I can’t possibly interview for a new secretary and a new wife at the same time.”

She stared at him blankly. “You’re already trying to replace Sophie?”

“She’s gone, isn’t she?”

“Isn’t that rather...callous?”

“Did you expect me to mourn her?”

“She was loyal to you for five and a half years!”

“But she decamped at the last possible second, and the fact is, I need a wife, quickly.”

“You’ve never needed anyone, and yet now you must have a wife, immediately.”

“It does sound ridiculous put like that, but that pretty much sums it up.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a very convoluted story so I’ll give you the short version. I must be married by my thirty-fifth birthday or I lose the earldom, the house and everything attached.”

She was still for a moment before she sat upright in her chair. “Your birthday is July sixteenth.”

“Correct.”

“That’s just...a few weeks away.”

“Correct again.”

She impatiently shoved hair behind an ear, away from her flushed cheek. “This sounds like something from a novel.”

“I’m fully aware of the ridiculousness of my situation, but my father set up the trust that way. When he died just after my thirtieth birthday, I inherited the title, but there were provisions.”

Silence followed his words. Poppy looked absolutely appalled.

Dal shrugged, adding. “My father thought he was being clever. Exerting control from beyond the grave, and so forth.”

“When did you find out? At the reading of the will?”

“No, although wouldn’t that have been a shock? Surprised my father didn’t think of that. But no, I’ve known since my early twenties, and did my best not to think about it until I was nearly thirty.”

“Did Sophie know this?”

“Sophie was part of my father’s plan. He hand-selected her for me.”

“This just keeps getting worse.”

“She didn’t ever tell you?”

“Heavens, no. But probably because she knew I’d disapprove. No wonder she ran at the last second. I would run, too. Poor Sophie.”

“Sophie benefitted from the arrangement...until she didn’t.” He shrugged carelessly. “But now there is a serious time crunch. I have to be married in sixteen days. It’s hard enough closing a big deal in two weeks, but to find a wife in the same amount of time? It’s not going to be easy.”

“And there is no way out of this?”

“No. But trust me, I tried. I’ve spent a fortune in legal fees and finally accepted that marriage really is the only solution.”

She bit her lip and looked away, a sheen of tears in her eyes. “I am so upset.”

In his shirt, with her thick hair loose and her slim legs curled up in the seat of her chair, she exuded youth and a sweet, innocent sensuality that teased his senses.

“Don’t be,” he answered her, forcing his attention from her lips to the sweep of her cheekbone and the strands of dark hair framing her pale oval face. “There is no point in both of us being upset.”

“I know I shouldn’t say it, but the more I learn about your father, the more I dislike him.”

“He was a very tortured man.”

“It sounds as if he did his best to torture you.”

This was not a comfortable conversation. Dal couldn’t even remember the last time he’d discussed his father with anyone. “I’d like to believe it wasn’t intentional. I’d like to think he just...couldn’t help himself.”

She rubbed her eyes and drew a deep breath and turned to look at him, focused now on the goal. “So you need a wife.”

“Yes.”

“Have you given thought to possible women you could see...proposing to?”

“Yes. I’ve thought about it carefully and made a short list.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the sheet of paper where he’d scrawled the names, handing it to her.

He sat back, studying her face as she skimmed the list. For a moment her expression was blank and then her head shot up, her rounded eyes matching her dropped jaw.

“I don’t appreciate the joke,” she said shortly, folding the sheet of paper in half and thrusting it back at him. “Take it.”

“I couldn’t be more serious.”

“Obviously you don’t really mean to marry in the next two weeks.”

“Why not? You don’t think any of the three could be suitable?”

“Perhaps the first two,” she said bitingly, “but not the third. She’s not rich or a Sloane Ranger.”

He unfolded the sheet of paper and glanced down at the three names.

Seraphina Woolton

Florrie Goodwin

Poppy Marr

“But number three is smart and generous and easy to like,” he answered, rereading the names.

“That would be very nice if you were a vicar, or a primary school teacher, but you’re not.