Page 14

“Oh, I think you dismissed them. Handily. I was just part of the rear guard, and Mrs. Lowndes, of course.”

“Entirely unnecessary,” she said, letting her gaze slide from his.

The alert Mrs. Lowndes set a tray of cups on the desk, and Hazelwood unstoppered the flask, releasing the coffee scent into the air. He began to pour. “What brought them to your door at such an early hour?”

“They invited me for a tour of the amusements of London.” She watched him pour the coffee.

“You’ve met your first fellow husband hunter, you know, a rival.”

“I see that my appointment with the dressmaker is urgent if I am to compete.” Jane accepted the cup he offered and lifted it to her lips. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the pale flowered cup pressed against the dusky pink of her lower lip. For a moment the coffee clearly transported her to some other time and place. He looked away, offering a cup to Mrs. Lowndes, who declined it, and pouring one for himself.

Jane’s eyes opened again with just the slightest hint of surprise at her surroundings. “Where did you get this coffee?”

“My secret, but I’m prepared to provide it every morning.”

Her dark eyes turned wary. “At what price?”

“All part the service. And I can provide a London tour.”

“And why should I accept your invitation when I just refused my cousins’?”

“Because I will give you the husband hunter’s tour.”

She put down her coffee and reached for her bag, drawing out the little blue book. “The dressmaker first, I think.” She flipped through the pages. “There’s a recommendation here.” She looked up. “Madame Celeste.”

Hazelwood schooled his face to meet her gaze. He did not look at Mrs. Lowndes, who gave no sign that she recognized the dressmaker’s name, though Hazelwood suspected that she did. Celeste’s clients included the most fashionable women of the demi-monde, those whose protectors opened deep pockets to dress a mistress. Once, he’d been one of them.

“What?” Jane glanced from one face to the other. “You both frown as if I had mentioned the unmentionable.”

“Not at all.” Hazelwood turned to Mrs. Lowndes. “But let’s send Mrs. Lowndes ahead with a list of your requirements, so that Celeste will be ready for you.”

Mrs. Lowndes met his glance with a steady one of her own. They understood each other. “A good notion, my lord. I will let Madame know the sort of client Miss Fawkener is and what she will want in the way of day dresses and evening gowns. I assume the girl needs a court presentation dress?”

Hazelwood nodded, and Mrs. Lowndes excused herself to get her coat and hat.

When he turned back, he found Jane regarding him with an assessing glance.

“My lord? That’s something you neglected to tell me yesterday when you introduced yourself as my protocol officer. Should I be calling you Lord Hazelwood?”

In spite of himself he looked away from that direct gaze. He returned his cup to the tray. “Don’t be misled by the title. In my case the ‘lord’ is a mere formality. There’s no ancestral pile surrounded by vast acres, and no ten thousand pounds per annum.” He picked up her cloak from the back of a chair and held it out to her.

She regarded him coolly without moving. “It cannot be usual practice for the government to employ lords as protocol officers for mere misses.”

“Nevertheless, as my family doesn’t object, the government is quite free to make use of me in the service of the British nation. You may call me Hazelwood without fear of offending.” He kept his voice flat and unrevealing. She had seen the Walhouses’ reaction to his presence, and she would hear soon enough how polite society regarded him. “Now, shall you have that tour of London? What does your book advise you to see?”

She turned to accept the cloak he held. He draped the wool folds over her shoulders. It was a common gesture of gentlemanly etiquette taught to him at an early age. He had practiced on his mother from the time he’d passed her in height. Since then he’d held a lady’s coat indifferently or impatiently hundreds of times, so he should not suddenly feel that he was offering protection rather than politeness, and it should not matter that his fingers brushed her shoulders or that her scent rose to dizzy him a bit.

She turned and tied the cloak strings with swift assurance. “Do gentlemen usually accompany ladies to their dressmakers?”

“Protocol officers always do.”

She was halfway to the door. “And when did I become ‘Jane’ to you?”

“When we became such old family friends, remember?”

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “And if we are such old family friends, then surely I know what sort of ‘lord,’ you are.”

“A viscount,” he said through his teeth.