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what a thing to say!’ scolded Miss Markham.

      Her fiancé smiled lazily. ‘You’ve often said the same thing; we’re all quite mad.’

      ‘Now that you’ve all managed to properly scare her with such an encouraging welcome, I’d best take her back to our box,’ Stamford said coolly.

      He first procured Rosalyn a glass of lemonade she did not want, then fixed her with such a fierce stare she felt obligated to force it down her throat. Her temper was beginning to flare over his high-handedness and utter lack of sensibility for all concerned.

      Michael was not at all surprised to have Rosalyn round on him once they reached their box. Her hazel eyes flashed fire. She didn’t look a bit like the compliant fiancée he’d envisioned. In fact, he’d seen the same expression in his aunt’s eyes more than once.

      ‘How could you spring this on them?’

      He fixed her with his most bland look. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You know what I mean. They were so shocked. That was hardly kind of you. You might have at least prepared them in some way.’

      ‘I suppose you wanted me to drop sly hints and be seen in your company an appropriate amount of time before declaring my intentions, is that it?’

      She snapped her fan shut. ‘What is wrong with that? It would have been the most courteous thing to do.’

      He leaned back in his seat and said in his most annoying drawl, ‘I assure you, my family would be more surprised if I were to be courteous. This is more what they expect out of me.’

      ‘Indeed. I feel quite sorry for them. And for your future wife if she has to put up with this!’

      He was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘I will make it worth her while in—other ways.’

      He was delighted to see a dark blush stain her cheeks, but she rallied. ‘I am certain nothing would be worth it.’

      ‘Now that we’re engaged, it would be quite proper of me to demonstrate and let you make up your mind,’ he suggested wickedly.

      She looked shocked. He must learn to curb his tongue when with her. She was not one of his flirts who would parry his double-edged remarks with an even more suggestive one.

      ‘Besides, I want to squelch any rumours.’

      ‘What rumours?’ she asked.

      ‘Rumours about our association.’ The puzzlement on her expressive face brought him up short. He found himself unable to tell her there were already bets on the book on how long it would take him to make her his next mistress. She would be appalled.

      ‘I wanted to make certain no one would claim your hand and your affections before we announce our, er…agreement.’

      ‘Since I plan never to remarry there was very little danger that would overset your plans.’

      ‘Why don’t you wish to remarry? You are a very lovely woman. I’m surprised you don’t have suitors falling over themselves,’ he said carelessly.

      ‘I hardly consider that a compliment. Perhaps your only criterion for judging a woman’s worth is her beauty or lack of it, but I hope most men don’t use that in looking for a wife.’

      ‘You are right, of course, there are more important qualities in a woman than beauty. I do beg your pardon. But tell me, do you consider a man’s appearance important?’

      ‘Yes, I generally find the degree of handsome looks a man possesses also determines his degree of conceit.’

      He grinned. ‘Touché, my lady. Are you perhaps referring to myself?’

      ‘I didn’t exactly say that.’

      ‘No, not exactly. But at least you consider me somewhat handsome. How much conceit do you think I possess?’

      She glared at him and turned away.

      He eyed his betrothed’s profile as she sat concentrating very hard on the performance, ignoring him. Somehow he had entertained the erroneous notion Lady Jeffreys would prove to be quite compliant once he bent her to his will. She appeared so quiet and reserved, which in his experience translated into malleable. He could see now she intended to cross swords with him at every opportunity. A grin creased his face. Suddenly, a betrothal seemed a much more interesting state of affairs than he’d ever imagined.

      Chapter Five

      Watkins stepped aside as Lady Spence stormed into his master’s study. She marched over to the desk where Michael sat writing, a militant expression on her face. Michael put down his pen and looked up, then rose to his feet.

      A slight smile crossed his face. ‘I somehow thought I would see you today.’

      ‘You might,’ she said briskly, seating herself on the other side of the desk. She pulled off her gloves and eyed her nephew coldly. ‘I saw Caroline earlier today.’

      ‘Did you?’

      ‘Michael! She said you presented a…a woman to them at the opera last night whom you claimed was your fiancéé. I simply cannot believe this! It cannot be true.’

      ‘It is quite true. Only I did not claim she was my fiancéé, she is my fiancéé.’

      ‘Impossible!’

      ‘Not at all. Why is everyone so surprised? You have been hounding me to the altar for the past six years. It is my duty to marry eventually.’

      ‘Don’t be dense. You know perfectly well what I mean,’ snapped Lady Spence. ‘The negotiations for your marriage to Miss Randall have already been started.’

      ‘What sort of negotiations?’ Michael inquired, his voice cool. He came around to the side of the desk and lounged against it. ‘You’re not trying to tell me a marriage has already been arranged without my consent to a woman I’ve never met? I’ve told you and my father I would not agree to this scheme. I’ve no desire to marry a girl fresh from the schoolroom merely because my father and that old martinet Sheringwood have come up with some idiotic notion there needs to be an alliance between the two families. I will chose my own wife.’

      Lady Spence snorted. ‘You are quite mistaken if you think your father will consent to this. I am almost afraid to ask who this woman might be. Caroline wouldn’t tell me; she seemed to find the whole matter highly entertaining. I only pray it is not Elinor Marchant.’

      ‘Put your fears to rest. I don’t think you’ll find her at all disagreeable. She is Rosalyn, Lady Jeffreys. I believe you are acquainted with her grandmother, Lady Carlyn.’

      Lady Spence jerked her head up, her face losing its cool composure. ‘Rosalyn Jeffreys? Oh, no! Michael, she could not have possibly consented to marry you. She is much too respectable!’

      Stamford sat on one edge of the desk and fingered the letter opener. A sardonic smile crossed his face. ‘My family is so highly complimentary. Is it so difficult to believe a respectable lady might possibly wish to marry me? Or am I too far beyond the pale? I am surprised you wish to throw the innocent Miss Randall into my clutches.’

      ‘It is not that, Michael. I have always thought that if you met the right woman…’ She stopped, her eyes full of concern. ‘Never mind. But where did you meet her? Lady Carlyn constantly complains she’ll never come to London.’

      ‘She is here now. I met her at the Winthropes’ rout. I was instantly charmed. Have you made her acquaintance?’

      ‘A long time ago, during her first season. Lady Carlyn sponsored her. She was such a quiet little thing, very pretty with large eyes and dark hair, but so shy—she had nothing to say. Lady Carlyn despaired of ever finding a match for her. But, Michael, unless she has changed, she is hardly in your style! As I remember she is very proper and reserved. I cannot believe

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