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in the earl’s position offer a harlot? It would be interesting to know in a general kind of way. But then, ruefully remembering the old adage about curiosity and cats, she reflected that her curiosity had always been a besetting sin and had led her into more trouble than she cared to revisit.
    She laid a hand on the latch of the door, telling herself that she was safe enough here, much less vulnerable in the house than on the open street, and there was a certain sense of security, whether false or not, impartedby the presence of Mistress Griffiths and the steward, standing sentinel in the hall behind her.
    Jasper stood up as she entered. His first thought was that her hair, no longer hidden by the kerchief, was every bit as magnificent as he’d expected. It swept from a widow’s peak above her broad forehead in a glistening red-gold cascade to her shoulders, and his fingers itched to run themselves through the luxuriant silken mass. She stood with her back to the door, and her green eyes, fixed upon his countenance, held a distinctly militant spark. Her mouth was set in a firm line and a frown creased her forehead between fair, delicately arched eyebrows.
    “I understand you have something to say to me, sir.” Her voice was cold, and there was nothing about her posture that indicated she accepted any differences in their social status, nothing that indicated she was the seller and he was the buyer, she the commoner and he the aristocrat. Jasper was intrigued. He had never before come across a Covent Garden denizen who behaved as if she was anything else.
    “You left me somewhat abruptly earlier.” He moved a chair forward for her. “I would like to renew our conversation. May I offer you a glass of Madeira?”
    She shook her head and remained standing by the door. “No, thank you. If I didn’t feel guilty about hurting your hand, I wouldn’t be here at all. So, as a form of apology I will hear you out, but please don’t take long about it.”
    Jasper rubbed his hand reflectively, contemplating her in silence for a minute before asking, “What did I say that upset you so?”
    She shrugged impatiently. “It matters little now. Could you please say what you came to say and then go?” A thought suddenly struck her and she wondered irritably why she hadn’t thought to ask as soon as she walked into the room. “How did you find me here?”
    “I followed you.” He smiled, and again it was as if a lamp had been lit behind his eyes, it so transformed his expression. He extended his hands palm-up in a gesture of surrender. “My dear girl, could we cry truce? I beg your pardon for insulting you earlier, although I have to confess I don’t quite understand how I did. I was merely drawing an assumption from the obvious.” He moved an expressive hand around the room. “You’ll have to forgive me if I point out the obvious, but you do live here, under the protection of Nan Griffiths.”
    And the sooner she moved out the better, Clarissa thought grimly. Without revealing her true circumstances, and she couldn’t possibly do that, she had no choice but to leave him with his assumptions. “Can we conclude this conversation now? I have things to do.”
    “You still haven’t heard my proposition,” he pointed out. “Would you please take a seat?” There was a touch of impatience in his tone now and his eyes had lost their earlier warmth. He indicated the chair he had brought forward for her, and Clarissa, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down.
    “Now, we will drink a glass of Madeira together and begin afresh.” He handed her a glass and resumed his seat in the corner of the sofa again. “To come straight to the point, I need you to marry me.”
    Clarissa choked on her wine. She just managed to set down the glass before it spilled everywhere, then succumbed to a violently spluttering fit of coughing. She fumbled in vain for a handkerchief in the wide lace-edged sleeve of her gown.
    “Take this.” An elegant