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answered. If I've been too direct, I apologize."
    "Not necessary. Why my ears, though?"
    She lowered her lashes. "I'm studying them. I wish to draw you."
    "Draw me," he repeated in a low drawl. "Do you often tell men with whom you are barely acquainted that you wish to draw them?"
    Her color deepened, her eyes lifting to meet his again. "No, my lord. You are the first."
    Well, it was certainly a unique approach to a flirtation. And exceptionally bold, considering the fact that her parents were seated just a few feet away. Hm. Whether she called it drawing or kissing, he had no objection to playing along. At least she didn't babble like the rest of the brood. Technically they were family friends, but all that meant was that he couldn't initiate anything scandalous. She , on the other hand…
    "Then draw me," he said with a smile. "But you have to let me view the results."
    "Of course, my lord."
    Perhaps staying a few days at Witfeld Manor wouldn't be as dull as he'd thought, then. "Where shall we meet for you to… draw me, then?" he went on, adopting her rather obvious innuendo.
    "How about in the conservatory tomorrow morning?" she suggested. "About eight? I don't think the family will disturb us before nine o'clock."
    "I'll bring my ears," he returned. And the rest of him.
    "Did you see her letter?" Mrs. Witfeld was tittering to his aunt as he straightened.
    "Yes, it was very promising."
    "Monsieur Tannberg writes in a very gentlemanly manner, don't you think?" the brood's matron continued. "And he's not even English."
    Zachary drew his brows together. He'd missed something, obviously. "Who's—"
    He didn't get to finish the question, since abruptly the conversation turned to Beau Brummell and his gentlemanly manner. The man was a fop, but obviously the Witfeld girls didn't want to hear that. Zachary therefore kept his opinion to himself and commented only on the handful of actual encounters he'd had with Brummell.
    His attention, though—wherever he happened to be directing his conversation—was on Caroline. Before he embarked on a flirtation, and whether he'd instigated it or not, he needed to get a few answers from Aunt Tremaine. Though she was their small brood's closest living relation, she had what Melbourne considered an alarming tendency to plan and follow her own agenda.
    This scheme, though, might even be Melbourne-sanctioned. Sebastian had only suggested he get a dog, however, and Zachary didn't think he'd meant even that seriously. As soon as dinner ended he made his way around the table to his aunt. "Allow me to help you to the drawing room," he said, offering his arm.
    "Oh, we can manage that," Mrs. Witfeld countered before his aunt could respond. "You'll be wanting to smoke a cigar and have a glass of port with Mr. Witfeld. I know how you refined gentlemen like your port."
    Zachary glanced up at the family patriarch, the only other family member besides Caroline who'd barely spoken a word at dinner. "I don't wish to disturb Mr. Witfeld's routine," he said, reluctantly relinquishing Aunt Tremaine's arm.
    "With seven daughters I don't actually have a routine to be disturbed," Witfeld said unexpectedly, rising and gesturing for Zachary to follow him.
    The two of them made their way to the hall and past the kitchen to a small comer room on the bottom floor. As Mr. Witfeld lit the two lamps inside, Zachary stopped. Wooden spheres, planks with wheels attached to the top and the bottom, clay pots with dried hay stalks sticking out the bottom, miniature Greek columns made of what looked like papier-mache: Odd objects filled the room practically to the rafters.
    "Have a seat, my lord," Mr. Witfeld said, clearing a chair by setting a large circular mesh of wood onto the floor.
    "Thank you," Zachary returned, gingerly making his way through the clutter. The sheer magnitude of… things amazed him. "Might I ask you a question?"
    "I have no control over the girls, if you're asking for an explanation. I wanted two