A pair of penetrating gray eyes leveled on him, and Matthew swallowed a little nervously as the duke came around behind the desk and took his seat. The duke nodded at the chair across the desk, inviting Matthew to be seated, and said with calm authority, "Shall we begin, Mr. Bennett?"

"Certainly," Matthew said. He cleared his throat. "As you instructed, your grace, we have made inquiries into the young woman's family and background. Miss Stone is the daughter of Susan Stone-who died when Miss Stone was five years old-and Martin Albert Stone, who is still living. She was born on June thirtieth, eighteen hundred, at the family home near the village of Morsham, approximately seven hours from London.

"The Stone estate is small but productive, and Martin Stone has lived in the usual style of the landed gentry. However, about four years ago, his financial situation altered drastically. If you recall, that was when part of England was deluged with weeks of rainfall. Estates such as Stone's which did not have adequate drainage facilities suffered badly, and Stone apparently suffered more than most because there was no alternate means of supporting the estate, such as livestock.

"Our reports indicate that Stone then made some extremely large and unwise investments in a variety of risky ventures and, when those failed, he doubled and tripled his investments in more ventures of a similar nature-apparently in the hope of recouping his losses. These ventures were all disastrous, and two years ago, he mortgaged his estate to gain enough capital to make the last-and largest-of the ventures. He invested all the funds in a colonial shipping company. Unfortunately, that failed as well.

"At this time, he is heavily mortgaged and deeply in debt, not only to the cent-per-centers in London, but to the local shopkeepers as well. The estate is quickly falling into disrepair, and there is only a skeleton staff of servants left on the place."

Reaching into the deerskin case, Matthew extracted a sheaf of papers. "This is an itemized list of his creditors, although there are bound to be more that we didn't discover in the brief period of time we had to make our investigation." He slid the papers across the surface of the ornate desk, then waited for some reaction from the duke.

Leaning back in his chair, Clayton Westmoreland scanned the lists, his face impassive. "How bad?" he asked when he finished reading the last page.

"Altogether, I'd say he's about Ј100,000 in debt."

The staggering sum made no apparent impression on the duke, who handed the papers back to Matthew and abruptly switched the subject. "What were you able to learn about the girl?"

Who, Matthew wondered as he extracted the file marked "W. Stone," should know more about the girl than the man whose mistress she was about to become? Although the duke had not actually said it, Matthew had already guessed that Claymore intended to take the young woman under discussion as his mistress, providing her with a comfortable establishment and an income of her own. He interpreted the duke's interest in the girl's family as curiosity over what kind of opposition, if any, he might expect from them.

To Matthew's legal mind, Stone's appalling financial situation already made the outcome of the matter a foregone conclusion: Martin Stone would have to accept this chance to turn over the responsibility for his daughter's support to Clayton Westmoreland. What choice had he? He could hardly continue to clothe her and keep her amid the Quality for much longer. If Stone's concern was for the girl's reputation, his own was in far more jeopardy than hers. Once his creditors discovered his dire circumstances, as they would at any time now, he would be facing not only disgrace, but an unpleasant stay in debtor's prison.

Matthew flushed as he realized that he'd been silently staring at the girl's open file, and he began at once. "While it was difficult to learn, much of a personal nature, without awakening unwanted suspicion, we did discover that Miss Stone was considered rather a difficult child, of an… er . . . unpredictable disposition. She is apparently well-read and uncommonly well-educated by a long string of tutors. She speaks fluent French, of course, as well as being proficient in Greek-enough so that she occasionally assists her uncle as translator during social functions where Greek diplomats are present. She reads Italian, Latin, and German; she may also speak them, but we aren't certain."

Matthew hesitated, feeling utterly absurd for telling Lord Westmoreland what he must already know. "Go on," the duke said with a faint smile at Matthew's obvious discomfiture.

Nodding uncomfortably, Matthew continued. "Many of the individuals we contacted mentioned that there was considerable dissension between the young lady and her father.

A few of them put the blame at his door, but most sympathized with Martin Stone as an unfortunate man who had fathered a rebellious, unbiddable child. At the age of fourteen, Miss Stone evidently developed an … er … rather violent infatuation for a gentleman named Paul Sevarin. Sevarin was ten years her senior and apparently he was no more pleased with Miss Stone's girlish attachment to him than her father was. Because of that, and because Stone apparently couldn't deal with her any other way, her father eventually sent her to France with her aunt and uncle when she was nearly sixteen. They then presented her to French Society at the customary age of seventeen. Since that time, our sources indicate that she had enjoyed an extraordinary popularity here. Of course, if her father's financial circumstances and her lack of a dowry were known, that situation would change drastically," Matthew conjectured aloud, then he glanced apologetically at the duke, and returned to the facts at hand-

"Miss Stone has been on the verge of receiving numerous offers of marriage, but has discouraged those suitors as soon as their intentions became apparent to her. Those gentlemen who persisted to the point of actually speaking to her uncle, Lord Edward Gilbert, were turned down by him, apparently on behalf of Martin Stone. Her manners are reported to be perfectly acceptable to society, although somewhat out of the ordinary. Is there some mistake in this?" Matthew inquired when the duke burst out laughing.

"No. No mistake," Clayton chuckled. "I'd say your information is entirely accurate." In his memory, he could still see her green eyes glowing with laughter as she scoffed at noble titles-his in particular. "Is there anything else?" he asked finally.

"Only a few remarks, your grace. Her uncle, Lord Edward Gilbert, as you already know, is attached to the British Consulate here and enjoys an unblemished reputation. Miss Stone is reportedly on excellent terms with him, and with his wife, Lady Anne Gilbert. At present, it is the consensus of opinion that Nicolas DuVille is on the verge of offering for her hand-an offer which Lord Gilbert will undoubtedly find most acceptable. The DuVilles, as I'm sure you know, are one of France's leading families, and Nicolas is their son and heir."

Matthew closed the file. "That's all we were able to team in the time you allotted us, your grace."

Leaving the solicitor to his own thoughts, Clayton got up and walked over to the wide sweep of windows overlooking the rolling green hills. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned a shoulder against the window frame and gazed at the magnificent view, while he considered for the last time the plan which, if put into words now, would become a reality.

Time after time, whenever he was in France and bad seen Whitney, he had been drawn to her, laughing silently at some of the setdowns she gave her too persistent suitors. Twice they had been introduced; the first time she was too young for him to consider, and the second time she had been surrounded by a group of beaux all vying for her attention. She had nicked a distracted glance in his direction without really looking at him or listening to his name.

After that, he had avoided further contact with her, sensing that Whitney would require considerable time and courtship to lure into his arms. Of time, Clayton had little. When it came to courtship, he could not recall ever having had to actively court a woman in his adult life, at least not a reluctant woman. They were all too ready and eager to court him.

And then, four weeks ago, he had stood in the Armands' garden, drinking in her presence and fighting down the insane impulse to bend his head and slowly, endlessly, kiss the irreverent laughter from her soft, inviting lips, to carry her into the darkness and make love to her right there.

She was a natural temptress, alluring and provocative, with the smile of an angel, the slender, voluptuous body of a goddess, and an unspoiled charm that made him grin whenever he thought of her. And she had a sense of humor, an irreverent contempt for the absurd, that matched his own.

Clayton gave up trying to understand his reasons for the step he was about to take. He wanted her, that was reason enough. She was warm and witty and elusive as a damned

butterfly. She would never bore him as other women had; he knew it with the wisdom born of years of experience with the fair sex.

His mind made up, he turned and strode briskly to the desk. "I will need some documents prepared, and there will have to be a transfer of a considerable amount of money when Stone accepts my offer."

"If Stone accepts it," Matthew corrected automatically.

The Westmoreland brow quirked in sardonic amusement. "He'll accept it."

Despite his nervousness today, Matthew was a respected legal advisor who had schooled himself never to show any emotion when dealing with delicate matters of a client. Nevertheless, when his grace began to dictate the terms under which a staggering sum of money was being offered to Martin Stone, Matthew raised his head and gaped in astonishment at the duke.