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hotel, all’ the while mulling over his dilemma. He was not a
     sentimental man, he told himself, and as Foxworth had pointed out, Straeford Park had not been his home for years; nevertheless
     he could not contemplate losing it. The pride of the St. Clares was too ingrained in him. The estates must be saved, and the
     line secured, whatever sacrifice, was demanded of him. He would have to marry, as his grandmother suggested, but he’d be damned
     if it would be some climbing cit. His will to sacrifice stopped short of that particular comedown—no matter how great the
     fortune of his grandmother’s particular candidate. He’d find an heiress from the
ton.
    If only Robert had married Adele and provided an heir. Ah well, that was a dead end, and Adele’s qualifications for Countess
     of Straeford left much to be desired. She had proved little better than a slut, coming to him the very night of Robert’s funeral
     and offering herself to him. At least he did not have to contend with that bitch!
    Women! They were all alike. The meaning of loyalty beyond their perfidious natures. Best restrict one’s amorous pursuits to
     those ladies of the night who made no. pretense of their intentions.
    Yet marry he must. And the lady would understand from the start that his only motive would be to secure an heir. There would
     be no romantic illusions clouding thepicture. God grant he find some sensible female willing to accept the bargain he was girding himself to make.
    Of course, there was the slim possibility that Angus Loftus would offer him a worthwhile proposition… But what did he know
     about the man except that he was a wealthy textile merchant who had used chemin de fer as a pretext for meeting him? Well,
     he would learn more on that score before too many hours elapsed. Dawn was already creasing the eastern sky.
    That same afternoon Straeford was escorted into the merchant’s plush office, which was richly decorated in red velvet and
     brown leather. The center of the room was dominated by a huge desk behind which sat Angus Loftus. The gentleman welcomed him
     and offered the earl a cigar from a heavy bronze box inlaid with a darker metal in a scrollwork pattern.
    “Now, let us get down to business,” Loftus proposed confidently.
    “By all means.”
    “I don’t mind telling you, Lord Straeford, I have had my eye on you for some time, ever “since your return from India.”
    “Indeed.” Straeford regarded his host blandly.
    “Hope you don’t mind my saying that I don’t hold with the raking-over you’re getting in the press these days. A lot of puffed-up
     nonsense pandering to the noisy rabble. Experience has taught me not to judge on the appearance of things. There are always
     deeper currents than meet the eye.” He paused. “There now, I’ve said my say and you’ll hear no more from me on that score.”
    The earl nodded noncommittally, not allowing himself to react.
    Loftus observed his guest and leaned forward confidingly. “I’ll come quickly to the point, my lord.”
    “Please do.”
    “You and I, Lord Straeford, can be of service to each other in meeting needs… needs each of us is capable of satisfying for
     the other. To be blunt about it, you need money, my lord, and I…” he paused again.
    “Yes?” Straeford queried, but the merchant was not quite ready to reveal his full proposal.
    “I’ll see that Straeford Park and your town house are restored. Also the paintings, jewelry and land which have been sold
     over the years are bought back—under the following conditions…”
    Straeford displayed no enthusiasm or agitation at Loftus’s words, but commented levelly, “I’m listening.”
    “A commission in the army for my son John and… marriage to one of my daughters. Make one your countess and see that she is
     presented to the
ton.”
    The moment of silence following Loftus’s terms was abruptly shattered by Straeford scraping his chair across the floor as
     he rose to his