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“I will see that he does nothing of the sort.”Diana stamped her leather half-boots as fast as she could manage over the damp cobblestones, trying to rid her mind of the abominable words “B.D.” had committed to paper.

As a result, she failed to notice when the tree-lined walkways gave way to the dilapidated rookeries and narrower alleys in the neighboring district of St. Giles.

Even the weather seemed to take a turn for the worse.

She huddled deeper into her reliable wool pelisse, clutching the collar, bracing against a sudden gust.

She was about to propose they return home when an iron sign above a tavern door, marked by a substantial soup bowl, distracted her.

A dormer window beveled with leaded glass faced the street.

Inside, lit by the bronze sconces on the walls, a trio huddled in oilskin cloaks: a mother with a son and daughter past the age of confinement to a nursery.

The cut of their clothes was slightly out of style, and the once opulent fabric in disrepair.

Invested in this small family, she was quite insensible to the colossal figure exiting the tavern and heading in their direction.

When she turned from the window, she collided with Albion Higgins’s formidable chest. Thankfully, he had been ambling along at a leisurely pace.

Otherwise, she feared, he would have knocked her over.

“Lady Diana! As I live and breathe.”

How did Lord Albion maintain such a pristine appearance?

From the silk cravat impervious to the wind to the astonishingly white riding coat untouched by the muck and mire of St. Giles, he remained an elegant Bond Street beau.

His horns peeked out from special flaps sewn into his top hat, and the hint of his powerful bare neck was visible above the cravat.

Despite the weather, Diana suddenly wished she had chosen more fashionable attire than her practical pelisse-robe, the dull color of butterscotch.

“My apologies, Lord Albion. I should mind my feet when traversing a public thoroughfare.”

For all the distinctiveness of his looks, and possibly because of them, Albion was an attractive devil.

She felt sure he knew as much, for he held himself like a man who understood his own appeal.

Yet his manner did not suggest he took excessive pride in this knowledge or would use it to take advantage of another soul.

“What a blessed coincidence. We saw each other just last night.”

“And I’m sorry to be such an oaf as to literally run into you today.”

“No bother. The pleasure is entirely mine, I should say. How sensible to get in your daily constitutional regardless of the weather. I have half a mind to borrow my brother’s horse, Wintermist, and go around St. James.

Being from the north, I find the rain invigorating.

And no steed alive is a more skilled mudder than Wintermist. I’ve told my brother as much. ”

As Albion prattled on, Diana’s mind wandered to that blasted article. And what shall his prospective constituents say to one who kept the company of his fiancée’s sister for his enjoyment?

“‘Tis difficult to find a steed who takes to the mud, such as my brother’s horse. If only I hadn’t lost Wintermist to him at Newmarket! In the future, I must prepare to grab opportunities when they knock.”

After another minute, the rambling ceased. When she looked up, Albion was frowning, and she sensed something brewing in his mind apart from horses and the weather.

“Are you all right, Lady Diana?” he asked gravely.

His timbre was lower in pitch now, not quite a growl but akin to thunder rumbling.

Were his looks not so singular, she might have mistaken him for a new gent entirely.

Perhaps there was more to Albion Higgins than the hollow charm he wore as easily as his smart cravats and tailcoats.

“I am sorry to be such poor company. What has come of my manners? You were speaking of your brother’s horse.”

“Nothing that can’t wait. Sod it all, but I didn’t quite get my fill of Ollie’s fine cooking. Might I interest you two ladies in a brief repast?”

Diana had fled before she could stop at the sideboard in the breakfast room, and her stomach was in danger of rumbling. But Izzie leaned close to whisper: “The pie, my lady. Cook will have my backside. I want him to teach me to bake them like he does.”

“I think you would enjoy Ollie’s famous Santea soup.”Albion flashed an agreeable smile at Isabel, whose jaw went positively agape at his six-foot-something figure and handsome green face. “I assure you it is well worth a fuss.”

Predictably taken by this Orcan charm, Isabel brightened.

But Diana had learned to be wary of charming men.

Giving in to such enchantments led to nothing but trouble.

And yet, though Diana felt immune to such gallantry, she was forced to admit Albion was sweet.

Something about his manner distinguished him from the typical London Lothario.

“I’m sure your lady here can provide any necessary explanations.” Albion turned to Diana once more and flashed her an amiable smile not unlike that which disarmed Izzie. Only it was very much unlike it because this smile seemed meant for her alone, reaching into his amber eyes. “What say you?”

If Mother were to catch her inside a tavern, and in the company of a gentleman at that, she would drag her away by the ear. Then again, Diana’s mother had long since abandoned caring for anything other than her wine goblet. And she was still in Brighton.

Either way, Lord Albion betrayed no sign he had suggested an assignation out of the ordinary. The unwritten rules governing unmarried ladies and gentlemen were less severe in the Hidden Realm, or so she’d heard.

Since they had traveled further than she intended, having Albion escort them home seemed sensible, as was ensuring they were fortified adequately for the walk back.

“It is a generous offer,” Diana said. “I suppose we might join you for a short while.”

“Shall we then?” Lord Albion extended his arm with all the good manners of London’s well-bred gents. And Diana couldn’t help but feel the day had finally taken a turn for the better.