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Well, given Malcom was angry, Livvie’s observation couldn’t have been more astute.

Sighing, Verity slipped the heavily creased newspaper from her sister’s fingers, and unfolded it. She paused. “The Londoner?”

“I know, I know,” her sister mumbled. “I simply wanted to see how they fared without your articles, and they’re not. In fact, the only reason they’re still surviving is because of the stories they’re writing about you.”

“They’re just that, Livvie. Stories meant to sell newspapers,” she said with a finality meant to end the discussion. And not long ago, that would have been sufficient to stymie the flow of questions and have Livvie continue on to bed. Livvie, however, was no longer the accepting child she’d been.

“But if it is untrue, then how come you and His Lordship are never together?”

Proud as Verity was of her sister’s tenacity and insight, how much easier it would have been had she still been the small babe she’d raised like her own child. “We are, Livvie. Why, we were just at Gunter’s this morn.”

Again, that mention of the sweet shop was intended as a child’s distraction, which her sister didn’t take. “You’ve not taken any meals together. You’re always in one room, working, and he’s in another, doing whatever he does.”

Verity’s mind raced with some response that would satisfy Livvie’s fervent questioning. In the end, she was saved from formulating a response by the unlikeliest of saviors.

She felt him before she heard him, his presence a palpable, thrumming energy in the quiet of the library.

Livvie forgotten, she glanced to the doorway, and every thought faded into nothingness.

Malcom.

Attired in black as he was wont to do, with his long blond strands drawn into a neat queue, he was a breathtaking blend of sophisticated lord and strikingly masculine self-made man who answered to none. He was breathtakingly beautiful in a way no person had a right to be.

When no greeting was forthcoming, he stepped forward. “Good evening. Forgive me for interrupting.” One would never know he was a man who’d spent nearly the whole of his life on the streets, or that he despised one of the occupants of the room.

In the end, Livvie proved the greater hostess of their pair. She hopped up, and sank into an impressively competent curtsy. “My lord. We were just discussing you.”

Oh, bloody hell.

Unleashing a string of black curses in her head, Verity shot a foot out, catching the back of her sister’s knee.

Livvie jumped. “Ow.” She shot a glare over her shoulder. “Youkickedme.”

Oh, double bloody hell.Verity gave her head the tiniest of shakes, praying her sister noted that unspoken plea for silence, and that she also honored it. Alas, God continued to prove himself an elusive figure in her life.

“Weweretalking about him.”

Oh, Lord.Heat blazed across Verity’s cheeks. “We weren’t,” she said tightly in her best, no-nonsense, bigger-sister tones.

“Uh, yes, we were. I was mentioning that you and Lord Maxwell are rarely together, and you said—oomph. Now, that is really quite enough,” Livvie huffed and, drawing her leg back, hopped up and down as she awkwardly reached behind to rub the offended area.

His face set in its usual somber mask, Malcom glanced back and forth between Verity and her sister. Just like that, Livvie managed what Verity had taken to be the impossible: she earned an honest, even smile from Malcom. One that crinkled the corners of his eyes and dimpled his left cheek. Verity’s breath quickened.

And she didn’t know whether to be wholly bewitched or mortified.

Malcom’s smile deepened, doing even stranger things to her heart. He knew very well the traitorous thoughts running in her head.

The blighter.

Of coursehe should choose this as the time he would be smiling, delighting in Verity’s misery.

No further invitation was required. Malcom came forward, his attention squarely on Livvie. “And just what did your sister have to say?” he asked as he stopped before them, shameless in his questioning.

So this is what it felt like for him and every last person she had put questions to over the years. Shame overwhelmed all her earlier embarrassment.

Albeit temporarily ... Livvie hitched herself onto the curved arm of the leather sofa. “Well.” She pumped her legs as she spoke. “Verity assured me you’re both quite happy together ...”

Malcom crossed his arms at his broad chest. “Oh?”