“Gillian Leigh.”

“Leigh? The Amazon?” Sir Hugh squeaked, almost dropping his brandy. “Good Lord, Weston, have you lost your mind? She’s nobody! You can’t marry her, even with her connection to Collins.”

In his distress, Sir Hugh did not notice the menace in the earl’s sudden stillness, but the marquis did.

“Tolly…” he began warningly.

Weston raised his hand. “No, let him continue, Harry. I would hear what words of wisdom our young friend has to impart to me.”

Sir Hugh sputtered under the gaze of the mocking gray eyes. “’Pon my word, Weston, you’re jesting with me! You can’t be serious—a man of your consequence can’t marry some penniless chit from the colonies, no matter how badly he wants to bed her. Offer her your house in Kensington if you’re finished with your bit of muslin, but for God’s sake, man, don’t waste your name on an undesirable!”

Weston’s eyes never left those of the gently perspiring baronet before him. No expression flickered across his impassive face, but Rosse noticed that the long fingers clasped about the stem of the glass he held were white with tension. “Have a care, Tolly, you speak of my future bride,” Weston replied in a soft, dangerous voice.

Rosse moved uneasily in his chair. Although he had known both men for several years, he did not believe a long acquaintance would stop the situation from escalating into a challenge if Tolly continued along his present path. Rosse decided to remedy the situation as best he could.

“I’m sure Tolly didn’t mean to interfere, Noble. He’s as surprised as I am by your announcement—you haven’t wasted any time picking out a suitable countess. I know you’re the master of efficiency and organization, but don’t you think that you need more than two visits to acquaint yourself properly with the young woman?”

“I do not.”

The look Weston shot his old friend was fraught with warning, but Harry grinned in response. “And then there is your choice of bride—forgive me, old man, but did you not just two evenings ago specifically detail the list of attributes your wife would possess?”

“I did.” Rosse was relieved to see one side of Weston’s mouth quirk up as he answered. Only Harry was granted permission to tease and challenge the earl, owing largely to the fact that the two had grown up together on estates that touched. That, and the unspeakable event five years past that had drawn them closer than most brothers.

“I’ll admit Miss Leigh possesses a particularly luscious body”—Sir Hugh ignored Weston’s warning frown—“but she can hardly be considered countess material. Surely there must be some other chit—a nobly born chit—who would suit you better.”

Ever the peacemaker, Rosse hurried to distract his friend. “I like her, Tolly. She’s a bit of an Original, but I’m sure Noble knows what he’s about.”

Weston gave his friend a slight bow of acknowledgment.

Sir Hugh fiddled with the ribbon of his quizzing glass and appeared to be lost in thought. His eyes were bright, almost feverish, as he watched the earl closely. “Why her?” he asked suddenly. “You’ve only seen her twice—why the Amazon?”