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Hunt.”
    “Is that so?” He cast a fierce, male glance over her that left her knees all but shaking. “Then allow me to alleviate the problem. I believe I’m late for my appointment with your father.”
    He gave a sarcastic little bow, and she watched him walk away. Despite her annoyance with his boorish manner, she couldn’t resist sliding hergaze over him in appreciation of such a fine male form. If only…
    With a sound of distress she turned away, grabbing the fence. What was it about this man? In all these years, she had felt nothing more than passing admiration on the rare occasion she had encountered a handsome man. Yet Rogan Hunt was different.
    He had touched her.
    She had touched him.
    There had been no fear, no black memories crowding her mind. And now…good Lord, she lusted after his handsome form like some wanton! Despite his foul temper and lack of consideration for a lady’s sensibilities.
    She turned her head and took one last look at him, feeling as mesmerized as Mercury Mist and just as confused.
     
    “Come in, Hunt.” From the chair behind his desk, the duke signaled for Rogan to enter his study, then waved to the decanters on the sideboard. “Would you care for some brandy?”
    “No, thank you.”
    “Wine, then? Whiskey?”
    “No.” Rogan managed a polite smile. “I make it a policy only to drink alone.”
    “Suit yourself.” The duke gestured toward a chair. “Sit down then.”
    Wary, Rogan sat. The Duke of Belvingham looked older in the light of day, worn and weary.He had clearly once been an intimidating-looking man, with thick brows and deep-set eyes and a great blade of a nose. Now his hair held more gray than brown, and his sunken cheeks and the tightness around his mouth betrayed his lack of vitality. He slouched in his seat, giving the impression that the furniture held him upright rather than his own muscles and bones.
    Yet no matter his health, Belvingham was one of the most powerful men in England, and he wore that power with the ease of long familiarity. “First of all, Hunt, I’d like to thank you again for what you did for Caroline last night.”
    Uncomfortable, Rogan merely nodded. “I’m glad your daughter is unharmed.”
    “It could have been far worse, as we both know. You have done me a great service, and I am grateful.” He regarded Rogan with steady dark eyes that seemed to size up everything about him in one hard stare. “I’ve reconsidered your offer.”
    Elation surged through him, but Rogan forced himself to show no emotion. “I’m pleased to hear it.”
    The duke gave a dry chuckle. “You might not be, once you’ve heard the terms.”
    Ah, yes. The money. Rogan’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on the arms of the chair. “What are the terms?”
    “I know your financial situation, Hunt.” A cough shook the duke’s fragile frame, and he reached for a glass of water on his desk. “Before last night, there was no way you’d have been ableto pull together enough blunt to buy that mare.” He sipped at the water, closed his eyes. After a moment he opened them again and carefully replaced the glass on the desk with a shaking hand. His lips parted in a bitter smile. “But as you can see with your own eyes, circumstances have changed.”
    “You’re ill?”
    “I’m dying.”
    Rogan couldn’t hide his shock. “But…a couple of weeks ago you were as hearty as a man ten years your junior.”
    “Quite so, Hunt.” Belvingham clenched his trembling fists. “I’m being poisoned, to tell the truth. Poisoned by that greedy bastard, Randall Althorpe. And that’s why you’re here.”
    Rogan frowned. “I’m not acquainted with Mr. Althorpe.”
    “He’s my heir, a distant cousin.” The duke sneered. “Apparently I was not dying fast enough for him.”
    Rogan digested this new information. “I believe I’ll take that whiskey now.”
    “Help yourself.”
    He rose and poured himself a generous portion from the decanter. “Have you alerted the