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pooch.”

      “I may have exaggerated the facts to your mother, but I didn’t altogether lie. This dog has some illustrious spaniel blood. If it has been, er, tainted along the way with some lesser-known varieties, that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s almost purebred.”

      “‘Almost’—that won’t convince Mother.”

      “Then let us hope she believed my story.”

      She laughed again. After a moment, she turned to him. “You can be very charming and believable when you want to be. Do you only do it when you wish to obtain something from someone?”

      “That usually is the case.”

      “I think you could get almost anything you wanted if you set your mind to it.”

      “Do you?” he asked noncommittally.

      “Don’t you set your mind to it very often?” she asked, remembering his ungracious behavior when they’d first been introduced.

      “It is wearing, I’ll admit. And so often not worth the trouble, wouldn’t you agree? Or are you yet so young that you haven’t suffered any disillusion?”

      She remained silent, preferring to concentrate on holding the dog in check on its leash.

      But Lord Skylar was not finished with the thought. “I still find it hard to believe you have remained free these years in London. There is no young gentleman who has stolen your heart? No drawerfuls of avowals of everlasting love and no keepsakes—a lock of hair, a monogrammed handkerchief…?”

      “No, there is nothing!” she answered a little too warmly.

      “A young lady with your attributes?” he asked in disbelief. “Your mother hasn’t kept you that locked up. And Templeton, no matter how forbidding she might be, wouldn’t put off a true suitor—”

      “My father would have wanted me to wait for someone—” She stopped.

      “Yes?” he prompted when she didn’t continue. “Someone like…?”

      “Like you,” she said on a moment’s inspiration. Maybe if she flattered his vanity, he would be satisfied and let the subject drop.

      He chuckled. “Wealth and a title—have there been a dearth of good candidates fulfilling those requirements these last three seasons?”

      “Well, with the war on, you know, so many young men have gone off to Spain.”

      “But not elder sons.”

      She could feel his keen eyes on her. “Well, there was no one,” she repeated. “Why haven’t you married all those years out there in the Indies?” she asked, turning to him. “I can’t believe there were no suitable candidates out there.”

      He prodded at a fallen leaf with his walking stick. “Perhaps I didn’t like what I saw of matrimony.”

      “What do you mean?” she asked puzzled.

      “Matrimony among our class seems to be a hypocritical arrangement between two individuals who agree to turn a blind eye to the other’s dalliances. Forgive the bluntness, but so often it is only one of the partners who gets to enjoy the pleasures of extramarital affairs, while the other is forced to suffer in silence.”

      For someone who had never been married, he spoke as if he were acquainted firsthand with that kind of pain. It was not in the tone of voice, which had retained its airy, slightly amused quality as if he were commenting on a light romantic comedy. But the words themselves were, as he had said, blunt, and certainly improper to be speaking to a young, unmarried lady.

      “I know many things go on in society,” she began slowly. “I believe my parents were happily married, however unfashionable that might appear,” she said, wanting to believe it, despite her mother’s cynical words of advice. Could she have cheated on dear Papa? No. Gillian wouldn’t give credence to the idea.

      Lord Skylar swung his walking stick to and fro along the gravel path. “That is indeed a feat, if indeed improbable.”

      “I could never consider such a thing of Papa! I know he was faithful to my mother,” she stated with finality.

      “Well, for the sake of your memories, I hope you are right.” He smiled, a smile that had a hint of tenderness in it. “So, you see why I have retained my bachelorhood. Besides, I had an elder brother to fulfill the duties of heir. He, alas, died childless.”

      Gillian turned to her new pet, tiring of the topic of marriage and fidelity. “What shall we name her?” she asked with a tug on the leash.

      “We?”

      “Well, you are part owner, you know.”

      “I haven’t the foggiest. I’ll allow you the honor.”

      Suddenly the animal in question spied a squirrel scampering up a thick trunk. She dashed toward it, yanking the leash out of Gillian’s hands.

      “Heel!” Lord Skylar’s sharp command brought the dog to an immediate halt, though she whined in protest, her nose sniffing forward. Sky picked up the leash.

      “Good girl,” he told the dog, bending down to pet her and offering her a biscuit from his pocket. He then rose and took over the leash. The dog strained toward the tree where she’d spied the squirrel. It was no longer in sight.

      “I’m sorry, dear,” Gillian spoke to her pet. “But you’ll never catch it now. It’s gone up the tree,” she explained, petting the animal’s neck.

      They resumed their walk. “You’d do best to train her early. Keep a firm hand on her and reward her when she obeys,” Lord Skylar advised.

      He gave her a wry look. “You’ll probably mother her to death, indulge her every whim, and end up with a spoiled, ill-behaved mutt on your hands.”

      She merely laughed at him. She was beginning to suspect he had a rather tender heart behind that detached demeanor. Perhaps he wouldn’t make such an awful husband.

      Tertius walked along the streets of Mayfair after he’d escorted Gillian and her new pet back home. The day was a splendid summer one. He passed the shops on Bond Street. The sidewalks were filled with shoppers. He stopped to glance in at a window or two, but his mind was distracted. He kept thinking of his impending marriage. It no longer seemed a burdensome task.

      In less than a fortnight he’d gone from outrage at his father’s preposterous announcement that Tertius must not only marry posthaste but that the bride was already picked out, to a sense of anticipation at his forthcoming nuptials.

      The chit was getting to him, he realized, looking at the latest satirical prints in Ackermann’s bow window. He continued his walk, wondering when this shift had occurred. His mind kept going to the afternoon of their outing, her smudged face turned up to him in entreaty, seeking his help and protection for a poor, starved creature.

      He shook his head, still finding it hard to believe how easily she had bent him to her wishes.

      Or had his feelings begun to change even earlier in the day, when she’d looked down at her plate in the tea garden and shyly told him how much she wanted a home and children of her own?

      He tried to rationalize his feelings. It was reasonable to expect him to be married at his age, with his new position. Lady Gillian was not only a very appealing young lady, but she fulfilled all the requisites of wealth and lineage to be joined to the Caulfield line.

      If the amiability between the two of them continued to grow, there should be no reason for their marriage not to succeed.

      Another inner voice warned him that undoubtedly his parents’ marriage had started out this way. At one time they must have had a regard for each other. He knew his mother had loved his father until the marquess had destroyed that love with his repeated infidelities.

      Tertius turned left onto Piccadilly, telling

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