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she’d been correct in her initial appraisal. He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, tall, blond, blue-eyed, wide-shouldered, tan and fit. His face could have been painted on an angel on a church ceiling. His body could have been used as a model for an artist to sculpt the perfect marble statue.
    He was imperious and jaded, cynicism rolling off him in waves, and no doubt he’d had dozens of lovers, perhaps hundreds or thousands. He was extremely magnetic, brooding and mysterious, the kind who would have women throwing themselves at him, the kind who would tumble the maids in a deserted bedchamber because the maids couldn’t resist.
    This man was to be her husband? This man was the one Miss Peabody had chosen?
    Amelia had never been especially close to Miss Peabody, but the stern, older woman had been a maternal figure to Amelia, the nearest thing Amelia could claim to having a mother. Amelia had thought Miss Peabody liked her, but now, with this debacle looming, she could only assume that Miss Peabody hadn’t liked her at all.
    Was this some sort of cosmic trick? Amelia had lived a stellar life, had tried to be a decent person, had obeyed moral strictures and practiced good deeds. What sin could she have committed that would have required this horrid punishment?
    From the moment she’d entered the room, she’d been frozen with shock, rendered mute by mortification. But she wasn’t a weak or frail creature, and she wasn’t afraid of Lucas Drake. Nor was she impressed.
    “ You don’t wish to marry me?” she haughtily inquired in her most severe schoolteacher’s voice.
    “No, I don’t. Not if you were the last woman on Earth.”
    She scoffed. “Funny that.”
    “What?” He frowned, his confusion obvious.
    “I wouldn’t marry you either. Not if you were the last man on Earth.” She turned her furious gaze to the earl. “I’m sorry, Lord Sidwell, but there’s been a mistake.”
    “No, no, don’t be hasty,” the earl said.
    “I’m not being hasty. Your son is a wastrel and libertine, and while I may currently have few options as to my future, I shouldn’t have to settle for such a wretch.”
    “Wretch!” Mr. Drake sputtered.
    “Yes, wretch,” Amelia repeated. “Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t care for the company in this room. I must pack my bag.”
    “Miss Hubbard!” the earl snapped. “You’ve only just arrived. You can’t leave.”
    “Yes, I can. You’ve brought me here under false pretenses. Please make the appropriate arrangements so I can depart at the earliest opportunity.”
    “I won’t,” the earl huffed.
    “Then I shall go on my own.” She flashed her most condescending smirk at Mr. Drake. “Good luck in your bridal search. I hope you get the girl you absolutely deserve.”
    “Just a darned minute, you little—” Mr. Drake started.
    “We have naught more to say to one another,” she replied, and she swept out, regal as any queen.
    * * * *
    “Nothing ever changes around here.”
    “You’re correct. You’re as obstinate and unreasonable as ever.”
    Lucas glared at his father, and his father glared right back. Lucas would have laughed if it wasn’t all so exasperating.
    His father—George Drake, Lord Sidwell—was a pompous, condescending ass. He assumed himself to be powerful and commanding, but in reality, he was pathetic and ridiculous.
    His rank of earl was just a generation old, a pittance in the history of the ancient, landed British families. Lucas’s grandfather had won the title after performing a service for the king that had been so important, but so secretive that no one knew what it was.
    George was new to his station, new to his role, and he was ceaselessly vexed by the fact that he didn’t receive the respect he felt was his due. His peers treated him like an interloper, and it was ludicrous for him to put on airs. Yet he always did.
    “I haven’t been in the house an hour,” Lucas chided, “and you’re already throwing a