Falcon appropriated the hat, and when the dog jumped up after it, he struck the animal lightly on the nose with the palm of his hand. “My apologies,” he said crisply, restoring the tricorne to its owner. “My dog is not allowed in this part of the house.”
Tummet eyed the wreckage sadly. “Pity ’e don’t know it. I ’spect you think I should be grateful ’e only et me ’at, and not me leg bone, what ’e tried to digest last time I come ’ere.”
Falcon shrugged. “One might think you would learn by experience and keep away.”
“Brung a lady, I did, mate.”
“I did—what?” rasped Falcon.
“’Ow do I know what you did?”
Falcon’s black brows met over the bridge of his nose. “Impudent dolt! You may call me—‘sir.’ Not—‘mate’!”
“Ar,” said Tummet with his villainous grin. “’E don’t like it neither. Me employer. Cap’n Gideon Rossiter. I’m ’is valet. Sir. You going to buy me a new titfer-tat?”
The dark blue eyes widened and irascibility gave way to wonderment. “Valet…? I do not believe—Yes, I do, by Jove. Is typical of Rossiter, be damned if it—What the devil is a titfer-tat?”
“A ’at, mate. A dicer. Cor! You Quality coves don’t know yer own language! And what abaht the lady?”
Falcon’s eyes had become somewhat glassy. Making a recover, he said, “My butler will pay for your—er, dicer. However, you have wasted your time, and shall have to take the lady home again. Miss Falcon was out late last night, and will not receive callers today.”
“She ain’t come to see Miss Falcon. Come to see you, ma—er, sir. Which you’d know if you ’ad servants what was trained proper.”
A footman approached, eyeing Apollo warily. “A lady has called to see you, sir.” He proffered a salver with a calling card on it, then jumped back as the dog looked at him.
Still enthralled by Tummet, Falcon said, “Fool. You know the dog won’t hurt you.” He glanced at the card and his brows lifted. “A single lady?”
“Miss Rossiter ’as got something of great import to discuss,” said Tummet. “I knows what it is, but it ain’t no use offering me bribes and rewards. I ain’t gonna say nothing ’bout it. ’Twixt you and ’er, it is.”
This speech left the footman’s jaw dangling and his eyes wide with shock.
His own eyes holding a rare twinkle, Falcon started off, the great dog at his heels. “Where have you put her?” he called over his shoulder.
The footman gulped, “In—in the book room, sir.”
Entering that well-appointed chamber, and sternly relegating Apollo to the desolation of the hall, Falcon expected to find Miss Rossiter perched nervously on the edge of a chair. Although she must be aware that it was most decidedly improper for a lady to call on a bachelor, this particular lady, however, was not perched on a chair, nor did she appear nervous. Small and with a look of fine-boned fragility, she stood before a bookcase, examining a volume which she replaced, turning to face him as he closed the door.
He eyed her disinterestedly. There was nothing to distinguish her, aside from the fact that her frank and unmaidenly stare was disconcerting. Her unpowdered hair was a very light brown, drawn back from a rather thin face to fall in curls behind her head. She had Rossiter’s well-shaped sensitive mouth, and high forehead, but her eyes, which he thought fairly good, were blue rather than grey. ‘Dull,’ he thought, ‘and with neither looks nor charm.’ He drawled, “You wished to see me, ma’am?”
Aware that she had been judged and found wanting, Gwendolyn smiled. “If we are to dispense with introductions, may I sit down?”
He had been dealt a scold. Falcon’s mouth tightened. He said with cold hauteur, “My apologies. I am August Falcon.”
“Oh, yes. I was in no doubt, you know. ’Tis just that one is supposed to be polite.”
At this, he gave her a sharp look, but her expression was so innocent that he decided she was naive rather than sarcastic. He bowed her to a large armchair. “Pray be seated, ma’am.”
Her limp surprised him. He looked away at once, but she had seen the startled glance, and asked easily, “Did you not know I am lame?”
“No.” Again, she had put him offstride. Irritated, he said, “You apparently know more about me than I know about you, Miss Rossiter.”
“Well, you’re famous, aren’t you. I mean, everyone talks about you. I was quite looking forward to making your acquaintance.”
He thought, ‘Good God! She’s candid enough!’ and said with an unpleasant sneer, “I trust you are not disappointed, madam.”
Gwendolyn scanned him thoughtfully.
She should have shown him shyly lowered lashes, and a faint blush, and have wallowed in a tangle of apology and confusion. Her obviously judicial scrutiny was the outside of enough! After a good twenty seconds had dragged by, he enquired, “Would you wish that I turn my head?”
