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first night of wedded bliss. And though you might consider that a fortunate happenstance, he most likely would not. Any imaginings along that path might even cause him to seek out a meeker, less fit chit than yourself, if only to preserve his own health.”
     
      “That’s awful!” she blurted, slowing a little to givehim a hard glare. “I am not some black widow or other spouse-eating insect. I am only looking for a gentleman who fulfills certain requirements. Age is not necessarily one of them.”
     
      “Which requirements are they, then?”
     
      “Why?”
     
      “I’m curious. And quite possibly intrigued.”
     
      “Well, become unintrigued this instant, because all I will tell you is that you fulfill absolutely none of those requirements.”
     
      He lifted an eyebrow, handsome and collected and less out of breath than she was. “Not one?”
     
      “Not one.”
     
      That wasn’t entirely true, of course, because he was wealthy and did have a title. In fact, he actually fell quite well into certain categories she hadn’t heretofore considered. Lord Rawley spoke to her as though he expected her to be able to keep up with the conversation, for instance, which was actually nice, even refreshing, compared to the gentlemen who called her “my dear” or “my Aphrodite” and then allowed her to lead them about by the nose while they settled into the visions of their own superiority. Ha.
     
      “I think you need a different list of requirements,” he said easily, “because I have it on good authority that I am quite the catch.”
     
      Daisy hadn’t wanted him, but Evangeline refrained from saying that aloud. “If this is your method of courting,” she said instead, “I would have to dispute that. I am not impressed.”
     
      “You will be.”
     
      He said it with such conviction that it startled her. Goodness, did he mean to court her, then? Why? She’d been as rude to him as possible, because earning his affection was utterly pointless, and because having him about was very flustering. She didn’t like being flustered.
     
      Any female entered a marriage at a disadvantage—the money was the husband’s, as were all of the rights and rules and properties. Her choice would allow her to even those odds, and perhaps even come out in the lead. Anything else, anyone else, was unacceptable. Period.
     
      Chapter 4
     
      “Who was that I saw you walking with, mydarling?” Lady Munroe trilled as she swept into the library. Halfway to the chairs arranged in a semicircle before the fireplace, she stopped. “Oh, he’s still here.” She smiled, dipping into a curtsy. “You’re still here, my lord. How wonderful.”
     
      “Yes, he won’t leave,” Evangeline commented, leaning against the back of one of the chairs and folding her arms. “I have asked him to go. Several times.”
     
      “I’m perusing your library, my lady,” Lord Rawley contributed, running his fingers along the titles stacked in the grand bookcase. “No Wollstonecraft?” he queried, pausing in his viewing only long enough to nod at the viscountess. “What about Swift? He’s progressive, for an Irishman and a male.”
     
      “We are not a household of anarchists, my lord.” The viscountess put a hand over her heart. “What in the world makes you think us so?”
     
      Drat. Evangeline frowned, pasting an affronted look on her face when the marquis glanced at her. Advertisingto males how much she knew of female rights rather defeated the goal of having unexpected information to use to her advantage. “I have begun to realize,” she said carefully, “that Lord Rawley is very difficult to decipher.”
     
      “Yes, I am.” He set a book back on the shelf as he faced her. “Abominably so. But Miss Munroe is too kind. I’ve been called much worse than difficult.” He inclined his head in the viscountess’s direction. “I did not mean to offend.”
     
      “No offense taken, my