Dishonour and Desire. Juliet Landon

be seen observing. How ironic that a man of his repute, a man so dangerous to know, should have been the only man to ask her about her reasons for not wanting to marry. After such a brief acquaintance, what could it possibly matter to him?

      Stephen Chester, Caterina’s father, was not entirely without a conscience, though it might have appeared that way during the wager with his daughter’s future that morning. But it was rarely that a man was brought bad news and a way of righting it in the same visit, and Stephen had wrestled with the problem of his eldest daughter for years now, falling deeper into despondency. Surely he could be forgiven for snatching at this solution with so little soul-searching and so few qualms. And at no cost, either.

      It was true he had aimed high, at first perhaps too high. Dukes, earls, viscounts and lords had all shown an interest, to Caterina’s amusement and very little cooperation. They had retired, licking their wounds, and he had begun to wonder whether it was her bright sparkling beauty they wanted or her dowry which, if not exactly prodigious, might have lured some of the more threadbare titles. But this man, Sir Chase Boston, had been less interested in the dowry than the idea of a challenge. It was strange, Stephen thought, that there were men who did not mind losing twenty thousand guineas.

      Conscience did smite Mr Chester, but not very hard and not where it hurt. He knew Sir Chase to be a notorious roué, a womaniser, a gambler, a hard-living hardplaying gallant: one could hardly ignore any of that. But he also had a title, of sorts, and wealth, and had offered to care for Caterina correctly, hitting the nail on the head when he’d suggested that a conventional husband might not be to her taste.

      It was hard to know, these days, what would be to her taste, but since she could not bring herself to marry an upright run-of-the-mill duke, then perhaps she might be won over by an extrovert baronet.

      Fingering the pattern on the crystal decanter, he sighed deeply. As for not putting any pressure on his wilful daughter to do her duty, well, Caterina knew all about the debt, and if she could be made to regard her future with Sir Chase as a duty to her family, then she might be persuaded to enter into the spirit of the affair with more seriousness than she had previously shown. Compared to an unhealthy IOU hanging over one’s head, what was a little fatherly pressure?

      Holding up the decanter by its neck, he tilted it this way and that against the light, wishing that Hannah had not, for once, watered his brandy down. No wonder Sir Chase had not been impressed. Nevertheless, he poured himself another tumblerful and carried it over to his magnificent burr-walnut desk, bought only recently at great expense.