“I’m afraid so, Your Grace.”
“For God’s sake, not my grandfather again.” He rolled over onto his back with a huff. He’d lost count of how many times he’d begged the old man to observe proper calling hours, but in this, as in all things, Colonel Cornelius Kingston did as he pleased.
“No, not this time, Your Grace.”
“Then toss whoever it is out on his arse at once, Loftus. He may call again at one o’clock, like the rest of the civilized world, the mannerless barbarian.”
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Your Grace.” Loftus leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s ashe, Your Grace. Your caller is alady. Ayounglady.”
“A young lady?” Jasper peeled the other eye open. “What sort of young lady? Christ, it’s not Lady Archer, is it?” Selina had never dared venture into Berkeley Square before, but she was now a lady scorned, and there was no telling what she’d do.
“No, Your Grace. I’ve never seen this lady before.”
“I see. Tell me, Loftus. What does this young lady look like?”
Loftus blinked. “Look like, Your Grace?”
“Yes. Is she pretty?”
“I didn’t take much notice, but she’s pretty enough, I suppose, Your Grace. I believe her hair was some shade of brown, and her eyes some shade of brown, as well, or . . . green, perhaps?”
“I see. Did this brown-or-green-eyed young lady give her name, Loftus?”
“She did not, Your Grace. I did enquire, but she refused to give it to me. I ventured to hint it wasn’t yet calling hours, but she insisted upon seeing you nonetheless. She has a rather willful air about her, especially for such a young lady, and she’salone.” Loftus’s lips pinched into a disapproving line at this flagrant disregard for propriety.
Ah, now thatwasinteresting. He could only think of one willful young lady with the nerve to appear on the doorstep of a notorious rake, alone, and well before proper calling hours.
Who else could it be, but Miss Prudence Thorne? Despite her nervous denials in Basingstoke’s library yesterday, it seemed she did have some business with him, after all. “Did she state the nature of her visit?”
“Not as such, Your Grace. She would only say that you’d wish to see her, as she had something in her possession that belongs to you, and she was certain you’d want to have it back.”
Well now, this was becoming more promising with each passing moment.
It was the earrings, of course. Those were two falsehoods she’d told now. Miss Thorne was, it seemed, every bit the shameless liar he’d accused her of being. “Never let it be said I disappointed a pretty young lady, Loftus. Hand me those pantaloons, will you?” He waved a hand at the crumpled pantaloons he’d left in a tangled pile on the floor beside the bed last night.
Loftus gaped at him, aghast. “Oh, but Your Grace, surely you don’t mean to wear—”
“Not to worry, my good man. I swear to you I won’t venture a toe outside the townhouse. Now, don’t fuss Loftus, but do as I ask.”
Loftus let out a faint wheeze, but he fetched the pantaloons, shook the wrinkles out as best he could, and held them out for Jasper, who managed to stumble out of his bed and into them without falling over. “Will you have the coat, too, Your Grace?”
“I suppose I’d better. No cravat, though, and no bloody waistcoat. Just the shirt, if you please, Loftus.”
“Perhaps just a wee swipe with the hairbrush, Your Grace—”
“No time at the moment, Loftus.” If Miss Thorne was foolish enough to appear on his doorstep at such an absurd hour, then she might take him as he came. “You may deck me out in violet satin later, if you please.”
Loftus wrung his hands, but he did as he was bid and pulled the limp shirt over Jasper’s head, then held up the coat so Jasper could shove his arms into the tight sleeves. “There. See, Loftus?” He clapped his valet on the shoulder. “As good as new.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He made his way down the stairs, through the entryway, and down the corridor into the drawing room.
And there, wearing a serviceable brown morning dress that did nothing to hide a rather lovely, rounded backside, stood Miss Thorne, studying the gilt clock that dominated the mantel. It was a monstrous French thing, with a naked cherub perched on the back of a vine-draped wagon pulled by two snarling leopards.
“Ugly as sin, isn’t it? But alas, it was a gift from my grandfather, so there it stays.”
She whirled around, startled, but she recovered her composure quickly, throwing her shoulders back and folding her hands in front of her. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
