hoping to discompose his galling
self-assurance.
“Then what about a noble lineage, title to vast lands, and that most important consideration above all—entrée into the best
circles of society? Does that lend itself to matrimonial harmony, do you think?” he questioned insolently.
Marisa bit back an angry retort, lest she get into deeper waters. But it was a visible effort as fear and anger struggled
to express themselves.
“And what of you, my dear? What do you offer?” The earl came to stand before her, his eyes traveling the full length of her
body and lingering on her heaving bosom.
“I make no offer, my lord. I have no wish to marry you!”
This time it was
her
words that startled coherence from Straeford’s mind, and he stepped back and regarded Miss Loftus anew. Angry tears gleamed
in her eyes, and for a moment her distress touched him. He turned andwalked to the fireplace trying to sort out his thoughts. He had no appetite for this heartless bargaining. Women! Damn them
all to blazes! It would be a relief to be out of the whole money-grubbing business.
But what of his home—his debt to his father and brother and the Straeford line? He turned to Marisa once more, but his guard
was not securely set and for a moment the girl read something of the inner torment of the man. Without words, much of his
early history communicated itself to her. Could this really be the slaughterer of innocent natives? She was not consciously
aware of her thoughts, but Straeford in turn felt her softening toward him. He steeled himself against her tender feelings.
He would have none of the female arts used on him.
“I will leave it up to you, dear lady. I will marry you, not your sister Margaret. Make up your mind to that! I bid you good
evening.”
Straeford took his leave of the Loftus residence stopping only long enough to notify Loftus that he had made his decision
and the matter now lay in his daughter’s capable hands.
“But you can’t marry the earl,” Margaret cried angrily. “Papa bought him for me. You have no right!” Margaret was pacing the
room furiously. “Tell her, Papa. Tell her. Tell her!”
“Now, Meg, child, calm yourself.” Angus was beside himself with chagrin. The Earl of Straeford had managed to turn the tables
on him and rout his entire household. There was no quieting Margaret for the past hour, and she was insisting that he force
the earl to marry her.
Loftus had been certain that the earl would prefer his younger daughter, Margaret. Her flamboyant beauty put most girls in
the shade. And her youth, he felt, was an added attraction.
Secretly he admired the earl for choosing Marisa. Her quieter beauty was a durable loveliness that would improve with the
years. No doubt Straeford had an instinct for quality. But what would Angus do without his good right arm? Drat the man!
It was this girl who had maintained the warmth of his home in the eight years since the death of JenniferLoftus, Angus’s much loved wife. Marisa had left school a year earlier than was planned to return home and take up the duties
of hostess for her father and mentor to John and Margaret.
A more efficient and loving daughter no man could have. So like his dear Jenny. The only trouble she had ever given him was
the time she almost married the Aiken lad. But Angus had put his foot down. He would not hear of an alliance with a nobody… same thing Jenny had done, of course, but that was different. Now he was going to see his offspring properly launched into
the
ton
where they belonged.
“I do not like that man, Father.” John added his disapproval to the broth of contention. “Neither Meg nor Marisa should be
given to him.”
“What can you object to? He has rank and lands enough to satisfy the ambition of any female.”
“Whose ambition is it you wish to satisfy, sir? Surely not Marisa’s!”
“Hush, John,” Marisa cautioned, lest he go too far.
“I have ambition
self-assurance.
“Then what about a noble lineage, title to vast lands, and that most important consideration above all—entrée into the best
circles of society? Does that lend itself to matrimonial harmony, do you think?” he questioned insolently.
Marisa bit back an angry retort, lest she get into deeper waters. But it was a visible effort as fear and anger struggled
to express themselves.
“And what of you, my dear? What do you offer?” The earl came to stand before her, his eyes traveling the full length of her
body and lingering on her heaving bosom.
“I make no offer, my lord. I have no wish to marry you!”
This time it was
her
words that startled coherence from Straeford’s mind, and he stepped back and regarded Miss Loftus anew. Angry tears gleamed
in her eyes, and for a moment her distress touched him. He turned andwalked to the fireplace trying to sort out his thoughts. He had no appetite for this heartless bargaining. Women! Damn them
all to blazes! It would be a relief to be out of the whole money-grubbing business.
But what of his home—his debt to his father and brother and the Straeford line? He turned to Marisa once more, but his guard
was not securely set and for a moment the girl read something of the inner torment of the man. Without words, much of his
early history communicated itself to her. Could this really be the slaughterer of innocent natives? She was not consciously
aware of her thoughts, but Straeford in turn felt her softening toward him. He steeled himself against her tender feelings.
He would have none of the female arts used on him.
“I will leave it up to you, dear lady. I will marry you, not your sister Margaret. Make up your mind to that! I bid you good
evening.”
Straeford took his leave of the Loftus residence stopping only long enough to notify Loftus that he had made his decision
and the matter now lay in his daughter’s capable hands.
“But you can’t marry the earl,” Margaret cried angrily. “Papa bought him for me. You have no right!” Margaret was pacing the
room furiously. “Tell her, Papa. Tell her. Tell her!”
“Now, Meg, child, calm yourself.” Angus was beside himself with chagrin. The Earl of Straeford had managed to turn the tables
on him and rout his entire household. There was no quieting Margaret for the past hour, and she was insisting that he force
the earl to marry her.
Loftus had been certain that the earl would prefer his younger daughter, Margaret. Her flamboyant beauty put most girls in
the shade. And her youth, he felt, was an added attraction.
Secretly he admired the earl for choosing Marisa. Her quieter beauty was a durable loveliness that would improve with the
years. No doubt Straeford had an instinct for quality. But what would Angus do without his good right arm? Drat the man!
It was this girl who had maintained the warmth of his home in the eight years since the death of JenniferLoftus, Angus’s much loved wife. Marisa had left school a year earlier than was planned to return home and take up the duties
of hostess for her father and mentor to John and Margaret.
A more efficient and loving daughter no man could have. So like his dear Jenny. The only trouble she had ever given him was
the time she almost married the Aiken lad. But Angus had put his foot down. He would not hear of an alliance with a nobody… same thing Jenny had done, of course, but that was different. Now he was going to see his offspring properly launched into
the
ton
where they belonged.
“I do not like that man, Father.” John added his disapproval to the broth of contention. “Neither Meg nor Marisa should be
given to him.”
“What can you object to? He has rank and lands enough to satisfy the ambition of any female.”
“Whose ambition is it you wish to satisfy, sir? Surely not Marisa’s!”
“Hush, John,” Marisa cautioned, lest he go too far.
“I have ambition
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