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some ways it was a relief to be a widow. She had immediately retracted her statement, of course, and assured Cassie that the married state was truly the only one a woman should aspire to.
    Even were Cassie to accept without question that any marriage was preferable to spinsterhood, still Chloe’s mocking words echoed in her mind. “Do you know what a whore is? It’s a woman who sells herself to a man.”
    That is what she would be if she allowed Geoffrey to carry out his scheme, Cassie realized. She would be selling herself to a strange man, giving him the right to see her naked, to touch her—to paw at her—to do heaven knows what unspeakable things to her, in return for giving her his support and the protection of his name. An unknown man would be buying her body for the price of a few pretty frocks and bits of jewelry, and she would be nothing more than his legal whore, bought and paid for.
    “No, I will not do what you are proposing.” She spoke flatly, with no emotion in her voice. “And you cannot make me participate in such a revolting plan, either. I shall make faces at any man who looks at me twice.” She crossed her eyes and let her mouth slack open.
    Her brother laughed. “Then you prefer Manchester? I am sure I could find a rich factory owner there who is willing to take an old sow to wife if the porker only has a title.”
    “Then I shall ...” Cassie cast her mind around desperately, trying to hit on some weapon that could be counted on to quell the ardor of the most persistent suitor. “I shall start a rumor that the doctors are certain my spells of insanity will gradually increase as I grow older.” She could not keep from smiling in triumph at the beauty of her plan.
    Her brother sighed, but something about his sigh seemed phony, as if he were not yet ready to concede defeat. “Then I am afraid you leave me no other choice.” Before she could congratulate herself on the ease of her victory, he continued, “It will have to be your sister, then.”
    “There you are out, also,” she said smugly. “Seffie is too young. You may have forgotten, but she is a full five years younger than I, and she is only now just turned fifteen. And,” Cassie added, “she is terrified of her own shadow, and could not possibly manage to attract a husband.”
    “Who mentioned anything about a husband for her? Living here as isolated as you have, perhaps you did not know that there is quite a good market on the Continent for terrified fifteen-year-old virgins? I assure you, I have it on good authority that in certain cultures a bonus is paid for blondes, and I have a vague memory that sweet little Persephone is quite fair, am I not right?”
    Cassie had known her brother was not a particularly nice person—that he was self-centered, inconsiderate, greedy, and mean—but she had not had any inkling of how low he had sunk into depravity. At some time he had evidently crossed the line into real wickedness, of the sort she had only heard about from the pulpit on Sunday.
    “No answer, my dear Cassie? I leave the choice to you, then. You may have your Season in London and marry a man of my choosing, or you must let your sister take her chances on the open market.”
    “You are despicable. You are the most miserable excuse for a gentleman that it has ever been my misfortune to meet.”
    His complacent smile was not dislodged by the most dreadful things she could think of to say to him. “Come, come, my dear,” he said finally. “We must not waste any more time discussing my character. What is it to be then? Will you join me in London, or shall I start making arrangements—”
    “Yes, yes, I will come to London,” she interrupted, not wishing to hear again what could happen to Seffie if she herself refused to cooperate.
    “And you will smile sweetly and not try any tricks to discourage your suitors? I must warn you that one chance is all you will get, and if you have not managed to snare a rich title by the end