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table.”
    “Did you enjoy the dragging?” He glanced down at her.
    “Yes, I rather did,” she confessed. “It was amusing threatening to strip his house bare to the last plank on the floor and the last spoon in the kitchen.”
    “My parents are convinced of your grief.” She heard the smile in his voice. “They said tears streamed down your face at his funeral.”
    “For nearly three years of hard work down the drain, I cried like a bereaved mother.”
    He laughed outright, a rich sound with all the beguilement of spring. Her heart skipped a beat.
    “You are an unusual woman, Miss Rowland. Are you also fair and honest?”
    “If there's no disadvantage to me.”
    She could swear he smiled again. “Good enough,” he said. “I'd like to negotiate a deal with you.”
    “I'm all ears.”
    “Twelve Pillars generates a decent income, if managed properly. That, combined with the sale of nonentailed properties, should help pay off Carrington's creditors, if you hold off calling in your portion of his debts.”
    “I'm not infinitely rich. Acquiring Carrington's liabilities was a heavy outlay, even for me.”
    “I'm willing to cede you an advantageous interest rate if you would let us pay you back in quarterly installments, starting next year this time and finishing in, let's say, seven years.”
    “I have a better idea,” she said. “Why don't you marry me instead?”
    Marrying the new duke's heir had always been the first alternative, but she had been unenthused about the enterprise. Carrington had poked everything that moved, but he had no loyalty except to himself, and that was something she could understand and even appreciate, on occasion. She recoiled at the idea of a mawkish husband who pined away for another woman, especially a woman for whom she had so little admiration.
    Lord Tremaine in person, however, had already proved anything but useless. She warmed up to the idea of an alliance with him like a pan on a stoked stove. “Upon our marriage I'll cancel seventy percent of the debts.”
    He gave her a long look, but his response was not the shock and amazement she had anticipated. “Why only seventy percent?”
    “Because you are not a duke yourself and probably would not be for many years.” She considered being a bit more demure and giving him time to think. But the next thing out of her mouth was “What say you?”
    He was silent a moment. “I'm deeply honored. But my affections are already pledged elsewhere.”
    “Affections change.” Good Lord, she sounded like the devil out to purchase his soul.
    “I should like to think that I have some constancy to my character.”
    Damn Miss von Schweppenburg. Why should that drawing-room ornament be so lucky? “You are probably right. But I do not require your affections, only your hand.”
    He stopped, putting a hand on the stallion's neck to signal the horse to halt. She stopped too. “You are very ruthless toward yourself, for someone so young,” he said, with a gentleness that made her want to clutch his hand and tell him everything that had happened to make her the hard-bitten female she was. “Why?”
    She shrugged instead. “I've had to deal with fortune hunters since I turned fourteen. And grande dames who wouldn't give me the time of the day.”
    “Affection and good opinion—are they not at all a consideration for you in marriage?”
    “No. So I would not mind that you love someone else. In fact, you can spend all your time with her, if you like. Once our marriage is consummated, you need only to come back to me when you need heirs.”
    She probably should not have said it. It was too forward, too indelicate, even for her. In reaction, his gaze dipped briefly, encompassing all of her. And when he looked back at her, his irises darker than she remembered, the back of her mouth grew hot.
    “I have a different view of marriage,” he said. “I do not think I'm the right person for what you have in mind.”
    All that beauty and