Sir Richard sighed. "Rid yourself of the notion that I cherish any villainous designs upon your person," he said. "I imagine I might well be your father. How old are you?"

"I am turned seventeen."

"Well, I am nearly thirty," said Sir Richard.

Miss Creed worked this out. "You couldn't possibly be my father!"

"I am far too drunk to solve arithmetical problems. Let it suffice that I have not the slightest intention of making love to you.

Author: Georgette Heyer