Prologue

The Duchy of Lomond, 1811

Thursday

Lord Aaron Lyle, the Marquis of Lyle and heir to the powerful Duke of Lomond, said good-bye and bowed to the latest lady his father, the duke, had invited to Lomond House.

She smiled as she curtsied, revealing teeth the size of a horse’s, and laughed as if he’d said something witty, which he hadn’t, because all wit had died after spending an excruciating hour with the lady.

Aaron turned to his father as the carriage made its way down the long driveway of the estate. “You can’t seriously think I would consider her?”

“Your problem, Lyle, is you can’t see past looks,” his father said.

Nor past that dreadful laugh. Haw, haw, haw. Aaron shuddered. How could he grow to love a woman whose proximity made his stomach turn? It rankled deep inside him that he couldn’t choose his own wife.

“The lass is an only child and heir to a fortune,” his father continued. “Admittedly, she’s only the daughter of an earl, but her father is a colleague of mine in the House of Lords.”

“Enough! I refuse to marry her,” Aaron said through gritted teeth. “I must have some feeling for the woman I spend my life with.”

The duke’s face turned puce with apoplexy. “You will marry one of the women I have chosen for you.”

Aaron stood head to head with his father, enraged. “The ladies you introduce me to have no interest in me. They’re only interested in my title.”

“Of course they are. And you are going to marry one of them. I command it.”