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“My lord, what about my dog? He’s never been away from me.”

His lordship whistled, and at once, Mr. Wiggles jumped from the wagon and bounded to his side.

“He’ll come with us and dry himself before the fire in your room. I’m sure Cook can muster tasty scraps for the handsome fellow too.”

What a load of blather. Mr. Wiggles was ugly. Plain and simple. But he had the most loyal, beautiful heart, and that’s what she saw when she looked at him. Not his mangy, scruffy outward trappings.

Reluctant, and quivering from cold, she permitted Lord Sterling to lead her into the house. A tomb held more warmth and was more welcoming. No wonder he’d avoided the place for a decade.

“I shan’t dine with you and intrude upon your reunion with your father. I’d prefer to be shown a room at once, and I’ll eat there,” she said, with unwavering firmness.

Besides, she’d rather be at her best if and when she met his grace, not grass-and mud-caked with her hair hanging in straggly tendrils.

The prudent thing to do would be to leave at once, but the truth of it was she felt rather awful. Better to stay here, tucked into a warm bed, then risk becoming stranded on the way home, or worse yet, finding she was too weak after all to make it home.

She might not know Lord Sterling well, but he wasn’t the sort to let her traipse home by herself, she’d be bound. Which meant he’d have to miss his birthday dinner.

Perhaps it wasn’t quite de rigueur, but surely with a maid in attendance and the door securely locked, no one could suggest anything improper had occurred. Even with a note delivered to explain what had waylaid Eden, Mama would fuss. Naught could be done about that unfortunateness.

His lordship opened his mouth, likely to object, but she stalled him with a short shake of her head and uplifted hand.

Lovely. Dirt smeared her fingers and caked her nails.

“I must insist, my lord. I’m honestly not feeling myself just yet.”

With a gracious inclination of his wet head, the candlelight giving his hair the aura of burnished copper, Lord Sterling conceded.

“Yes, perhaps straight to bed is the best plan. I would hate for you to fall ill.” He lifted her hand and kissed the dirty knuckles, and her dratted insides went all melty.

More butterflies flitted from her knees to her chest, then circled round and round in her middle. How could she be so taken with a man she’d only just met?

“I’ll see you in the morning then,” he said. “Should you need anything, don’t hesitate to ring. Wynby and the other staff are at your service. Isn’t that so, Wynby?”

“Indeed, we are available for your every need, Miss.” Perhaps a tinge less enthusiasm weighted the butler’s words as he looked over his shoulder to the hallway beyond.

“Is that my wayward son at last?” a feeble male voice called.

Oh, no.

The opportunity to escape without meeting his grace had vanished.

“Neville, you feeble-minded bacon brain, take me to him at once,” the same crackly elderly voice demanded. “Where’s Dockery? He is never about when I need him. I told him to await my son’s homecoming. Stop dawdling and shuffling along like a pregnant cow, Neville, for God sake. Cannot you push this blasted chair any faster? Move, you ham-fisted puff guts.”

His harsh demands plucked at Eden’s already frayed nerves, and she raised her appalled gaze to his lordship. No wonder his grace had such a wretched reputation.

Did he always speak thusly to his staff?

A disgusted smirk arching his mouth, his eyes gone slate, Lord Sterling elevated a mocking brow.

“My father always has had an eloquent way with words and knows no shortage of colorful insults.”

The wheels of an invalid-chair whirred in the corridor, and then the notorious Duke of DeCourcy, the Demon Duke, appeared. A shriveled, wasted shell of a man with sparse white hair, red-rimmed, puffy bagged eyes beneath a scowl fierce enough to send the devil himself into hiding. Yet in the architecture of his face and his unusual colored eyes, there was no mistaking his kinship to Lord Sterling.

“Father.”

Expression unreadable, his lordship dipped his head respectfully, but Eden didn’t miss his taut mouth or stiff shoulders.

Not a loving homecoming, by any means.