She gave him a long, thoughtful look. “You told Aunt Agatha you wanted an independent woman. In George, you have one. Do not now complain of it. George, beneath the prickly surface, is an utter darling. Whether or not you ever see that side of her will be up to you.”

Hart made no response. Utter darling, was she? He’d seen no evidence of that. He had, however, experienced the wildcat in her, and that, to his bemusement, he rather liked.

Lady Georgiana entered the room with that confident leggy stride that never failed to cause his body to sit up and take notice. She was dressed in a slate-colored dress that was halfway between gray and blue. Edged with claret piping and worn under a claret-colored spencer, it was plain but stylish. Not for her the frills and flourishes most young ladies affected.

The color of her dress highlighted her eyes. The color of her spencer drew attention to her lush, ripe mouth; and the way it clung, framing her breasts . . . It was a garment meant to enhance a woman’s charms, rather than keep her warm.

It more than warmed him.

Hart averted his gaze. He needed all his wits about him. Settlements were far-ranging legal agreements, and Ashendon and his niece were sure to drive a hard bargain.

George glanced at the corner where Ashendon’s secretary had settled himself unobtrusively. “You didn’t bring your secretary?” she asked.

“No, I don’t have—” Hart broke off, remembering just in time that he was supposed to have an overeager secretary who sent notices of betrothals to newspapers. “He’s occupied on another endeavor, at one of my estates.”

She shrugged, seated herself and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Shall we start then? I’ve made a list.”

For some reason, that annoyed him. He tried to tell himself that it was not unreasonable for a woman to ensure her marriage settlements were adequate, but, damn it, what did she think he was? Some kind of miserly penny-pinch? He’d been more than generous when preparing to marry Lady Rose.

Besides, settlements were men’s business. She was passing from the protection of her uncle to the protection of her husband. To challenge that was to impugn his honor. He took good care of what was his.

She began. “I have an inheritance coming to me when I turn twenty-five. I wish it to remain mine, even after marriage.” She flung him a challenging look.

“I agree,” he said curtly. What interest did he have in her paltry inheritance? “We will set up a trust—”

“No, I will have sole control over it. I won’t have trustees telling me what I can and can’t do with my own money.”

Hart glanced at Ashendon, and shrugged. If that’s how she wanted it . . .

Ashendon made a note. In the corner, his secretary did the same, no doubt putting it into legal language.