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Given his skill with a rapier, a single duel would ensure that no one ever, ever called his wife stupid. In fact, he’d probably challenge any man who mentioned Torie’s inability to read.

Perhaps he’d challenge the Duke of Queensberry first, on general principles.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t challenge Sir William, but he would make his opinion clear later, in private, when she wasn’t within earshot. He didn’t want her lummox of a father to ever hurt her feelings again.

“Torie, I told you once that you were a luxury commodity, and still you persistently undervalue yourself,” he said. “You cannot marry a man who thinks you silly and speaks of you so disparagingly, even if he is a duke.” He turned away from the desk. “So you might as well marry me.”

“You think I’m silly,” Torie retorted, her scowl deepening. “When I pointed out that Odysseus was a terrible leader because he lost so many men, you said that I didn’t understand a Homeric hero’s thirst for glory. Frankly, I thought you proved my point in labeling his motive, but you blathered on about courage and intellect.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “You’re refusing to marry me based on an interpretative point in a Greek story? I didn’t say you were silly, though I do think your argument is irrational.”

“When I said that a man who sacrifices six men rather than risk a bad sea voyage is a rotten leader, you said that I had a schoolgirl’s understanding of a great epic.”

Dominic frowned. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“Torie remembers everything,” Sir William commented. “Can quote me back chapter and verse on every Sunday sermon too, not that I’d ever ask her to. Frankly, I agree with her about the Odyssey. The man came far too close to allowing a woman to turn him into a pig.”

He dipped his quill in the inkpot again. “I suppose that was a whatsit . . . a metaphor. In fact, I shouldn’t be surprised if a witch turning men to swine isn’t a metaphor for marriage,” he mused. “Didn’t understand that when I was a boy, of course.”

The fool was ignoring Dominic’s demand and scratching out a greeting to the Duke of Queensberry.

“Torie is often surprisingly astute,” Sir William said chattily.

Dominic reached over and tweaked the quill from his future father-in-law’s hand. Ink splattered across the desk. “I’ll take Victoria in lieu of my ten thousand pounds.”

“You just ruined a perfectly good piece of parchment,” Sir William snarled. “Do you know what your trouble is? You’re too used to having your own way. The money is lost. Accept it. If I have a string of good luck, I promise to think of you.”

Torie cut in before Dominic could respond. “Lord Kelbourne, I will not marry you under any circumstances. As of last night, you were betrothed to marry my sister. And since both of my prospective husbands think I’m silly, obviously I’ll choose a duke who has not already proposed to a family member!”

“The Duke of Queensberry is no great shakes himself in the intellect department,” her father said encouragingly. “Your children might be a bit muddled, but one never knows. Perhaps the heir would be a throwback to some Oxford-educated chap. I never made it there myself,” he said to the viscount.

“If Torie doesn’t marry me, I shall sue you for breach of contract,” Dominic stated, cutting to the chase.

“I don’t want to be sold to Dominic or anyone else for ten thousand pounds!” Torie cried.

He saw her fingers trembling before she curled them into fists, which made him feel a flash of shame—but no. She needed him to save her.

“You’re already calling him by his first name?” Sir William said. A calculating expression crossed his face. “Perhaps you should marry him, Torie. He’s rich as bejesus. Since I don’t have the ten thousand pounds, I’d take it as a courtesy.”

“No, I am betrothed to a duke,” Torie reminded him.

Dominic thought fleetingly of the hundreds of ladies who had made it clear by word, deed, and fluttering eyelashes that they would love to marry him. The desperation in Torie’s voice wasn’t very complimentary.

It stood to reason he’d decided to marry the one woman who didn’t want him. His father had pointed out years ago that Dominic always chose the hardest route to success.

Sir William shrugged. “Marriage will cost you more than ten thousand pounds, Kelbourne. You’d have to match the duke’s offer—nay, exceed it, because your title isn’t as high or as old as his.”

“I’m rich as bejesus, and that’s more useful to you,” Dominic reminded him.

“You would be paying exorbitantly for the nanny you want, but there’s no accounting for taste. I will say that Leonora was far more likely to turn you into a pig. My youngest has a sweet nature.”

“None of this matters since I refuse to marry my sister’s leftovers . . . her slops!” Torie cried.

Not the most positive word she could have chosen. Pink had surged into her cheeks. Unlike her sister, she was not a woman who would ever be able to hide strong emotion. “Perhaps you could think of me as a legacy, a gift from Leonora,” he suggested.

“You may not have noticed, but she and I are nothing alike,” Torie retorted. “I have no interest in marrying a man who seems to have forgotten how to smile and is best known for shouting in the House of Lords.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I won’t do it.”

“In that case, I shall remind you, Lord Kelbourne, that you cannot sue me for breach of contract, as we had none,” Sir William said, rising to his feet. “I’ll ask you to leave my house directly. You want a nanny? Hire a nanny. We will bid you good day.” He bowed.