"Do you want the truth or an answer fit for a masquerade?"

"Truth."

"I've come to England to search for a rich husband," she said.

"No' unusual," he replied. "At least you have the ballocks to admit it."

"I have a proposal waiting in the wings at home," she said, then frowned. "Though I had hopednot to fall back on that one."

"How is your hunt going?"

"Not as well as I'd wished," she said. "A few discountable proposals."

"Discountable? Why?"

"Whenever I ask them to qualify themselves, they back off."

"Is that so?" he asked, and when she nodded solemnly, he felt a completely unfamiliar tug at his lips. "And how would a man qualify himself to you?"

"By giving me a token that would actually be dear to him, like an expensive ring or a pair of matched bays, or something along those lines."

"You've given this a lot of thought."

"I think of nothing else," she said so softly that he scarcely heard her. Then she added, "I did almost secure one. A truly good man." Her blond brows drew together as she clearly mused about him. "There might still be the slimmest hope with that one."

For the first time in his life and at the age of thirty-three, Ethan felt the unmistakable heat of jealousy.

What the bloody hell is wrong with me?"Then should you no' be working tonight on securing him?" he asked, his voice colder.

She blinked up at him. "Oh. Well, the man I mentioned went out for the evening. I'm his sister's houseguest, so I'm accompanying her tonight."

That generation of Weylands had only one male—Quin. Ethan ground his teeth. Quin had always been a favorite with the ladies.

She sighed. "Ça ne fait rien. It doesn't matter." Her voice was growing a bit slurred.