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Stephen chuckled. “Not like the usual ladies I spend my time with?”

“I did not say that, Your Grace.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t have time to see any ladies right now. Tell her that I’m about to sit down to dinner, or make up some suitable excuse. Give her one of my cards and tell her to make an appointment.”

Mouse bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He disappeared, leaving Stephen standing alone again.

Absently, Stephen dropped his hand to the wooden surface of the desk, drumming his fingers.

What sort of lady would call on a man—a man likehiminto the bargain—at such a late hour? In thedark? During the Season, when London was full of prying eyes? She was clearly nobody important, or Mouse would have recognized her.

Curiosity fizzled inside him, and he bit back a sigh.

“Mouse!” he called, his voice carrying easily down the hallway. “I’ve changed my mind. Send her up.”

Stephen had plenty of time to settle behind his desk again, composing himself before the arrival of his mysterious guest. Mouse arrived first, his lips pressed together in disapproval. Behind him followed the cloaked figure, almost comically smaller.

She could have been no taller than five feet one or two inches. Even under the cloak, it was clear that she had a full figure, much stockier than the willowy shapes favored by Society.

Stephen rose and flashed an agreeable smile. “I am not often surprised, Madam, but you have surprised me tonight. Thank you.”

The woman tossed back her hood. “No thanks are necessary. I am not here tosurpriseyou. I am here to talk to you, and if you aren’t going to take me seriously, I might as well leave.”

Stephen blinked, taken aback. For one thing, the girl was remarkably beautiful, far prettier than he had expected. She had glittering reddish-gold hair—a very unusual shade—and creamy, pale skin. As he had guessed, she was plump, the curve of her bosom disappointingly hidden beneath her cloak. Still, a man could imagine, could he not?

Her face was round, her lips small and red and pursed, her nose small and spattered with freckles, and she had large, clear hazel eyes peering out from behind round, wire-rimmed spectacles.

Now, he knew that spectacleswereunfashionable. Unless a lady had the most dreadful squint, she would condemn herself to a blurry world and a lifetime of not quite seeing clearly, rather than ruin her face with spectacles.

This lady clearly had no such scruples.

“May I sit?” she asked coolly, breaking into his reverie.

“But of course,” he said, gesturing to a chair opposite his. “My butler will take your cloak.”

She clutched at the garment as if for support. “No, thank you.”

He bowed his head. “Very well. Mouse, bring tea.”

“I don’t want tea.”

“It is not aboutwantingtea,” Stephen responded gently. “Tea must simplyhappenat an occasion like this. I do hope you are not an anarchist, Madam.”

She flushed ever so slightly and turned her gaze to the carpet. Her feet did not quite touch the floor, Stephen noted. Perhaps he should have suggested she sit in a lower chair. Oh well, too late now.

Mouse took his dismissal from Stephen’s swift gesture, slipping out of the room on velvet feet and closing the door behind him.

Stephen did not return to his seat. He perched on the edge of his desk, where he could look down at his unexpected guest.

“I know you,” he said when it seemed that she was not going to break the silence anytime soon. “You are Miss Haversham. I recognized you when you came in.”

She blushed again. Shedidlook pretty when she blushed, Stephen noted. He supposed it was a redhead’s curse to blush more often than they would like. His friend, Theodore, had a headful of auburn hair and a tendency to turn red as a beet at the slightest provocation.

“You are right, I am Beatrice Haversham,” she said in a rush. “I am Anna’s friend. We met at the wedding. Well, I do not believe we were actually introduced, but… oh, that hardly matters now.”

“Miss Haversham, of course,” Stephen murmured, allowing himself a small smile. Hehatednot knowing. “You are the daughter of the Viscount Darnley, yes?”