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old, young, rich, poor, homely, pretty—and his frequent forays into passion had left him unequivocally bored with innocents and spinsters. Give him an experienced trollop, and he was happy.
    Still, he was aggravated by Miss Hubbard’s disregard. Normally he couldn’t care less about a woman’s disdain, but for some reason, hers rankled.
    For all his foibles and faults, he was an earl’s son. Every lowborn fiancée his father had found in the past—and there had been over a dozen—had been eager to marry into such an exalted family. Lucas was the one who declined the matches. The women never refused—well, at least not until they met him.
    Miss Amelia Hubbard was the only one stupid enough or brave enough to rebuff him. He was a very proud man, and her rejection galled him as nothing had in ages. He wasn’t about to let her have the last word.
    He marched over to the bedchamber. She was by the bed, folding a dress and putting it into a battered portmanteau.
    “You’re really packing your bags?” he asked. “I thought you were joking.”
    “Are you still here?” She didn’t bother to turn around. “I could have sworn I told you to go away.”
    “I never listen to women.”
    “I’m sure that’s true.”
    He blustered over and peered into the bag. She had a tiny pile of personal belongings: two plain gray dresses that were exact copies of the one she was wearing, some faded undergarments, a scuffed pair of winter boots, and a drab nightgown with flowers embroidered on the bodice.
    “You have the most pitiful collection of clothes I’ve ever seen,” he said.
    She pushed him away and kept on folding. “I apologize that I can’t live up to your lofty standards. No doubt the trollops in your life are much more extravagant.”
    “Yes, they are.” He wouldn’t deny that he dabbled with trollops, wouldn’t pretend he was anything but what he was. “You’re attired like a vicar’s daughter or a schoolteacher.”
    “That’s because I am a schoolteacher.” She scowled. “Or I was until your father lured me to this madhouse.”
    He laughed aloud. “A schoolteacher?”
    “Yes. What’s so funny?”
    “He’s finally stooped to the bottom of the barrel. He could never get a woman of any rank or family to have me, so he’s been climbing down the ladder, until now, it appears we’re on the very last rung.”
    “And you, Mr. High-And-Mighty-Drake, assume you’re too grand to marry a schoolteacher?”
    “Absolutely too grand—as well as too disinterested. I’m a confirmed bachelor, Miss Hubbard.” He gave a mock shudder. “The very mention of a leg-shackle makes me break out in hives.”
    “As if any sane female would have you,” she grumbled.
    “You’re very free with your insults.”
    “I’m simply listening to you and replying in kind.”
    “Where did you develop your sharp tongue?”
    “Where did you?”
    “Are you always so curt and uncivil?”
    “Are you?”
    “Gad,” he scoffed, “I feel as if I’m talking to a ten-year-old.”
    “So do I.”
    She whipped around to face him, but he was standing much closer than she’d realized. Her shift of position thrust her body directly into his.
    Suddenly, they were forged fast, chests, bellies, thighs, feet. She was just the height he enjoyed, five-foot-five or so, and with his being an avowed libertine, he couldn’t help but notice she was very shapely. And very pretty.
    The women in his world were mostly blond, but she was a brunette, the dark shade enhancing the emerald of her bright green eyes, eyes that widened with dismay as she grasped that she was leaned against him.
    She moved to step away, but before she could, he slipped a palm onto her back and kept her right where she was. He couldn’t figure out his purpose, but with their abrupt contact, there was a very strident, very stirring jolt of desire flowing between them.
    With her being such a pedantic shrew, he was perplexed as to why he’d suffer any reaction at all, but