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feet, swearing softly to himself.
    Angus rose too and spoke before Straeford could put into words his opinion of this scheme. “My dead wife was the daughter
     of Sir Harry Bradshaw, an impoverished lord from the North Country. It is my wish to see that my children take their rightful
     place in society.”
    “And I am to provide that entrée!” Straeford laughed scornfully.
    “Why not? It’s more than a fair proposition to you.”
    “You’re willing to sell one of your daughters to me for a place in the
ton?”
Straeford jeered.
    “Don’t set me down, Lord Straeford, for something that is a common practice among the gentry; marriages of convenience are
     arranged all the time.” Loftus betrayed a touch of anger as he spoke.
    “But not for me,” Straeford’s voice was laced with steel, “they aren’t.”
    “My girls are dutiful and know what to expect.”
    “Damn you man! You’ve had the temerity to speak to them about this?”
    “And why not? It’s what they want too.”
    “Indeed, do they?” Straeford’s black brows rose disdainfully. “Well, I can assure you it is
not
what
I
want!” And the earl attempted to pass the stocky man who was blocking his exit.
    “Wait,” Loftus importuned. “Why don’t you think about my offer and let me know your decision later?”
    “There is nothing to think about. I have no intention of offering for a daughter of yours, and I may add that Ifind your tactics distasteful in the extreme. You led me to believe it was a business proposition you were considering—not
     a back door to the
ton!”
    With effort Loftus ignored the bitter thrust and stood his ground. “I’m having a dinner party Thursday. Come and meet my family.
     No obligation.”
    The earl did not reply but stepped around Loftus and crossed to the door, jerking it open. Then he swung around to face the
     merchant once more and demanded, “Who put you on to me?”
    “Don’t you know?”
    Straeford slammed the door shut and stared at Loftus incredulously. “That interfering old troublemaker!” he stormed. “I should
     have wrung her neck when she was at Straeford last week.”
    “I wouldn’t advise it, laddie. Lady Maxwell is the best friend you have… besides me.”
    “Damn you and Lady Maxwell!” Straeford shouted before slamming out the door.
    Within an hour the angry man of war was glaring at Lady Maxwell in the comfortable drawing room of that lady’s spacious residence
     on Grosvenor Square.
    “So you’ve had your talk with Loftus,” she claimed, reading the thunder in her grandson’s face. She seated herself regally
     on a small settee before the fire and regarded him with interest.
    He gave her a dark look and flung himself into a wingback chair opposite her.
    “Well, will you take one of the cit’s daughters, my boy?”
    He jerked out of the chair and crossed to stand in front of her. “I ordered you not to interfere in my affairs! Yet you ignored
     my right to privacy and approached this… this merchant and dared to suggest a match between a daughter of his and myself…”
    “Justin St. Clare,” the lady claimed, cutting through his impassioned speech, “sit down and exercise some of that icy control
     you are famous for. Your conduct smacks of the very class you profess to abhor.”
    Lady Maxwell’s tactic worked immediately. The earl stepped back a pace and waited for his grandmother to continue.
    “That’s better, boy. Now if you were thinking rationally and not letting emotion blind you, I’m sure you would realize this
     is the only alternative left you.”
    Straeford sank into the chair once more, nodding his head in reluctant agreement.
    Some minutes passed without further exchange between them, but not wishing to let the matter close until she received her
     grandson’s verbal commitment, Lady Maxwell broached the subject once more. “So you will marry a Loftus girl.” It was more
     of a statement than a question.
    There was a strangled oath from the earl