“Acceptable?” She barely managed to choke out the word. Good lord, on top of everything else, the man was daft. “She is a diamond of the first water. She will make the perfect viscountess and hostess. Not only that, in financial terms, and in terms of your estates, the match is highly advantageous.”

“You say that as if I care a jot about such things, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

She stared at him. “Do you not?”

He looked as if he were debating how to answer, then he said, “Actually, no. I do not. Society and all its trappings hold no appeal for me. They never have. Parties, soirees, the Season, none of it interests me. My holdings are already substantial enough. I do not require more land.”

She barely suppressed a snort of disbelief. A man not interested in increasing his holdings? Not lured by the appeal of Society’s trappings? Either he thought her a gullible fool or the years he’d spent gathering artifacts under the desert sun had greatly depleted his mental acuity.

He adjusted his glasses, and Meredith noticed his hands. Large, well-formed, long-fingered hands, browned by the sun. Hands that had massaged hers only moments ago. They looked strong and capable and manly in a way that stirred her in an odd, unfamiliar manner.

“Honor dictates I marry-and I need to do so before Father succumbs,” he said, his voice dragging her gaze back to his. “So you see, as far as I’m concerned, whomever you chose, diamond or not, would not much matter. I’m not necessarily particular about the bride, so long as she is not overly off-putting-in which case, Lady Sarah is acceptable.”

Being a practical person herself, Meredith couldn’t find fault with his logic. Still, it irked that he appeared less than bowled over by her coup of snaring the much-sought-after Lady Sarah for him.

“What if you are unable to undo this curse of yours, Lord Greybourne?”

“Failure is simply not an option I will consider, Miss Chilton-Grizdale.”