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“Can’t,” her father said, tapping surplus ink from his quill. “He’s right about Bufford, and I’ve placed a few bad wagers lately. I’ll pay when I’m back on my feet. It’s the viscount’s own damn fault for scaring off Leonora, forcing her to marry a man with a foot in the grave.”

“I did nothing to scare her off.”

“Oh? Because Leonora doesn’t want you, Kelbourne. I argued with her, promising on your behalf that you’d banish the fiends to the country. She told me the thought of your wedding night made her want to vomit.”

Dominic had never attempted to kiss his fiancée. Perhaps he should have.

He barely resisted the impulse to plant his fist on Sir William’s chin. He had struggled with his temper as a boy, although these days he rarely lost control. Yet now he was vibrating with an inarticulate rage . . .

That had nothing to do with Leonora. He took a deep breath and realized it also had nothing to do with the ten thousand pounds.

It was about Miss Sutton . . . Victoria . . . Torie.

To be clear: his anger was the result of her father’s careless treatment, casually betrothing her to a man who mocked her as foolish. The duke thought it was better that his wife couldn’t read?

Torie touched his sleeve, and he glanced down at her. He knew precisely why Queensberry didn’t care about his future duchess’s literacy: he wanted a wife with soft white-blond curls, a delicious mouth, generous breasts . . . but more, a wife whose joy bubbled up in her eyes, no matter how often the world seemed to kick her in the arse.

From what he’d seen, Torie’s own family had been so routinely unkind that she was surprised by decency.

Having been betrothed to her sister when they met, he had never allowed himself to consider Torie’s appeal. He had deliberately ignored such shallow traits when looking for a wife. He’d even told himself that he didn’t care if his fiancée was plain, as long as she had the attributes he considered essential to a partnership.

Staring down at Torie, he felt the long-nosed bluestocking of his imagination slipping away. “Leonora mentioned that requests for your hand in marriage had been withdrawn on being told of your illiteracy,” he told her. “I think it more likely that the men in question couldn’t pay your father the amount he demanded.”

Her hand dropped from his sleeve, and she swiveled to face her father. The blustery defiance on Sir William’s face spoke for itself. Torie’s whole body flinched. She turned away and looked back up at Dominic.

“I am truly sorry about your ten thousand pounds, Lord Kelbourne. I will speak to the Duke of Queensberry. Leonora can speak to her husband, now that she is Lady Bufford.”

“Aye, there’s a plan,” Sir William said, putting down his quill before he’d written a word and pouring another measure of brandy. “Bufford will be as dead as the Roman Empire in no time. You can have your ten thousand out of Leonora’s widow’s portion.”

“No, I’ll take your daughter instead,” Dominic stated.

Torie gasped. “What?”

“Bufford ain’t dead yet,” Sir William snapped. “Even a viscount can’t get around the law.”

“Not Leonora,” Dominic said, matter-of-factly. “I want Victoria in her stead.”

Sir William laughed aloud. “My feckless illiterate? Even if I hadn’t promised her to Queensberry, I’d judge you mad.” The edge returned to his voice. “You’ll get your reparations—the new Lady Bufford will use the wealth of her estate to see you made whole, and we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”

“You can’t promise that Leonora will repay that sum, Father,” Torie said hollowly. “At least, not without speaking to her and her husband. Where are they now?”

“Bufford’s estate in Scotland,” her father said. “He’s got a castle there or some such. He told me that they’ll wait out the scandal and return to England in the fall.”

“Bufford also has an heir who might decline to pay a widow’s share to her father,” Dominic pointed out. “Moreover, his lordship shows no sign of dying in the near future.” He leaned a hip against the desk, arms folded over his chest. “We’re at an impasse, Sir William. I want restitution—now.” He glanced around the room. “You could sell these furnishings, but they can’t be worth more than a hundred pounds.”

“You wouldn’t!” Torie cried.

“I would,” Dominic replied. A feeling of satisfaction was tearing through him. Torie needed protection from her grasping, unkind father. He needed a mother for the twins. True, he had hoped to marry a woman who would challenge him intellectually, but he could reconcile himself.

Hell, he had all the challenging conversations he wanted in the House of Lords. For a moment, he pictured the despicable faces of the men opposing the current bill against slavery in the colonies. He didn’t need a wife to point out their avaricious motives. He could do that himself.

“Both my father and I are sorry that Leonora impetuously broke your betrothal without having the courage to tell you herself,” Torie said, her eyes shining with earnestness.

“Oh, aye,” Sir William said. “I’ve always thought Torie was the fool in this family, but it turns out that Leonora takes the crown. I flatly told Bufford that if his fourth wife dies before her time—that is to say, before he does—I’ll be at his front door with a cocked pistol.”

“Torie is not a fool,” Dominic stated. “I’ll take her in lieu of the debt you owe me, Sir William.”

Torie was shaking her head. Dominic ignored it. She’d be under his protection, and anyone who spoke slightingly of his wife would answer to him.