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was a stickler for keeping the floors clean enough to eat from. Garlands of onions and garlic were strung from the rafters, and the herbs growing in the windowsill gave the room a pleasing, savory aroma.
    â€œThis way,” he said, taking Serena’s hand and leading her in the dark.
    When they reached the front parlor, they met his manservant Paulson, who was holding a candle. Blinking and fumbling with his jacket buttons one-handed when he realized Jonah had a female guest, Paulson made polite inquiries about the opera and offered to bring them refreshments.
    â€œNo need, Paulson,” Jonah said as he took the candle and led Serena up the main stairs. “We’ll be in the study. Tell the groom not to unhitch the mare. I’ll be taking the lady home shortly.”
    Ordinarily when a lady visited Jonah’s town house this late in the evening, she’d be there for the next sennight. If Paulson was surprised that this one would not be staying, he gave no sign. But then, Jonah had hired him specifically for his deadpan expression.
    A closemouthed servant was a good thing. One with a closed face was priceless.
    Jonah squired Serena to his study, stirred up the fire, and lit the lamp.
    â€œMay I?” He helped the lady off with her cloak and laid it across the back of one of the matched Sheraton chairs before his hearth. Lady Serena strolled around the room, taking in the burled oak desk and ornately carved chair. She lingered by the bookshelves, running a fingertip over the spines as she checked the titles.
    â€œScott, Voltaire, Shakespeare—this is a good collection,” she said.
    â€œYou sound surprised.”
    â€œYour reputation is that of a man of action. Your library suggests a more contemplative soul.”
    â€œPerhaps you’ll allow it’s possible to be both.” Even so, he tried to contemplate as little as he could to avoid being sucked back into his less-than-wholesome past. A book was a diversion, an escape from unsettled ghosts. “The humidor is to the right of the desk.”
    It was a freestanding piece made of rich Brazilian rosewood, as refined a bit of joinery as he possessed. The interior was lined with cedar and held several trays to house his collection of fine smokes.
    â€œIt’s quite lovely.” She stroked the pyramidal top. It occurred to him that the lady was the tactile sort. She’d smoothed her fingertips along the fine merino lapels of his topcoat when he’d draped it over her shoulders outside the opera house. Now she was touching his books, his humidor. If she was as sensual a creature as she seemed, it would make the job of seducing her that much easier.
    And far more pleasurable.
    â€œIn fact, your entire home is very pleasant,” she said as she opened the humidor. The aromatic scent of fine tobacco wafted from the box and filled the small room.
    â€œAgain, you sound surprised. Did you think I lived in a cave?”
    â€œNo, it’s just not…well, to be honest, you have the reputation of being something of a libertine. But this home doesn’t speak of excess.”
    â€œToo Spartan for you?”
    â€œNo, too calm for you, I would have thought.” Her lips twitched in amusement. “Any man who can cover an escape with Orange Fool doesn’t seem the sort to be at home with such serenity.”
    â€œI’m gratified to have provided you with a mystery.”
    â€œOh, I hate mysteries. They torment me until I can winkle them out.”
    â€œGood,” he said with a grin. “You shall have to spend more time with me then. I look forward to having you uncover my secrets and unravel me completely.”
    Her eyes flared a bit at that. He’d meant it to sound vaguely naughty. The fact that she realized it meant her thoughts were traveling down the same road as his.
    â€œRemove your gloves, Serena.”
    â€œI beg your pardon!”
    â€œIf you handle a cigar with those white