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this weekend."
    "I am quite pleased," Alex said, and kissed Marlaine on the cheek.
    She blushed slightly, shifting her smiling gaze to the carpet. "You look fatigued. Have you been sleeping?"
    she murmured.
    "I am fine, Marlaine."
    "Are you quite certain? You look as if you have something on your mind," she insisted.
    "It's business." Extending his hand to Arthur in greeting, he added, "East India."
    "What, again? By God, Alex, we should withdraw!"
    Alex chuckled as he sat on a leather couch. Arthur dropped beside him while Hannah took a seat near the hearth. Marlaine picked up Alex's discarded coat and folded it carefully over one arm before joining her there. Alex reported the contents of his correspondence to Arthur, absently playing with his empty whiskey glass. Unnoticed, Marlaine rose from her seat and crossed to Alex's side. "A drink, darling?" she asked softly. He glanced briefly at her as he handed her the glass, and returned his attention to Arthur, who was quite adamantly reviewing the pros and cons of investing in the East India Company. Marlaine returned with a fresh whiskey and handed it to him with a quiet smile.
    From the corner of his eye, Alex watched her as she returned to her seat. He had the brief, blasphemous thought that on occasion, she behaved like a well-trained dog. Sitting prettily with his coat folded across
    her lap, she smiled softly at the others without breathing a word. In contrast, Hannah sat on the edge of her chair, leaning forward and listening intently to her sons as they spoke of high tariffs and the need for economic reform. Every so often, she would interject her own opinion.
    They talked until Finch appeared and, moving immediately to divest Marlaine of Alex's coat, announced a bath had been drawn for his grace. Alex tossed the last of the whiskey down his throat and stood. "If you will excuse me, Mother. Marlaine," he nodded, and began to stride across the thick carpet. "I assume supper at the usual time?" he asked over his shoulder.
    "Eight o'clock, dear. Lord and Lady Whitcomb will be joining us."
    Alex nodded, and walked out the door, Finch trailing behind.
    Hannah Christian, the dowager Duchess of Sutherland, peered over the rim of her wineglass at Alex and sighed softly. His handsome face and warm green eyes betrayed no emotion whatsoever. It was silly, she knew, but she had worried about him since the day he had assumed the title. In contrast to Arthur, who enjoyed each day as if it was a new beginning, Alex seemed to take each day too seriously, as if the success of each one was his own private responsibility.
    It was perfectly ridiculous, in her humble opinion. He was a strong and capable leader, with a sharp mind for business details that had enabled him to expand the family's holdings beyond her wildest imaginations.
    He could manage the family fortune standing on his head and, as his leadership was also highly regarded in the House of Lords, he could be the toast of all London if he so desired. Certainly the
ton
had tried to make him so. He was one of the most sought-after personages in all of Britain. A young duke, excessively wealthy and exceedingly handsome, his influence was unparalleled among the peerage. Yet he seemed forever bored—at times, even anxious. Her gaze shifted to Marlaine sitting on Alex's right, her quiet smile reserved for him alone. Alex hardly seemed to notice her.
    That's what Hannah hated about the whole betrothal. He hardly
noticed
Marlaine.
    She casually sipped her wine as she contemplated the pretty blond. She had nothing against Marlaine; she was a pleasant, well-bred young woman, the daughter of the affable Earl of Whitcomb, and a very suitable match for a duke. But not her son. Hannah wanted Alex to know the sheer joy of love she and her beloved Augustus had known, that complete adoration one feels for a true soul mate. She wanted her son to marry for love, not for some arcane sense of responsibility. She had hoped that in some dark corner