haven’t seen a young woman create a stir like this since Caroline made her bow,” Robert Collingwood said, grinning at Jason as they stood watching Victoria at a ball a week later. “She’s set every tongue in the city wagging. Did she really tell Roddy Carstairs she could outshoot him with his own pistol?”

“No,” Jason said dryly. “She told him that if he made one more improper advance to her, she would shoot him—and that if she missed, she would turn Wolf loose on him. And that if Wolf didn’t finish the job, she had every faith I would.” Jason chuckled and shook his head. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been nominated for the role of hero. I was a little crushed, however, to be second choice after her dog.”

Robert Collingwood shot him an odd look, but Jason didn’t notice. He was watching Victoria. Almost completely surrounded by beaux who were vying for her attention, she stood serenely in their midst—a titian-haired queen holding court with her worshipful subjects. Draped in an ice blue satin gown with matching elbow-length gloves, her hair spilling over her shoulders in a lush, wanton mass, she dominated the entire ballroom with her enchanting presence.

As he watched, he noticed Lord Warren hovering at her elbow, his eyes delving down the low, rounded bodice of Victoria’s gown. Jason’s face whitened with anger. “Excuse me,” he said tightly to Robert. “Warren and I are going to have a little talk.”

It was the first of many times to come during the next fortnight that the ton witnessed the staggering spectacle of the Marquess of Wakefield swooping down like an angry hawk upon some overeager swain whose attentions toward Lady Victoria became too marked.

Three weeks after Victoria’s come-out, Charles walked into Jason’s study. “I have made up the list of candidates for Victoria’s husband that you wanted to review,” he announced in the voice of one who has been forced to perform a repugnant task and now wishes to be done with it. “I’d like to go over it with you.”

Jason glanced up from the report he was reading, and his eyes narrowed on the sheet of paper in Charles’s hand. “I’m busy at the moment.”

“Nevertheless, I’d like to get this over with. I’ve found the chore of preparing it singularly unpleasant. I’ve selected several acceptable candidates, but the task has not been an easy one.”

“I’m certain it hasn’t,” Jason agreed sardonically. “Every fop and fool in London has been here sniffing after her.” Having said that, Jason returned his attention to the report. “Go ahead and read off the names, if you must.”

Frowning in surprise at Jason’s dismissive attitude, Charles took the seat across the desk from him and put on his spectacles. “First, there is young Lord Crowley, who has already asked my permission to court her.”

“No. Too impulsive,” Jason decreed flatly.

“What makes you say so?” Charles said with a bewildered look.

“Crowley doesn’t know Victoria well enough to want to ‘court’ her, as you so quaintly phrased it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The first four men on this list have already asked my permission to do the same thing—providing, of course, that your claim on her is not unbreakable.”

“No, to all four of them—for the same reason,” Jason said curtly, leaning back in his chair, absorbed in the report in his hand. “Who’s next?”

“Crowley’s friend, Lord Wiltshire.”

“Too young. Who’s next?”

“Arthur Landcaster.”

“Too short,” Jason said cryptically. “Next?”

“William Rogers,” Charles shot back in a challenging voice, “and he’s tall, conservative, mature, intelligent, and handsome. He’s also heir to one of the finest estates in England. I think he would do very well for Victoria.”

“No.”

“No?” Charles burst out. “Why not?”

“I don’t like the way Rogers sits a horse.”

“You don’t like—” Charles bit out in angry disbelief; then he glanced at Jason’s implacable face and sighed. “Very well. The last name on my list is Lord Terrance. He sits a horse extremely well, in addition to being an excellent chap. He is also tall, handsome, intelligent, and wealthy. Now,” he finished triumphantly, “what fault can you find with him?”

Jason’s jaw tightened ominously. “I don’t like, him.”

“You aren’t going to marry him!” Charles shot back, his voice rising.

Jason lurched forward in his chair and slammed his hand on his desk. “I said I don’t like him,” he said through clenched teeth. “And that’s the end of it.”

The anger on Charles’s face slowly gave way to surprise, then to a mirthless smile. “You don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else to have her—is that it?”

“Right,” Jason replied acidly. “I don’t want her.”

Victoria’s low, furious voice sounded from the doorway behind them. “I don’t want you either!”

Both men’s heads snapped around, but as she came forward, her magnificent blue eyes were trained exclusively on Jason’s impassive face. She braced her palms on his desk, her chest heaving with angry hurt. “Since you’re so worried about getting me off your hands if Andrew doesn’t come for me, I’ll make every effort to find several substitutes for him, but you would never be one of them! You aren’t worth a tenth of him. He’s gentle and kind and good, while you are cold and cynical and conceited and—and a bastard!”

The word “bastard” ignited a leaping fury in Jason’s eyes. “If I were you,” he retaliated in a low, savage voice, “I’d start looking for those substitutes, because good old Andrew doesn’t want you any more than I do.”

Humiliated past bearing, Victoria whirled on her heel and stalked out of the room, only one thought in her mind: somehow she was going to show Jason Fielding that other men didwant her. And she was never, never going to let herself trust him again. In the last weeks, she had been lulled into thinking they were friends. She had even thought he liked her. She remembered the name she had just called him, and her humiliation doubled. How could she have let him provoke her into calling him names!

When she had gone, Charles turned to Jason. “Congratulations,” he said bitterly. “You’ve wanted her to despise you since the day she arrived at Wakefield, and now I know why. I’ve seen the way you watch her when you think no one is looking. You want her and you’re afraid that in a weak moment you’ll ask her to marr—”

“That’s enough!”

“You want her,” Charles continued furiously, “you want her, and you care for her, and you hate yourself for that weakness. Well, now you don’t have to worry—you’ve humiliated her so thoroughly she’ll never forgive you for it. Both of you were right. You are a bastard, and Andrew isn’t going to come for her. Gloat away, Jason. You don’t have to worry about weakening anymore. She’ll hate you even more as soon as she realizes Andrew isn’t coming. Enjoy your triumph.”

Jason picked up the report he had been reading earlier, his expression glacial. “Make out another list during the next week and bring it to me.”