Abruptly Leath stopped laughing. This time Harry couldn’t mistake the animosity in his eyes. “When I got your note, I wondered if you were moronic enough to declare yourself. Surely even the stupidest member of England’s most imprudent family couldn’t be that foolhardy.” Another snide laugh. “I overestimated you. Although nothing I’ve seen since you started sniffing around my sister indicates that I should have.”
“You’re offensive, sir,” Harry said coldly, before remembering that umbrage wouldn’t forward his cause.
“I’m offensive?” Leath didn’t raise his voice, which made his contempt all the more powerful. “I’m not a useless fribble of a spendthrift who imagines he’ll win a great heiress just for the asking. An heiress who happens to be the sister I love. On his deathbed, I promised my father that I’d look after Sophie. Entrusting her future to a wastrel would make me a vile liar.”
Harry struggled not to retreat under this tirade, all
expressed in a basso profundo that set his teeth vibrating. “You need to give me a chance to present my case, my lord.”
Leath’s fist banged hard upon the desk behind him, setting the inkwells rattling. “The devil. I do not need to give you anything, except an order to leave my house and stop bothering my sister.”
Every rule of politeness insisted that when a man requested a guest’s departure, the guest was duty-bound to depart. But Harry was angry enough and desperate enough to defy the marquess’s decree.
“There is some justice in your accusations, my lord,” he said through lips so stiff that they felt made of wood. Nobody had spoken to him like this since he was an unpromising schoolboy at Eton. He squared his shoulders and stared directly at Leath. “I won’t make excuses for my behavior or my family.”
“There are no excuses,” Leath snapped.
Harry told himself that he couldn’t close this interview by punching the overweening coxcomb in the nose. “I am a young man who until now has had no call on his talents. I’ve done no harm to anyone. My vices are those of any sprig about Town. If you inquire, you’ll discover I’m addicted to neither the bottle nor the gambling tables. I’m not in debt.” Barely. “I love your sister sincerely. I believe I can make her happy.”
Leath regarded him like a cockroach that had crawled from beneath the rich Turkey carpet. “And I believe that you’re a rake without income or prospects who intrigues to set himself up in luxury, courtesy of my sister’s fortune.”
Harry flinched before he recalled that any display of vulnerability placed him at the marquess’s mercy. Not that mercy seemed part of the man’s repertoire. “I’d take your sister in her shift, sir.”
“Gallant words, Mr. Thorne. Ones you’ll never need to prove.”
“She ought to marry a man who adores her.” Harry retained enough grip on strategy to know that mentioning Desborough would only infuriate Leath.
“She ought to marry a man who offers steadfastness and care.”
“I am that man, sir.” Harry straightened his spine, although he knew nothing would help him. Damn it, Sophie had been right. He should have listened. She’d be furious when she discovered that he hadn’t. “We should ask Lady Sophie’s opinion.”
At least Leath didn’t laugh, although his smile was derisive. “You’ve turned her head. You have a charming manner, Mr. Thorne. Not charming enough to gain this heiress.”
“You harp upon her fortune, my lord, as if that is all Lady Sophie has to offer. You do her a grave injustice.”
Was Harry optimistic to notice a softening in Leath’s contempt? “You’ve got more backbone than I expected, Thorne. Perhaps you do fancy yourself in love.”
Harry didn’t bother gracing that comment with a reply. “So I have permission to court your sister?”
Leath’s eyebrows arched. “Be damned to you, you do not. She’ll marry a man who can give her the life she deserves. That, sir, is not you.”
“You are mistaken, my lord.”
“I doubt it.” He stalked around his desk to sit in the imposing leather chair. “I’m no longer at leisure.” Briefly Leath’s tone had thawed to slightly above glacial. It was back to icy now.
Knowing he’d made a fool of himself, knowing he might have made an irredeemable mistake in declaring his hand too early, Harry stared helplessly at the marquess. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”
“Nothing.” Piercing dark eyes blasted him with antipathy. “Now I suggest—again—that you leave.”
He’d failed. Dear God, he’d failed.
Now Leath would be more watchful than ever. Why the hell hadn’t he listened to Sophie and ignored his masculine impulses to stake a claim? He’d said he cared about honor, but he now realized that self-importance had driven him to this ill-considered meeting.
“Thank you for your time.” He prayed that he concealed his turmoil. He dearly wanted to retain a scrap of dignity.
“I can’t say it was a pleasure.”
“Good day, my lord.” Harry bowed, defeat settling sour and heavy in his belly. He’d made a complete mull of everything. He hoped like hell that Sophie forgave him. He hoped like hell that he had a chance to see her so that she could forgive him. Leath might exile her to Timbuctoo to keep her from unwelcome suitors.