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intended to have her.
    Tugging the now completed knot a fraction to the left, he considered the girl herself. While it was true that he didn’t love her, he liked her well enough. She was agreeable. And charming. And gay. Yes, she was exceedingly gay. So what if her conversation was limited to mindless pleasantries? He’d accepted long ago that she was one of those beautiful yet none too witty creatures men married for show rather than stimulating discourse. And oh! What a show she made!
    With her mane of golden curls, her soft gray eyes and lithe figure, she was the sort of woman every man desired and other women envied. No doubt she would give him beautiful children — the getting of which would afford him the greatest of pleasure.
    As always happened when he thought of loving Miss Barrington, his groin flamed with sudden heat, making him crush the knot he was adjusting. Oh! Dangerous thoughts, these. Ones that he was constantly forced to guard against while in her presence, what with the snug fit of breeches these days.
    He made a face at himself in the mirror. Ah, well. He’d just have to take care and concentrate on her other — safer — assets until after they were married. Commanding himself to do just that, he removed the neck cloth he’d spoiled in his lust and reached for yet another, the eighth of the morning.
    Her other assets. Hmm. Well, with her easy charm and flawless manners, she would make a perfect hostess when he chose to entertain. And speaking of entertaining, she had a distinct advantage in that she was accepted into the best of circles …
    Despite the unfortunate fact that her father had been in trade. A cloth merchant, if he recalled correctly.
    A faint frown creased his brow at that recollection. How her mother, the daughter of an earl and the greatest beauty of her day, could have made such a mesalliance, he couldn’t fathom. True. Walter Barrington was reputed to have been a most dashing man, not to mention wealthy, but he was still a commoner and therefore unsuitable …
    As would be his daughter had she not been all but raised by her mother’s brother and his wife, the Earl and Countess of Marwood. Fortunately for Miss Barrington, the ton had forgiven her humble paternity and accepted her as the Marwood daughter.
    Not, of course, that the earl had been the most respectable peer of the realm. Not with his regrettable fondness for gambling hells. Yet he was nobility, and as such had raised his niece in the ways of the ton. His son Edgar had seen to the finishing of her education by sending her to Lady Beal’s exclusive school in Bath.
    Nicholas’s fingers worked away on his neck cloth as he considered the latest Earl of Marwood. There was something not quite right about the man, though he was powerless to say exactly what that something was. It was more a feeling than anything his lordship had ever said or done.
    Nicholas sighed. Ah, well. What did it matter? He was marrying Miss Barrington, not Marwood. And considering his lordship’s fondness for Town, they would no doubt see little enough of him once they removed to the country, which was where he intended them to spend the bulk of their time.
    Satisfied with that conclusion, he refocused on the problem of his neck cloth. To his amazement, he found that he’d tied it and perfectly at that.
    “My lord? Is this more appropriate?” George stood behind him, reflected in the mirror, holding up a blue-and-gold-striped waistcoat.
    Without turning, Nicholas nodded and raised his arms so that the valet could dress him.
    When the last gold button was secured and his shirt frills adjusted, he sat on the edge of his dressing-table chair and allowed the servant to draw on his boots. That done, he picked up his watch and bejeweled family crest fob.
    As he rose to attach it, his valet moved behind him, studying him through squinted eyes. After a moment the man blinked and said, “I say, my lord. Your Egyptian brown coat, the double-breasted one,