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mistake. The picnic, and watching her come out of the water, naked under that wet, white muslin dress.
    All these incidents were vivid in his mind, so vivid that they might have happened hours rather than months and years ago. But he didn’t really know the reason for such clarity.
    Lady Yardley was beautiful, yes, but she was also brash, impudent, and immoral. She danced until dawn and smoked like a chimney and had never shown the least regard for her husband, her marriage vows, or the conventions of society. Yet, despite the fact that she seemed to possess all the traits in a woman he most disliked, despite the months or years that passed between their chance encounters, he could never seem to quite forget her. Why?
    It doesn’t matter , he told himself, and with an effort, he returned his attention to the business that had brought him into his offices this afternoon. He was supposed to meet with Lord Marlowe in three days to complete the negotiations for Trathen Mills to supply the paper to Marlowe Publishing during the coming year. Marlowe had sent over a counteroffer in response to his bid, and he needed to review it, but Aidan had barely reached for the viscount’s proposal before his door opened and his secretary came bustling in.
    There really was no other way to describe it. Mr. Charles Lambert was an energetic, bespectacled young man with a keen, intelligent face rather reminiscent of a greyhound. His sleeves were always rolled back, a pencil was always tucked behind his right ear, and a clipboard with paper was as much of an accessory to his daily apparel as a parasol was to a young lady’s walking ensemble.
    “I’ve sorted the afternoon post, Your Grace,” Lambert announced as he approached the desk, his ever-present clipboard tucked under one arm, Aidan’s appointment book under the other, and an enormous bundle of papers in his hands. “It’s a bit more than usual,” he added as he set the pile of correspondence on the desk. “Invitations, mostly.”
    “Due to my appearance at the May Day Ball, no doubt.”
    “I expect so, sir.”
    Aidan might be forever shunned in royal circles and never again received at court, and perhaps there were fewer invitations from the higher echelons and more from the lower ones among the stack on his desk, but the quantity of invitations confirmed that he was still an eligible parti , despite the blot on his copybook.
    Lady Yardley had been right that many women would desire him for things that had nothing to do with his mind and character and everything to do with his position and money. And possibly, he acknowledged with a hint of distaste, with his appearance. He’d always known that. Such women might very well lie or maneuver their way into his affections, without caring two straws about him.
    He’d never been a cynical man, and he didn’t want to make a cynical match. He didn’t expect overwhelming passion, which inevitably died once it was sated, but neither did he want the sort of marriage most peers had—mutual distaste, discreet love affairs, and separate lives. And he refused to be like his own father. The previous Duke of Trathen had made love to nearly every woman he knew, and though Aidan believed in tradition, that was a tradition he had no intention of carrying on.
    He hoped to do better, to make a contented match with a compatible partner, but though he had launched this boost in his social life with that hope in view, he was now finding it hard to be enthusiastic about the process.
    Staring at the stack of invitations his secretary had just brought him, he was suddenly tempted to change his mind, forgo marriage altogether, and let his cousin Reggie inherit the whole blinking show. That would make Aunt Caroline happy, no doubt, but Aidan knew he couldn’t do it. His cousin would do his best to bankrupt the estates left in his care. No, Aidan had a duty to find a wife and he could not shirk it.
    Promise me you’ll marry for love and no other