Whitney, My Love

In the doorway, the butler cleared his throat. "Mr. Stone is here to see you, your grace," he explained when Clayton looked up. "Naturally, I informed him that you were dining, but the man insists his reason for calling is extremely urgent and ca

"Very well, show him in here," Clayton said with an irritated sigh. With Whitney, Clayton had all the patience in the world; with his future father-in-law, he had none. In fact, it was all he could do to stomach the man.

"I had to come before I started for London," Martin explained as he hastened across the room and seated himself at the table across from the duke. "We've got a beastly mess on our hands, and it's going to get messier if you-we-don't do something about it at once."

Clayton nodded a curt dismissal to the footman who had been serving him his lunch and waited until the servant had closed the door behind him, before shifting his impassive gaze to his unwelcome visitor. "You were saying, Martin?"

"I was saying that something has come up. A complication. It's Sevarin. He was with Whitney when I left."

"I told you I'm not worried about Sevarin," Clayton said impatiently.

"Then you'd better start worrying about him," Martin warned, looking anguished and angry at the same time. "When Whitney was fifteen years old, she got some bee in her bo

Clayton's voice was heavy with ironic amusement. "Speaking as the 'poor devil' who has already offered for her, I can only applaud Sevarin's taste. However, as I've told you several times, I can handle Whitney and-"

Martin looked as if he were going to explode from frustration. "You can't handle her. You think you can, but you don't know her as I do. Dammit, she's a stubborn, willful chit and always has been. Once she gets some maggot in her head- like marrying Sevarin-she'll follow through with it no matter what."

Reaching into his pocket, Martin found a handkerchief and swiped at the film of nervous perspiration standing on his forehead, then he continued, "Once she brings Sevarin to the point of wanting to marry her, she may feel she's accomplished her goal, and forget all about him after that. On the other hand," he emphasized in a dire tone, "if that hellion of mine takes it into her head to actually marry him, you'll end up dragging the chit to the altar while she fights you every step of the way. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

A pair of cool gray eyes regarded him dispassionately. "Yes."

"Good, good. Then the thing to do is prevent Sevarin from mentioning marriage to her, and the way to do it is to tell Whitney at once that she's been betrothed to you since July. Tell Sevarin that. Tell everyone that. A

"No."

"No?" Martin repeated in bewilderment. "Then what are you going to do about Sevarin?"

"What do you suggest I do?"

"I told you!" said Martin desperately. "Order Whitney to give up whatever scheme she has in mind for Sevarin and command her to prepare herself to be wed to you at once!"

Clayton had a difficult time keeping his face straight. "Martin, have you ever actually 'commanded' your daughter to do something she didn't want to do?"

"Of course I have. I'm her father."

Amusement tugged at the corner of Clayton's lips. "And when you 'commanded' her, did Whitney dutifully accept your authority, and do as she was bidden?"

Martin slumped back in his chair, his face flushed with chagrined defeat. "The last time I 'commanded' my daughter to do my bidding she was fourteen years old," he admitted. "I ordered her to emulate the Ashton girl, and for two months afterward, Whitney curtsied me to death. She curtsied into and out of every room in the house. She curtsied to the butler and the cook, she curtsied to the horses. Every damn time I looked at the chit, she dropped whatever she was doing and curtsied to me. The rest of the time she did that ridiculous thing with her eyelashes . . . you know, fluttering them. She said she was obeying my order to emulate the Ashton girl."

"Whitney will do my bidding," Clayton said in a tone that brooked no further debate. "But until I am ready to tell her about our betrothal, no one is to tell her about it. When I think the time is correct, I will do so. Is that perfectly clear, Martin?"

Martin nodded resignedly.

"Fine," Clayton said, picking up an envelope from the stack of correspondence and opening it.

Ru

"Yes, go on," Clayton said without looking up from his correspondence.

"It's Lady A

"Why?"

"Because my servants inform me that she is sending letters directed to her husband at consulates all over Europe. I assume she wants to find him and bring him here at once."

The duke's face hardened with such cold displeasure that Martin pressed back in his chair. "Are you telling me that she is opposed to the marriage?"

"My God, no! I didn't mean that," Martin exclaimed desperately. "A

"I'm delighted that Lady Gilbert is so sensible," Clayton said, somewhat mollified.

"Not that sensible!" Martin contradicted. "She's up in the boughs over the way we went about the matter without Whitney's knowledge." Bitterly, he added, "She accused me of being a cold, heartless father without a grain of human sensitivity!" Stung by the look of agreement on the duke's face, Martin burst out defensively, "She accused you of being dictatorial and autocratic. She said she doesn't like your reputation with the ladies above hah7, and that you are entirely too good-looking for comfort. In short, Lady Gilbert thinks Whitney is too good for both of us."

"I'm surprised my little gift to you of Ј100,000 didn't soften her feelings," Clayton drawled cynically.

"She called it a bribe," Martin a

Unexpectedly, the duke's ominous expression lightened with genuine amusement. "If Lord Gilbert wants to maintain his influence in those circles, he won't want to make an adversary of me. At the risk of sounding immodest, Martin, I am one of those 'people who count.'"

After Martin had left, Clayton got up and walked over to the window. Leaning his shoulder against the frame, he gazed at workmen constructing a small rustic pavillion at the far end of the lawn near the woods.

If Martin had come to him yesterday, rather than today, and urged him to order Whitney to marry him, he might have given the idea more consideration. Until last night, Whitney had simply been a possession he had acquired-a valued possession, perhaps even a treasured one, but a possession nonetheless.