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lip. The idea of being escorted by the handsome Mr. Huntley held appeal. But what would he expect in return? A man of his position didn’t escort country girls for no reason. Lunacy to imagine his intentions were honorable as she recalled Mrs. Parker’s words, “His associations with women are purely business,” and shuddered.
    “I think not.”
    She sensed his anger, but he nodded all the same. “Very well.”
    The traffic eased and their pace picked up. The low spring sun cast long shadows as they turned a corner that Miss Foster recognized as leading into Grosvenor Square. In daylight the gardens seemed almost friendly, and yet fingers of dread played down her spine as the carriage drew up beside the familiar steps.
    “As requested,” Huntley said tersely. “Would you allow me to present my card?”
    Eulogy waivered. Huntley’s card would undoubtedly open Devlin’s door, and yet her business was too sensitive. When she revealed her news she did not want an audience, especially one as distracting as Mr. Huntley.
    “No, thank you.”
    With studied indifference Huntley handed her down.
    “Goodbye, Mr. Huntley. You have been kindness itself.”
    He raised her gloved hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss on her palm. At the warmth of his breath, heat sparked flamed over the tender skin. Their eyes met. There it was again. That unguarded moment, softness behind the stone.
    “The carriage will return in one hour to await your instruction,” Huntley said gruffly.
    “That won’t be necessary.”
    “Nevertheless, it will be here.”
    Neither moved.
    “Well then…your call?”
    “Oh yes.” Eulogy stared up at the imposing polished door flanked by coach lamps. Slowly, she disengaged her hand. “Goodbye, Mr. Huntley, and if we never meet again, thank you.”

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
     
     
    The lacquered door swung open and an imperious footman peered out. Eulogy recognized him in an instant.
    “Good afternoon, Miss.”
    “I wish to see Lord Devlin.”
    The footman glanced over her shoulder to Mr. Huntley’s carriage.
    “Who shall I say is calling?” he asked, wearing an oily smile.
    “Miss Foster. I called recently, but you turned me away.”
    The footman paled. “Would you care to wait inside, Miss?”
    Eulogy stepped past into a grand hallway, an opulent confection of statuettes and Chinese vases.
    “Take a seat, Miss Foster.” With a low bow, he exited up the stairs.
    Eulogy sat and with shaking hands, arranged her skirts. Time slowed to a crawl. Lead weight compressed her chest and she found it hard to breathe. Since Mary Foster revealed the truth, Eulogy had thought of little except this meeting and now she was here,  paralyzed with fear.
    After an eternity, the footman returned.
    “Miss Foster, his Lordship is on his way out and can see you for just five minutes.”
    “I am grateful.”
    On trembling legs, she climbed the sweeping staircase. Double doors opened off a wide landing and Eulogy was ushered into a masculine room with red walls hung with dark portraits of august ancestors.
    By the hearth, his Lordship adjusted his neck cloth, angling his head to admire his reflection in the mirror. Eulogy waited, her heart filling her chest. From what she could see her brother was a handsome man, with regular features and a quirky mouth, and the same dark hair and brown eyes as her own. Devlin exuded a roguish charm, as he turned to greet her, he seemed not at all the ogre Huntley had implied. Letting the tension fall from her shoulders, she accepted the proffered hand with a nod.
     “Ah, the persistent Miss Foster.”
    “Lord Devlin.” She wanted to cry and fling her arms about her brother, but restrained herself.
    “This is good timing. I need a female opinion. What say you? The green or scarlet waistcoat?”
    “Oh! You are not dressed.”
    “I was on my way out, but your call sounded urgent.” His turned his mischievous eyes on her. “Your opinion?”
    “I…err…well the