George followed her gaze. There, mounted on a magnificent bay gelding, was the duke. He was a picture of masculine perfection. His coat was exquisitely cut to show off his lean, powerful build; his buckskin breeches clung to long, hard, muscular thighs. His horse gleamed, his boots gleamed, his tack was immaculate. Hard gray eyes glinted as he met her gaze and inclined his head slightly.

Then without a word, he rode on.

He’d barely acknowledged her. Or Aunt Dottie.

So arrogant.

Hart saw the moment she’d noticed him; he’d been watching her for the last few minutes, strolling along with her aunt, trying not to look as though she was bored to pieces and chafing at the bit. And despite that hat she was wearing, he could see her reactions quite clearly—she really did have an expressive face. Surprise, relief, expectation and then annoyance, in quick succession.

Excellent. His trip to the country had had the effect he’d hoped, even though his reasons for going had nothing to do with her. His late cousin’s estate was in more of a mess than he’d first thought, and a trip to go over the main properties again with his new manager was essential. All kinds of mismanagement had been discovered after Arthur Wooldridge had passed on.

Some of Hart’s friends loathed that aspect of being a landowner, considering too close an interest in business to be a sign of ill breeding, perilously close to resembling a cit, but Hart enjoyed it. He found it satisfying to look at a problem, analyze the causes, consider the solutions, select the best option and implement the chosen strategy. And observe the results. And, to be frank, he enjoyed being rich and liked the fact that if he was clever and diligent, he could be even richer.

In this case, his efforts were all for his late cousin’s young son, Phillip, only seven years old and already facing a lifetime of debt, thanks to his father and grandfather’s improvidence. Not that the boy knew anything about that. Bad enough that he was newly orphaned.

It was a shame that the boy couldn’t be sent off to school, but when he’d made the suggestion, his tutor had written back, insisting that the boy was too delicate and high-strung yet for the boisterous environment of a boarding school. Perhaps next year . . .

It was a mess now, but Hart was determined that by the time young Phillip Wooldridge reached his majority, he would inherit a prosperous, well-run estate.

So now Hart was back in London, and the next stage of the hunt had begun. He wanted to waste as little time as possible on arranging his marriage, and his strategy was in place.