the difficulty."
How could he be so ... so ... so dense? Didn't the man understand anything? Couldn't he see how his whole attitude went against everything she believed in? How on earth could she be in love with a man this dim?
"The difficulty is my firm belief that a man—any man—should not marry for money. I find it disgusting and ill-bred."
"Not in my country," he said staunchly. "Here it is in the best tradition to marry for financial gain. It has been accepted, condoned, and more, encouraged in aristocratic circles for generations, hundreds of years. It's a perfectly acceptable way of propping up sagging fortunes. I can think of worse things on which to base a marriage."
"Well, no marriage of mine will be based on money," she said haughtily.
"Of course not." Relief crossed his face. "Ours will be based on love."
She glared in astonishment. "Ours will be based on nothing!"
"Nothing?" He shook his head, as if unsure of the meaning of the word.
"Nothing," she repeated coldly, "because there is not the slightest chance I will marry you for love or money. Not now, not ever."
"But I love you and you bloody well love me!" His voice rose in unrestrained irritation.
"I detest the very ground beneath your feet." She cast him a final disdainful glance and stalked toward the ballroom.
"I was right when we first met," he called after her. "I thought you were a lunatic then, and now I know the accuracy of my observation."
She stopped in her tracks, turned and glared, sparks shooting from her eyes. Her voice rang heavy with righteous indignation. Cece was nothing short of magnificent.
"I would rather be considered a lunatic than a fortune-hunting beast. And to think, I called you a man of honor." Chin high, she headed for the ballroom.
He snorted in disgust. "Honor? This has nothing to do with honor. It's about money," he said, adding under his breath, "and love."
The woman was infuriating. He had no idea why she didn't share his delight in the knowledge that all impediments to a union between them no longer existed.
He glared at her retreating figure and a slow grin spread across his face. Whether she wished it or not, eventually she would be his wife. He would have her in his life and in his bed. It no longer had anything to do with money. She'd no doubt never believe him, but the moment he saw her again he knew she was well worth whatever price he might have to pay.
Jared chuckled to himself and strode after her. Whether she was willing to acknowledge it or not, Cecily Gwendolyn White would indeed be the next Countess of Graystone and his wife forever.
If, of course, they could each survive the courtship.
Cecily swept back into the ballroom with a touch more energy than was necessary but well within the bounds of propriety nonetheless. Jared followed a discreet few steps behind her. Olivia observed the scene with a speculative eye.
Odd, that Jared had escorted the girl to the garden after just one dance. One would have thought he was already well acquainted with the young woman, unless ... of course—the answer was obvious. Jared had meant it when he said he would waste no time in pursuit of the next American heiress to come along. His determination to wed would also explain his unusually quiet demeanor of late. They no longer shared a household, but Olivia was still acutely attuned to her son's moods. And each time she'd seen him these past two weeks he'd been extremely reserved, melancholy, even cross.
Now, however, she could see his grin from across the room. Good; he obviously liked the girl. And so far she met Olivia's requirements, Jared's mother narrowed her eyes.
"We shall see," she said under her breath.
It was as if the next few moments happened in a dream, as if time slowed nearly to a standstill. She watched her son approach Cecily, saw the girl swivel to face him. Then Olivia spotted that clumsy oaf of a son of Lady Charletons stumble over his own overgrown feet on the dance floor. The idiot
How could he be so ... so ... so dense? Didn't the man understand anything? Couldn't he see how his whole attitude went against everything she believed in? How on earth could she be in love with a man this dim?
"The difficulty is my firm belief that a man—any man—should not marry for money. I find it disgusting and ill-bred."
"Not in my country," he said staunchly. "Here it is in the best tradition to marry for financial gain. It has been accepted, condoned, and more, encouraged in aristocratic circles for generations, hundreds of years. It's a perfectly acceptable way of propping up sagging fortunes. I can think of worse things on which to base a marriage."
"Well, no marriage of mine will be based on money," she said haughtily.
"Of course not." Relief crossed his face. "Ours will be based on love."
She glared in astonishment. "Ours will be based on nothing!"
"Nothing?" He shook his head, as if unsure of the meaning of the word.
"Nothing," she repeated coldly, "because there is not the slightest chance I will marry you for love or money. Not now, not ever."
"But I love you and you bloody well love me!" His voice rose in unrestrained irritation.
"I detest the very ground beneath your feet." She cast him a final disdainful glance and stalked toward the ballroom.
"I was right when we first met," he called after her. "I thought you were a lunatic then, and now I know the accuracy of my observation."
She stopped in her tracks, turned and glared, sparks shooting from her eyes. Her voice rang heavy with righteous indignation. Cece was nothing short of magnificent.
"I would rather be considered a lunatic than a fortune-hunting beast. And to think, I called you a man of honor." Chin high, she headed for the ballroom.
He snorted in disgust. "Honor? This has nothing to do with honor. It's about money," he said, adding under his breath, "and love."
The woman was infuriating. He had no idea why she didn't share his delight in the knowledge that all impediments to a union between them no longer existed.
He glared at her retreating figure and a slow grin spread across his face. Whether she wished it or not, eventually she would be his wife. He would have her in his life and in his bed. It no longer had anything to do with money. She'd no doubt never believe him, but the moment he saw her again he knew she was well worth whatever price he might have to pay.
Jared chuckled to himself and strode after her. Whether she was willing to acknowledge it or not, Cecily Gwendolyn White would indeed be the next Countess of Graystone and his wife forever.
If, of course, they could each survive the courtship.
Cecily swept back into the ballroom with a touch more energy than was necessary but well within the bounds of propriety nonetheless. Jared followed a discreet few steps behind her. Olivia observed the scene with a speculative eye.
Odd, that Jared had escorted the girl to the garden after just one dance. One would have thought he was already well acquainted with the young woman, unless ... of course—the answer was obvious. Jared had meant it when he said he would waste no time in pursuit of the next American heiress to come along. His determination to wed would also explain his unusually quiet demeanor of late. They no longer shared a household, but Olivia was still acutely attuned to her son's moods. And each time she'd seen him these past two weeks he'd been extremely reserved, melancholy, even cross.
Now, however, she could see his grin from across the room. Good; he obviously liked the girl. And so far she met Olivia's requirements, Jared's mother narrowed her eyes.
"We shall see," she said under her breath.
It was as if the next few moments happened in a dream, as if time slowed nearly to a standstill. She watched her son approach Cecily, saw the girl swivel to face him. Then Olivia spotted that clumsy oaf of a son of Lady Charletons stumble over his own overgrown feet on the dance floor. The idiot
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