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winced. “I hope not. I expect I will have to throw myself on Maggie’s mercy and hope she will forgive me. I’m afraid I embarrassed the entire family last night, but most especially my wife.”
    With no experience of handling irate wives, Trent let the man’s words hang in the air. He rather expected it would take a great deal of effort for Grayson to smooth last night’s events over.
    Better Grayson than him, he thought with a shudder.
    They lapsed into companionable silence to watch the next pair of fencers cross swords. Though Trent couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something dark lurking beneath Grayson’s assurances.
    A moment later, however, Trent felt a presence behind him. Brow raised, he turned to see the butler, Wolfe. Leading him away from his guests into a side parlor, he waited to see what had the man in such a huff.
    â€œI beg your pardon, your grace,” the regal man said with stiff dignity, “but there is a … person at the front door who insists on seeing you. I tried to send her to the tradesman’s entrance, but she assures me that the two of you are acquainted. And that she is a lady, though she has no maid.”
    Trent reached to take the card Wolfe extended.
    Miss Ophelia Dauntry .
    What the devil?
    Surely she wasn’t here to rip up at Grayson on her friend’s behalf again. It was bad enough she’d risked her reputation by doing it the night before. But really, though his mother was in residence, it was still not quite the done thing for her to call upon him at his home.
    Still, if she’d bucked convention enough to call upon a single gentleman at his home, then she must have reason enough. Recalling that business with the Countess of Mainwaring and the Lords of Anarchy a few weeks ago, he strode down the gallery toward the staircase. It might very well be that there was some emergency that had prompted Miss Dauntry’s unexpected visit.
    â€œWhere did you put her, Wolfe?” he asked the butler, who hurried along behind him.
    â€œI … that is to say…” The butler stuttered as he tried to keep up with his master. “I left her on the doorstep.”
    Reaching the bottom of the grand staircase, Trent turned and glared at him. “What do you mean you left her on the doorstep? Is that how you treat a guest?”
    Wolfe swallowed, then recalling his own elevated status, he stood up straight. “She might have been anyone, your grace. And you have not seen what a state she is in. I am not in the habit of admitting just anyone into this house. It would not be fitting.”
    â€œWhat’s not fitting is you leaving my acquaintance on the front stoop like a country beggar,” Trent snapped. “Go about your business. And have Mrs. Pierce send some tea and biscuits to the front drawing room.”
    He didn’t know much about entertaining ladies, but if his time with Ophelia’s friends Mrs. Freddy Lisle and the Countess of Mainwaring was any indication, they consumed lots of tea and biscuits.
    Wrenching open the front door himself, he blinked to adjust his eyes to the sunlight and saw Miss Ophelia Dauntry was indeed standing there.
    Or perhaps swaying there would be a better turn of phrase.
    â€œYour grace,” she said, lowering her handkerchief from where she’d been dabbing at her forehead. “I apologize for the intrusion, but…”
    And he realized several things simultaneously.
    First, that she did indeed look disheveled. Her gown was dusty and torn on the sleeve, and her hat, which must once have been quite pretty, was crushed and hanging down her back by the ribbons.
    Next, that she was swaying because she was, in no uncertain terms, about to succumb to a very splendid faint.
    And third, and most disturbing of all, the reason she had been dabbing at her forehead was that there was quite a large cut there, which was bleeding profusely. As he well knew head