He dismissed Rose with a careless wave. “You have too many aunts to keep track of. Since I failed to get married, then, it’s become incessant. They call, they write, they try to bribe my servants. One even tried to climb through my window one night. The married ones are irritating enough, but the unmarried ones—what do you imagine those three females wanted just now?”

She shrugged, then realized it was pointless in the dark. “No idea.”

“To be compromised. One virgin angling for the appearance of seduction—or at least to be compromised—and two married witnesses.” He added thoughtfully, “It might be different if they were all married.”

George was disgusted. “Well, I don’t want to be compromised, and I have no interest in marrying you, so I’ll thank you to take yourself off—discreetly!—before anyone else comes in.”

He didn’t move. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

“What do you mean?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Is this about what I said at the opera the other night?”

He snorted. “Hardly. But I did come to this ball specifically to talk to you. So when I saw you enter the conservatory, I followed you.”

“Why?” She backed away. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“It’s about your horse.”

“My horse?” It was the last thing she’d imagined.

“The black stallion. What’s your price?”

She stared at him a moment. “He doesn’t have a price.”

“Well, think of one,” he said impatiently. “I wish to buy him.”

“Well, you can’t. Didn’t you get my note? He’s not for sale.”

“Nonsense.” He named a price that made her blink.

The very assurance of him, the arrogant way he just assumed that her horse was his for the taking, that all he had to do was name a price infuriated her. “You’re as bad as Lord Towsett.”

“I am nothing like Lord Towsett.” His indignation was balm to her ears.

“Yes, you are—you’re exactly the same. Each of you is so puffed up in your own consequence that you can’t possibly conceive of anyone refusing you anything. I’m fed up with men who can’t take no for an answer. So listen here, duke—I don’t care if you offer me a million trillion pounds, Sultan is not for sale. He’s mine and he’s staying mine. Now go away.”

There was a short silence.

“I said, go away.”

“I’ll leave,” he said eventually, “but this conversation is not over.”

“Oh, yes, it is.”

George heard the crunch of gravel under his feet as he made his way to the door. He opened it and paused, a stark silhouette against the bright party lights outside. “I always get what I want in the end.”

“Worse than Lord Towsett,” George called after him, but the door had already closed.

Chapter Six