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stubbornness and by his very annoying and distracting presence.
    He gave a half smile. “It’s only for a fortnight. Entertain yourself. I have a fairly good library. You can read, can’t you, savage?”
    She made a face at him. “Only piratical tales with swordplay and blood in them.”
    Lord Everton laughed, his eyes dancing. He had a rich, musical laugh, and the sound ran down her spine with an unexpected tingle. “I’ll see what I can come up with for you.” He headed upstairs to change.
    Kit went up to her own bedchamber to clean up, for she had no intention of staying in. When Wenton later announced dinner, Kit decided she might as well eat while she attempted to figure out how she was going to attend Lady Sinclair’s party. She was in the process of dissecting a roasted game hen when the door opened and the earl entered. Kit froze, a wing halfway to her lips, and simply looked at him.
    She had seen men dressed in evening finery before, of course, had even attended more than one Parisian soiree in her guise as a man. As she gazed at Alexander Cale, though, it occurred to her that she had never set eyes on anyone who looked so magnificently…male. His coat was of the finest dark gray superfine, while the cream-colored waistcoat and gold watch fob were impeccable above black breeches that looked molded to those well-muscled thighs. With his black, wavy hair and bluer-than-sapphire eyes, he looked like some sort of English god. She swallowed.
    “Here, cousin,” he said amiably, apparently unaware that she was gawking at him, and flipped a book onto the table beside her.
    Kit spent another moment staring at his amused expression, then reluctantly turned her attention to the book resting at her elbow. “ Robinson Crusoe ,” she read aloud.
    “I don’t recall if there’s any swordplay, but it is fairly piratical,” he noted as he leaned over the table to appropriate a steaming hot biscuit from a covered bowl.
    “Thank you, Ev…” She stopped as his eyes flicked in Wenton’s direction. “Alex,” she amended, the name more comfortable on her tongue than she expected.
    “Stay out of trouble, cousin,” Lord Everton suggested, his eyes speaking volumes. Then he turned and was gone.
    Kit looked after him for a full minute before she remembered that she was supposed to be going with him. With a frown, she bit into the game hen. Outside, thunder rumbled over the mansion, and the patter of rain sounded against the window. Of course, they barely knew one another, but it annoyed her that he had donned his fine clothes for the pleasure of Barbara Sinclair, while she had only been laughed at and abandoned. “I hope he gets drenched,” she muttered, “leaving me here.” She looked over her shoulder. “Wenton, does Alex have any brandy?”
    “Not for you, Mr. Riley,” Wenton answered. He raised an eyebrow when she scowled at him. “The earl’s orders.”
    “Bah,” Kit replied.

Chapter 3
    T he next day began exactly as had the previous one, except that she didn’t come to blows with Ben Conklin, and she didn’t see Everton at all. That seemed rather insulting. After all the care he had taken to discover her charade, and his subsequent suggestive remarks and bullying, now it seemed he couldn’t even be bothered to wish her a good morning before he vanished.
    “Meetings,” was the only explanation she was able to pull out of Wenton, who informed her that Lord Everton had again suggested she stay in the house.
    The earl’s professed whereabouts sounded suspicious, especially for a rakehell, though her father had informed her that the only thing blue bloods were good for was talking, for they had more wind than brains. Rain had continued to fall throughout the night and into the morning, rendering Park Lane gray and running with water, but she’d been wet before and had no intention of remaining inside. Before she went hunting, however, there was one task at Cale House left for her to accomplish.
    She