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Adam hadn’t been outside of high society so long that he’d forgotten what a sideways insult sounded like—and since he wasn’t in the house any longer, he didn’t feel quite as obligated to keep playing nice.

“How’d you like to hear what I think of guys who concern themselves with my background?” he offered easily.

“Not that I’m passing any judgment, of course,” Julian went on as though Adam hadn’t spoken—probably because he hadn’t bothered to listen. “To each his own, I say. I only ask because it occurs to me that you might value a little—friendly assistance, shall we say?—with how things stand in Sir Robert’s household.”

Adam considered telling the man exactly where he could stuff his friendly assistance, but he doubted The Mustache would bother listening to that, either. He was obviously a guy who exclusively appreciated the sound of his own voice.

Unfortunately, Adam had more than his fair share of experience with the type.

Julian didn’t bother to wait for Adam to respond anyway. He was still talking—which more or less proved Adam’s point.

“It is only that Miss Tyrrell and I are on the verge of reaching an understanding with each other.” Julian watched the smoke curl up from his mediocre cigarette. “One that I feel quite confident in saying her family fully support and encourage. And I should hate to see any…investmenton your part if that effort is destined to be wasted.”

“Huh?” Adam blinked at him. “Hold on—you think I’m interested inConstance?”

“I should hardly presume,” Julian smoothly replied with a wave of his cigarette. “You have only just arrived in Egypt, after all. I suppose I merely aim to do you the service of deterring any ambitions you might develop in her direction. She is quite the choice plum, after all,” he added with a little chuckle.

Adam decided it was probably a good thing there weren’t any fountains on Constance’s street. He was increasingly tempted to give this self-important ass a dunk, and to hell with the consequences.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said instead. “I’m not interested in plums.”

Julian’s cigarette went still as the man raised a curious eyebrow. “Not interested in plums… at all?” he asked carefully, frowning with obvious surprise.

Adam suppressed a choice adjective. “I mean… you’re fine. With your… whatever the hell you’re doing.”

The Mustache brightened, making a jab toward Adam with his cigarette. Adam was starting to wonder whether the guy actually smoked them or just used them as accessories to wave around. Not that he could blame him if that was the case. They were godawful smokes.

“Aha!” Julian exclaimed. “I think I see now. It’s not Miss Tyrrell you’ve set your cap on, is it? It’s that delectable little bluestocking. She must have caught your eye on the train.”

“The… what?” Adam’s mind blanked at the audacity of the man’s description of Ellie.

“You’ll have your hands full with that one,” Julian cautioned chummily. “Of course, Connie’s quite the spirited little thing herself. I know that would put some gentlemen off, but I’ve grown quite fond of her. And of course, it’s an entirely sensible match, whatever others might have to say about her less than entirely English pedigree.”

Adam’s fingers clenched. “Oh?” he prompted dangerously.

The Mustache waved his cigarette dismissively again. “It’s of no matter to me,” he assured Adam. “As a younger son, there’s not a great deal set aside for my portion. My father’s Lord Aldbury, you see, but as one would expect, the greater part of his estate is entailed to my brother Heathcliffe. It’d be the army for me if I had any aptitude for military life, or seconding that—perish the thought—the church. Thankfully, Constance brings more than enough fortune to settle us comfortably. And my pedigree—Daddy’s an earl, after all, and my grandfather on my mother’s side was a duke—will nicely raise her children’s station in life.”

“Isn’t her grandma a princess?” Adam pointed out.

“In English terms, I mean.” Julian finally took a draw on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a pale gray stream. “I dare say I think the two of us are quite compatible, and her parents obviously approve, so it’s just a matter of winning the girl over to the idea. I’ve no doubt I can manage that in another month or two.”

Adam briefly considered whether he ought to simply punch the man, fountains and consequences be damned. But then he thought about what he’d seen so far of The Mustache’s ‘spirited little plum,’ and decided he’d sit back and let Constance eviscerate him herself. He had no doubt she was fully capable of it.

Julian flicked his cigarette down to the paving stones. “Glad we could sort all that out.” He ground the ember to dust under his gleaming Oxford shoe. “Best of luck with your bluestocking,” he added, punctuating it with a friendly pat on Adam’s shoulder.

At the touch, Julian’s eyes widened with surprise. He poked Adam’s shoulder a little more firmly.

“Goodness,” he noted. “I didn’t realize badminton was quite so strenuous.”

“You have no idea,” Adam replied evenly, glaring at him.

“Ha ha!” The Mustache laughed awkwardly. “I see I have to watch out for you! Very well, then—I’m off. Cheerio, Bates.”

Adam watched him go, fiercely resisting the urge to throw something at the back of his pomaded head.

Once he had turned the corner, Adam crushed out the burning end of his own lousy cigarette. He picked The Mustache’s butt from the stones and carried both ends inside.

He was gonna trash them, and then find that sauna Lady Sabita had mentioned. Talking to Julian Forster-Mowbray left him feeling like he needed to wash something off.