed a wife before two more weeks had passed.

Surely any other man in the same circumstances would have gone out of his way to charm her with sweet talk and lies, and to keep the truth about himself from her for as long as possible – until after their marriage if he could.

He was – /different/. She was quite sure that if she met him again in the cold light of day and listened to his marriage proposal, she would reject him in a heartbeat. Today she would see him for the unattractive, ill-tempered villain that he was. She would see the desperation in him and be repulsed by it. What man, after all, would be prepared to marry a stranger – /any/ stranger – merely in order to keep the house and property from which he drew an income until his grandfather died and left him a fortune?

And she was the stranger he had chosen.

It was really quite insulting.

But he had fascinated her and still did.

And she /was/ stubborn. Her family was united in urging her against even seeing the Earl of Sheringford again. Crispin had urged her to change her mind and marry /him/ instead. Mrs. Pennethorne had urged her to put an end to her betrothal.

The silence had become quite lengthy – and very tense. "The Earl of Sheringford is coming here this afternoon," she said, "to speak with /me/ – after he has spoken with you, Stephen. It would be uncivil of me to refuse to receive him, especially when I was the one who caused all the gossip by introducing him to Crispin as my betrothed last evening. It was not /he/ who said it, re member." "You were upset," Vanessa said, "at seeing Crispin again so unexpectedly, Meg. It is understandable that – " But Margaret held up a hand to stop her from continuing. "It is neither understandable nor excusable," she said, "that I would use one gentleman merely to spite another. Which, if I am to be perfectly honest with you and myself, is exactly what I did. I will speak with the earl this afternoon. I will apologize for involving him in all this foolish gossip when I daresay he hoped to slip quietly back into society after so many years as a castaway. What has happened was all my fault, and I owe it to Lord Sheringford to tell him so in person." "It is just like you to take all the burden of blame on your own shoulders, Meg," Stephen said, looking troubled. "It is something you always did. Let me do something for you now in return. Let me send the fellow on his way." "He is not /the fellow/, Stephen," she said, getting to her feet. "He is the Earl of Sheringford. And I will speak with him myself." "Bravo, Meg," Jasper said. "Oh, Meg," Vanessa said, hurrying toward her to hug her, "you are always so noble. But I am just afraid that you will see him to apologize to him and end up betrothing yourself to him." "Trust me," Margaret said as they all got up.

Trust her to do /what/, though?

Would she really be seeing Lord Sheringford only to express her regrets over the consequences of her impulsive words last evening? Which he had urged upon her, by the way.

Or would she be seeing him because she wanted to bring his face into focus again?

Or because she was fascinated by her memories of him?

Or because she was thirty years old and had just come face to face with a faithless lover from her past and with the fiancГ©e of the man she had expected to marry herself this year?

Or because she had just been called righteous and the soul of propriety and a woman of spotless virtue? "Oh, we /do/ trust you, Meg," Katherine said, hugging her after Vanessa had stepped back. "Of course we do." Yes, of course they did. She had always been eminently trustworthy and dependable and predictable, had she not?

And dull.

7

ALMOST precisely fifty hours after his grandfather had issued his ultimatum, Duncan was standing alone in the library at Merton House, staring out through the window, waiting to make a formal marriage offer to Miss Margaret Huxtable.

It was all disorienting, to say the least. Good Lord, he did not know the woman at all. She did not know /him/. He could scarcely even remember what she looked like. He remembered well enough what she had /felt/ like, pressed against his body, but the more he tried to bring her face into focus in his mind, the more he saw a blank surrounded by dark hair. He could remember only that he had thought her beautiful.

Which was /some/ consolation, he supposed.

It had been something of a relief to find Merton alone in the library when he had been admitted more than half an hour ago. He had fully expected Moreland to be there too – and the duke was a formidable figure of a man. He had Greek blood in him, and it showed.

But Merton was no soft touch either, young as he was. Duncan would guess his age to be no more than twenty-two or three. He had made no bones about the fact that that he disliked and despised Duncan and opposed any match with his sister. He had offered a more than generous dowry with her but had insisted that every penny of it be put at her disposal and that of any children of the marriage. He had probed meticulously into Duncan's present means and future prospects and had declared that he would call upon the Marquess of Claverbrook to confirm what he had heard – since he did not trust the word of a known villain.

It had taken all of Duncan's self-control to stop himself from stalking out of the room and out of the house. It could not be done. He had made Miss Huxtable an offer of sorts last evening, the morning paper had made much of it this morning, and honor dictated that the offer be made official today. If she refused him, so be it. He would resume the hunt with thirteen days to spare.

He had taken a huge bouquet of flowers, he remembered, when he had called to propose marriage to Caroline Turner. A footman had whisked it away at the door and he had not seen it again. He had been welcomed with smiles and bows and a hearty handshake by her father. He had gone down on one knee when alone with Caroline and delivered a rehearsed speech that was more floral than the vanished bouquet. He had covered the back of her hand with kisses when she had said yes and called himself the happiest of men. He had assured her that he loved her and would until he drew his final breath – and beyond that through all eternity. And he had meant every word, God help him.