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preparatory to leaving the army.
    “The reason I sold out—just after the Battle of Toulouse, a little over a year ago—is that my cousin died in—in an accident.” She really did not need to know the details of Grant’s death, thought Ash. “Although I loved the Park more dearly than any place on earth, I had never involved myself in the management of the place. Well,” he said, stung a little at the look of surprise and, he thought, contempt, she threw him, “it would have been considered unbecoming in me, since the Park, in the natural order of things, would go to Grant on his father’s death.
    “When I awoke one morning to be informed that I was the sixth earl of Ashindon, it was as though a weight had suddenly descended on me. In addition to my grief over my cousin’s passing, I felt myself completely unequipped to maintain the consequence of a peer.” He laughed shortly. “As it turned out, that was the least of my problems. You see”—he reached forward unconsciously and took Amanda’s hand in his own—”when I left Ashindon Park, some ten years ago, it was a thriving estate, but when I came home last year, it was to discover the place in ruins.”
    He shook his head in memory. “It was as though an evil fairy had put a spell on the Park. The fields were unkempt, the tenants’ cottages were in shambles, and the manor house itself was empty and cold and stark—all the life seemed to have been sucked from it. I could not—” He stopped suddenly, aware that he was saying things he had not spoken of to another human being. “You see,” he continued after a moment, “my cousin had a taste for the high life. He bought expensive horses, fine clothes, and the right friends, all with equal abandon. He drank and gambled as though the trees of Ashindon Park showered leaves of gold on him. And, of course there were the—the—”
    “Women?”
    “Yes, although I should not mention their existence to a gently bred female.”
    “Just for the time being,” said Amanda with a small smile, “let us also pretend that I am not a gently bred female, merely a woman who wants to hear the unvarnished truth.”
    “There is no such thing,” said the earl flatly. “Women like their truth softened and made palatable.”
    Amanda sat back, startled. The earl certainly had a jaundiced view of the female sex. On the other hand, she mused, from what she had read of this age of arranged marriages and discreet liaisons, perhaps his cynicism was understandable. She bit her lips against the retort she had been about to make.
    “But,” she said instead, “is your estate very large? Does it produce no income? I always thought that the landed nobility had it made. I mean, every year there are crops, and—”
    “If the land has not been properly cared for, the crops will be meager.” Ash’s voice was harsh.
    “My father spoke of creditors,” said Amanda in a low voice.
    “Did he?” The earl’s laugh was little more than a growl. “Yes, Miss Bridge, there are creditors. Now, are you satisfied? Do you know all about me that you wished to know? I certainly would not like to keep any morsels from you.”
    A sudden thought struck Amanda, and she wondered why it had not occurred to her before. “Jeremiah Bridge is a plain ‘mister,’ isn’t he? I’ll bet he isn’t even related to so much as a baronet. But he is wealthy, isn’t he, Lord Ashindon?”
    Ash’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he did not answer. Amanda rushed on, aware of a completely unwarranted sense of outrage. “He’s wealthy enough to barter his daughter to an impoverished nobleman. Which, of course, is where Amanda comes in. You didn’t succumb to Amanda Bridge’s blue eyes and golden curls, did you, my lord? You’re simply a common, garden-variety fortune hunter.”
     

Chapter Four
     
    On their return to Upper Brook Street, Ash and Amanda found Jeremiah Bridge awaiting them. Ash’s mind was still on the bizarre conversation he