"Rather than getting mired down in the minor complications and details of sending Sherry out into Society," he said in a cordial, but businesslike tone, "let's go directly to the subject of prospective husbands. Did you bring your lists of acquaintances who might serve the purpose?"

A rustling followed as the women searched their reticules and Whitticomb reached into his pocket to extract the lists they had prepared that morning at his instruction. His mother leaned forward and handed her folded sheet of writing paper to him, but she pointed out a major encumbrance. "Without a dowry, Miss Lancaster is at a terrible disadvantage, no matter how desirable she might be. If her father isn't the man of means that you suspect-"

"I'll provide a generous dowry," Stephen said as he unfolded the notepaper. He glanced at the first few names on the list, and his reaction veered from horror to hilarity. "Lord Gilbert Reeves?" he repeated, looking at her. "Sir Frances Barker? Sir John Teasdale? Mother, Reeves and Barker must be fifty years older than Sherry. And Teasdale's grandson was at university with me. These men are ancient."

"Well, I'm ancient!" she protested defensively. "You said we were to list any unmarried acquaintances for whom we could personally vouch, and that's what I did."

"I see your point," Stephen said, struggling to keep his face straight. "While I look over the other lists, perhaps you could concentrate on some younger men of good reputation with whom you are not quite so personally acquainted?" When she nodded agreeably, Stephen turned to his sister-in-law and smiled as he reached for her list.

His smile faded, however, as he looked down the long list of names.

"John Marchmann?" he said with a frown. "Marchmann is a compulsive sportsman. If Sherry was ever going to see him, she'd have to slog down every stream in Scotland and England and spend the rest of her life in the hunting field."

Whitney managed a look of innocent confusion. "He is exceedingly handsome, however, and he is also very amusing."

"Marchmann?" Stephen repeated incredulously. "He's terrified of women! The man still blushes in the company of a pretty girl, and he's nearly forty!"

"Nevertheless, he is very kind and very nice."

Stephen nodded absently, looked at the next name, and then at her. "The Marquis deSalle won't do at all. He's a habitual womanizer, not to mention a complete hedonist."

"Perhaps," Whitney graciously conceded, "but he does have charm, wealth, and an excellent address."

"Crowley and Wiltshire are both too immature and hot-tempered for her," he said, studying the two names. "Crowley isn't too bright, but his friend Wiltshire is a complete bacon-brain. They dueled a few years ago and Crowley shot himself in the foot." Oblivious to her startled giggle, he added disgustedly, "A year later they decided to settle another argument on the field of honor, and Wiltshire shot a tree." Bending a reproving look on his laughing sister-in-law, he added, "It wasn't funny. The ball from Crowley's pistol ricocheted off the tree and hit Jason Fielding, who'd raced out there to try to stop them. If it hadn't wounded Jason in the right arm, Crowley probably wouldn't have walked away in one piece. If Sherry married either one of them, they'd manage to make her a widow by their own hand, mark my word."

He looked at the next two names and then scowled at her. "Warren is a mincing fop! Serangley is a dead bore. I can't believe you think these men are eligible suitors for anyone, let alone an intelligent, sensible young woman."

For the next ten minutes, Stephen dismissed every name on the list for a variety of reasons that seemed very sound to him, but he began to have the annoying feeling that the group gathered around the desk was finding his rejection of suitor after suitor amusing.

The last name on Whitney's list made his brows snap together and his smile vanish. "Roddy Carstairs!" he exclaimed in disgust. "I wouldn't let Sherry near that overdressed, egotistical, razor-tongued little gossip for anything. He's never married because he's never found a woman who he thinks is worthy of him."

"Roddy is not little," Whitney pointed out firmly, "though I'll grant he's not precisely tall, but he is a particular friend of mine." Biting her lip to hide her smile, she added, "You are being excessively particular, Stephen."

"I'm being practical!"

Discarding that list, he reached for Hugh Whitticomb's, glanced at it, frowned, and tossed it aside. "Apparently you and my mother have a great many friends in common." With an irritated sigh he got up and walked restlessly around to the front of his desk. He perched his hip on the edge of it, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded his brother with frustration and hope. "I see you haven't brought a list, but you must know someone who'd be right for her."

"As a matter of fact," his brother replied in a voice tinged with ironic amusement, "I've been thinking that over as I listened to you eliminate the other candidates."

"And?"

"And I realized I do know someone. He doesn't meet all of your lofty criteria, but I'm no longer in any doubt he's the right man for her."

"Thank God! Who is he?"

"You."

The word hung on the air while Stephen bit back a strange and irrational bitterness. "I am not a candidate!" he said frigidly.

"Excellent-" Nicholas DuVille's amused exclamation drew everyone's instant attention as he removed a sheet of writing paper bearing his family crest from his pocket. "In that case I did not waste my time in making out my own list. I assumed," he added as Stephen slowly unfolded his arms and reached for the paper, "that since I was invited here today, I was also to bring a list?"

"It's good of you to have gone to the trouble," Stephen said, wondering why he'd let his brother's absurd jealousy of DuVille color his own impression of the man. Nicholas DuVille was not only a handsome, educated, well-bred man, he was witty and he was damned nice. Stephen opened the list and looked at the single name scrawled across it, then he lifted his head and regarded DuVille with narrowed eyes. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"I hadn't expected you to find the notion laughable," he countered smoothly.

Unable to believe he was serious, Stephen studied him in cool silence, noticing for the first time that there was an infuriating arrogance about the man, his smile, and even the way he was sitting in the chair, his driving gloves dangling idly from one hand. Realizing that no one else understood what he was talking about, Stephen managed to clarify the matter and still challenge DuVille's integrity. "You seriously want to be considered as a suitor for Charise Lancaster?"

"Why not?" Nicki countered, visibly enjoying the other man's discomfiture. "I am not too old, too short, nor have I ever shot myself in the foot. I dislike fishing, I haven't an excessive attachment to the hunt, and though I do have some vices, no one has ever accused me of being overdressed, razor-tongued, or a gossip."

… But egotistical, they have! Stephen thought with another flash of hostility. And jaded. In his mind, he saw the suave Frenchman locked in a passionate embrace with Sherry, her hair spilling over his arm like satin fire, and his hostility escalated to outrage. All her warmth and innocence, that rebellious, jaunty spirit of hers, her courage and thoughtfulness would belong to DuVille, who would…