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antecedents isn’t what gives him such a feel for the music.”
    Charles cocked his head, his big brown eyes conveying both concern and curiosity.
    â€œI’ve danced with country lads by the score, and they lack Mr. Dolan’s…grace.”
    They also lacked his height, his muscle, his blue eyes, his aquiline nose, his particular lavender-and-fresh-air scent, his smile, his way of narrowing those eyes when he became determined on something, his way of moving a woman around on the dance floor like she was both safe and cherished in his embrace.
    â€œI’m an idiot.” More than twenty-four hours after turning down the room with her employer, and Amy still wanted to close her eyes and recall the moments she’d spent in his arms.
    Charles rose from the hearthrug and parked his hairy chin on Amy’s knee.
    â€œI will see much less of Mr. Dolan now that we’re ensconced here with Lord and Lady Deene. I shall recover my equilibrium. You may depend upon it.”
    A knock on her door had the dog looking askance at her.
    â€œCome in.”
    She would recover her equilibrium later, because at that moment, Jonathan Dolan appeared in Amy’s doorway, looking windblown, sunbrowned, and delectable in shirtsleeves and riding attire.
    â€œMr. Dolan.” Amy nearly startled off the settee at the foot of her bed. “If you’re looking for Georgina, Lady Deene tarried with her in the stables to see this year’s foals.”
    â€œKidnapped her, you mean. I expected you to be a more ferocious bodyguard, Miss Ingraham.”
    He ambled into her room without an invitation and took a place beside her on the small settee.
    â€œHold your peace, my dear.” He leaned back and crossed his feet at the ankles. “A gentleman does not take a seat without a lady’s permission, a gentleman does not presume on a lady’s private environs, a gentleman does not—in my opinion—get to exercise a great deal of common sense. Do you mind if I take a seat? I was up late last night seeing to business and woke early to make the journey here on horseback.”
    Amy cast a minatory glance at the open door. “If you are tired, of course you should sit.”
    â€œWalk with me in the garden, Amy Ingraham. I have matters to discuss with you.” He heaved out a sigh, and it was all Amy could do not to touch him. Weariness was evident in the way he rolled his shoulders, the grooves bracketing his mouth, and the informality of his posture.
    â€œI was about to change for dinner.”
    â€œWe have plenty of time. I’m not sure whether Deene is hovering more closely over his marchioness or his niece, but he was no damned—I beg your pardon—no challenge at all at billiards. I sent him out to the stables lest he embarrass himself further.”
    Mr. Dolan rose and extended a hand down to her.
    Were she at home—at Mr. Dolan’s home—Amy would have pointedly ignored that hand and even glared at her employer for his presumption. But the marchioness had been so friendly, and his lordship so welcoming, Amy had been given to understand that in this household, she would be treated like a guest. The idea that this visit was a holiday in truth, a small holiday from the strictest observance of the most inconvenient rules, was too attractive to ignore.
    She took Mr. Dolan’s hand.
    â€œAre you content with the arrangements here, Miss Ingraham?”
    Not Miss Amy. Ah, well.
    â€œI am. The maid detailed to the nursery is cheerful and the oldest of seven. She’ll manage Georgina quite easily.”
    â€œYour room looks commodious.”
    Amy’s employer was trying to make small talk, but coming up against a reality that emerged whenever people of different stations attempted to move beyond civilities: they had, in truth, little in common.
    â€œMy room is lovely. Are you concerned that Lord Deene will charm his way into Georgina’s