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prospect
of a future earldom—not to mention the money that comes with the
title. And he doesn’t have the features of a simian. Seems to me
that makes him quite a catch.”
    “I have a title and money, and I look well
enough. Why would I be less of a catch?”
    “Correct me if I’m wrong, my friend, but you
were not speaking of marriage. Flirtation was the word you used.”
Harry managed not to sound critical even as he gently tried to make
his point.
    Simon decided to be offended anyway. “Are
you questioning my motives?”
    “No, of course, not. But, Simon, be fair.”
Harry’s face turned pink with embarrassment. He must have felt
compelled to finish, though, because he pressed on despite his
discomfort. “This poor girl, if the talk is accurate, has had a
terrible upset recently. She is vulnerable and it would be wrong to
exploit that. You could be putting her in a position of having to
defy her grandfather and all for the sake of a flirtation.”
    “What makes you think she would choose me?
Perhaps she would prefer Mr. Morley.”
    Simon was truly gratified by the look of
surprise that altered Harry’s features. Apparently, his friend had
not considered that a possibility.
    Harry shook his head. “If you want to enter
the contest fully prepared to offer the young lady something
honorable, I say bully for you, Simon, and may the best man win—but
if all you want is to prove you can fix her interest, then I think
you should reconsider. When it is over you won’t feel good about
yourself. And, frankly, you shouldn’t.”
    “Since when did you become Miss James’
champion?” Simon asked, disgruntled, his anger now forgotten. “I
swear I don’t need a conscience with you watching over my
shoulder.”
    Harry grinned. “I spoke out of turn, I’m
sure of it. I beg your forgiveness.”
    The marquess emitted a loud bark of laughter
filled with self-mockery, and the pleasant atmosphere returned.
That’s not to say the previous subject had been forgotten, only put
aside. A thoughtful Lord Sutherfield went to bed a short while
later.
     
    *****
     
     
CHAPTER 4
     
     
    “Cassandra, I’d like a few moments with you,
my dear.”
    Oh no, the very thing she had been
trying to avoid, she thought. “I was just on my way to the stables,
Grandfather.”
    Cassandra stood in the entry hall, pulling
on her leather riding gloves. She picked up her crop from a small
table against the wall and stepped hopefully toward the front
door.
    “Then I’ll join you.”
    Her spirits sank even as she smiled at him
graciously. She hoped her disappointment was not visible, but she
hadn’t had a moment to herself in days. The ball on the previous
night had ended a week that had left her feeling nervous and
exhausted. All she wanted at the moment was to slip away for some
much needed peace. She sighed as she followed her grandfather from
the house.
    The air outside felt warm, and the sweet
scent of roses floated seductively from the garden surrounding the
easterly wing of the house. Cassandra squinted into the sunlight,
the brightness so overpowering, she held her hand up to shield her
eyes from the sun. She stared at the horizon, hazy from the
mounting heat of mid-morning. The desire to climb on her horse and
ride toward that distant horizon without ever having to return made
her heart ache.
    She missed her father.
    They made their way to the stables and some
fifteen minutes later were mounted and headed, at the earl’s
insistence, in the direction opposite from where Cassandra had
intended to ride. Nothing but fields that way, Grandfather said. It
was better to keep to the lanes. Such an inspired choice, she
thought rebelliously. No, perhaps the word she sought was
overbearing.
    “Did you enjoy your party last night?” He
looked so hopeful, she did not have the heart to tell him the
truth.
    “It was lovely,” she lied.
    The old man expressed his satisfaction by
grunting. He did not speak again for several minutes. Cassandra