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reigned, while her father struggled to cope with this unexpected announcement.
    Then he said, in a sinking voice, "But you don't even know her."
    "Of course I know her. We were introduced at Moorside Hall. But I had met her before that."
    It was spoken quietly, without emphasis, but the implication burst on her father instantly.
    "Newmarket," he exclaimed with a groan. "For God's sake, Iveragh, you're not so lost to compassion as to bandy that about. It was a lark, a stupid lark. I beg you, man—you wouldn't ruin her by spreading such—"
    "I have no intention of hurting her," the earl interrupted coldly, "In any manner."
    The words sent a trickle of gratified warmth through Roddy, but her father flared in righteous indignation. "Don't get your back up with me," he snapped. "If you don't mean to hurt her, I suggest that you keep a respectable distance. I won't have her made into scandal-broth on your account."
    The short space of silence suggested to Roddy that the earl was controlling a sharp retort. After a moment, he said mildly, "Will you give me leave to explain my intentions, before tossing me out on my ear?"
    Her father cleared his throat. The earl's calmness of manner soothed him in spite of himself. He said gruffly, "Go on, then. I haven't all day."
    "I ask only that you allow me to court her. If she dislikes my attentions, of course I will not press my suit. You'll be thinking of my situation, and my reputation—I'll tell you bluntly that neither is particularly good. I have just a few months ago been put in control of my estates in Kerry, which were held in trust until my thirty-fifth year. I find them a disaster. If I can't raise considerable capital in a short time, a writ of forfeiture will be served on every acre of arable land in the lot. The entailed property alone is too poor to support the house, which is already in a state of ruin." The earl paused, and then added, in a different tone, "I can offer your daughter an ancient name. Nothing more, except my pledge to do everything in my power to use her portion to create for her a comfortable home out of Iveragh, and to see to her happiness with my whole heart and mind."
    Those final words took both Roddy and her father by surprise. She felt herself flushing even in her hiding place, unsure of how to interpret the earnestness behind the phrasing. It was mere verbiage, she warned herself. Any man might have said as much to the father of his intended bride. And Iveragh was a consummate actor—that was already clear to Roddy.
    Her father harrumphed uncomfortably. "Plain speaking," he muttered. "Plain speaking, indeed."
    "I've said no more than you could discover yourself with a minimum of effort. My financial circumstances are unfavorable."
    "Then perhaps you'll tell me what is favorable about this proposal," Mr. Delamore demanded. "I fail to see where you come by the audacity to make it, myself."
    The earl said nothing. Roddy pressed her hands together, envisioning a lifetime of spinsterhood. If only Iveragh would say that he already knew she was willing—her father could never deny her anything that she truly wanted.
    She should have dropped hints earlier. If her father sent the earl away now, Iveragh's stubborn pride would not permit him to ask again. He was suffering already, if she understood him at all. The humiliation of admitting his destitution to a stranger must be agony. And to have nothing at all to offer, no word to say in his own favor—it was more than a man should have to bear.
    She was suddenly, hotly, determined that she would have him. One way or the other. He needed her, which was something new and precious in her life. If her father refused the earl, she would find some way to contact him. They could escape to the border and be married there. A hundred wild plans filled her head, distracting her from the confrontation at hand. Her father's voice jolted her out of fantasy as a sudden recollection struck him.
    "Have you been dallying with my