Blooming, blasted hell. “You aspire to court Lady Rachel.”

Rachel was entirely deserving of courtship. She was gracious, kind, well read, dear, and also patient with her siblings and mama. Rex could thus not explain the impulse to grab Lord Jeremy by the lapels and heave him out the window, for Rachel was more than of age to marry.

“I seek permission to ask the lady if I might pay my addresses. I realize some fellows start by presuming to approach the lady herself, but Lady Rachel’s rank is superior to my own. I am a younger son, and she can afford to be exceedingly particular in her choice of husband.”

“My lord,” Rex said gently, “the daughter of a duke can afford to be exceedingly particular regarding everything.” Just how particular, he’d only lately come to realize.

Lord Jeremy was the third son of a marquess, and Rex knew nothing unflattering regarding the would-be suitor or his family. Before giving his lordship permission to court Rachel—assuming she approved—Rex ought to make financial inquiries. Shortly thereafter, financial inquiries would also be made of him.

“What makes you think Lady Rachel will look with favor upon your suit?”

Rachel’s swain was a pleasant-looking fellow. Sandy-brown hair, friendly blue eyes, a ready smile. His complexion was ruddy, his build muscular. On a football team, Rex would have played him as a goalie or defensive back, where minding one’s post and quiet, vigilant courage could win the day.

Not bad qualifications for a man who sought the hand of Rex’s sister.

“When I am with Lady Rachel,” his lordship said, “the time passes as if on wings. I forget what day it is, I forget where I am to be that evening. We talk about everything—books, sports, the proper rearing of children, favorite memories, and difficult memories. I have never encountered her like, and I know, Elsmore, I know in the tenderest and most private part of my heart, that I will never encounter her like again.”

Ye flaming arrows from Cupid’s bow. What was a conscientious brother to say to such twaddle?

“I will confer with Lady Rachel before you and I explore this topic further. You do understand that the solicitors will make both of our lives merry hell over the settlements, should the matter progress that far?”

Lord Jeremy’s smile was high summer on a dreary winter afternoon. “You aren’t saying no.”

“I’m not saying yes, either, my lord. I’m saying, I will confer with her ladyship and give the matter some thought.” Though I would rather toss you out the window headfirst into the snow. His lordship’s timing was awful, dangling a sword of urgency over the whole accounting mess, which was growing more complicated the longer Rex and Mrs. Hatfield explored it.