"I would have married you sooner or later, Augusta. I told you that."

She looked at him, perplexed. "But, why, my lord? I still do not completely comprehend why you settled on me when there were so many other more suitable candidates on your list."

Harry eyed her consideringly for a long moment. "Contrary to everyone's opinion, impeccable manners and perfection of behavior were not my chief requirements in a wife."

Augusta 's eyes widened in surprise. "They were not?"

"Catherine's manners and deportment were exemplary, as it happens. Just ask anyone who knew her."

Augusta frowned. "Then, if it was not perfection of manners and behavior, what precisely were you looking for in a wife?"

"You said it yourself that night I found you sneaking about in Enfield's library. All I wanted was a truly virtuous woman."

"Yes, I know. But surely for someone such as yourself, female virtue goes hand in hand with a sound knowledge and respect for the proprieties."

"Not necessarily, although I will admit it would be convenient if it did." Harry looked rueful. "As far as I am concerned, virtue in a woman is based solely on her capacity to be loyal. From all I have observed, while you are unfortunately inclined to be impetuous and headstrong, you are also a very loyal young female. Probably the most loyal one I have ever encountered."

"Me?" Augusta was startled at the observation.

"Yes, you. It has not escaped my notice that you have demonstrated great loyalty toward your friends, such as Sally, and the memories of the Northumberland Ballingers."

"Rather like a spaniel, I imagine."

He smiled at her disgruntled tone. "I happen to like spaniels."

She lifted her chin, anger flaring in her. "Loyalty, my lord, is like love, at least as far as I am concerned. You cannot purchase it with a wedding ring."

"On the contrary. I did precisely that a few hours ago," he said quietly. "You would do well to remember that, Augusta. I am not concerned with the emotion you call love. But I shall expect the same degree of respect and loyalty from you that you give to the other members of your family, past and present."

Augusta drew herself up proudly. "And am I to have the same in return?"

"You may depend upon it. I shall do my duty as a husband by you." His eyes gleamed with sensual promise.

She narrowed her eyes, refusing to be drawn by the hint of teasing warmth. "Very well, my lord, loyalty it shall be. But that is all it shall be until I choose otherwise."

"What the devil is that cryptic statement supposed to mean, Augusta?"

She turned her head to gaze resolutely out the window. "Merely that as long as you do not value love, I will not provide you with any." She would force him to realize that there had to be more to this marriage than a cold exchange of loyalties, she told herself fiercely.

"You must suit yourself," Harry replied with a shrug.

She shot him a swift, sidelong glance. "You do not mind that I do not plan to love you?"

"Not as long as you fulfill your responsibilities as my wife."

Augusta shivered. "You are very cold, my lord. I had not realized. Indeed, based upon certain recent actions of yours, I had begun to hope you might be as reckless and hot-blooded as any Northumberland Ballinger."

"No one is as reckless and hot-blooded as a Northumberland Ballinger," Harry said. "Least of all myself."

"Pity." Augusta reached into her reticule and drew out the book she had brought along to read on the journey. She opened it on her lap and gazed pointedly down at the page.

"What is that you are reading?" Harry inquired softly.

"Your newest, my lord." She did not deign to look up. "Observations on Livy's History of Rome."

"Rather dull fare for you, I should imagine."

"Not at all, my lord. I have read some of your other books and I find them quite interesting."

"You do?"

"Why, yes. If one overlooks the obvious flaw in all of them, that is," she concluded smoothly.

"Flaw? What flaw is that, pray tell?" Harry was clearly outraged. "And who are you to point it out, may I ask? You are hardly a student of the classics, madam."

"One does not have to be a classical scholar to notice the persistent flaw in your work, my lord."

"Is that so? Why don't you tell me just what that flaw is, then, my dear?" he ground out.

Augusta raised her brows and looked straight at him. She smiled sweetly. "The chief irritation I feel in reading your historical research, sir, is that, in every single one of your volumes, you have contrived to ignore the role and contribution of females

"Females?" Harry gave her a blank look. He recovered at once. "Females do not make history."

"I have decided one gams that impression chiefly because history is written by males, such as yourself," Augusta said. "For some reason male writers choose to pay no attention to female accomplishments. I noticed that particularly when I did research for the decor of Pompeia's. It was very difficult to find the information I needed."

"Good lord, I do not believe I am hearing this " Harry groaned. It was too much He was being taken to task by an overly emotional little baggage who read Scott and Byron. And then, in spite of himself, Harry started to smile "Something tells me you are going to be an interesting addition to my household, madam"

Graystone, the great house that reigned over Harry's Dorset estates, was as solid and forbidding as the man himself. It was an imposing structure of classical Palladian proportions that loomed above impeccably maintained gardens The last of the late afternoon sunlight was gleaming on the windows as the traveling coach rolled up the sweeping drive.

A flurry of activity erupted as the servants rushed out to handle the horses and greet their new lady.

Augusta gazed about eagerly as Harry assisted her down from the coach. This was to be her new home, she told herself over and over again For some reason she could not yet seem to fully comprehend the change that had taken place in her life that morning. She was now the Countess of Graystone. Harry's wife. These were her people.

She had a home of her own at last.

That thought was just sinking in when a small, dark-haired girl raced out of the open door and flew down the steps. She was dressed in a severely plain white muslin dress that did not boast a single flounce or ribbon.

"Papa. Papa, you are home. I am so glad."

Harry's expression softened into a smile of genuine affection as he bent down to greet his daughter. "I was wondering where you had got to, Meredith. Come and meet your new mother."

Augusta held her breath, wondering what sort of welcome she was about to receive. "Hello, Meredith. I am very pleased to meet you."

Meredith turned her head and looked at Augusta with intelligent, crystal gray eyes that could only have come from her father. She was a beautiful child, Augusta realized.

"You cannot be my mother," Meredith explained with unshakable logic. "My mother is in heaven."

"This is the lady who will take her place," Harry said firmly. "You must call her Mama."

Meredith studied Augusta carefully and then turned back to her father. "She is not as beautiful as Mama. I have seen the portrait in the gallery. Mama had golden hair and pretty blue eyes. I will not call this lady Mama."

Augusta 's heart sank, but she summoned a smile as she saw Harry start to scowl in response to that observation. "I am sure I am not nearly as pretty as your mother, Meredith. If she was as pretty as you, she must have been very beautiful indeed. But perhaps you will find other things about me that you will like. In the meantime, why don't you call me whatever you like? There is no need to call me Mama."

Harry frowned at her. "Meredith is to show you the proper respect and she will do so."