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candles. Chandeliers and rich wall coverings and dim, curtained bedchambers seemed much more his natural habitat.
    â€œYou’re staring, Miss Ruddick,” he said, straightening.
    She started. “I’m merely surprised to see you this morning,” she countered. “I mean, I appreciate your personally bringing word that I’m to have a tour, but you might have sent a note.”
    He nodded, coming toward her with that panther’s stalk of his. “I have to admit, usually when I see this side of morning it’s because I haven’t yet gone to bed.”
    Evie wasn’t quite certain how to answer that. “Ah. Well, if Mrs….” She trailed off, at a loss.
    Saint glanced at the housekeeper. “What the devil is your name, anyway?”
    â€œMrs. Natham,” the housekeeper answered. From her tone, it wasn’t the first time she’d supplied him with the information.
    â€œThank you,” Evie said, offering the woman a half smile. They’d simply gotten off to a poor start; there was no reason to assume they couldn’t deal together. “If you don’t mind, Mrs. Natham, I would like to begin the tour.”
    â€œI…but…ah…”
    â€œShe isn’t conducting your tour,” the marquis said, cynical humor touching his voice. “I am.”
    â€œYou?” Evie blurted, before she could stop herself.
    â€œYes, I. Shall we?” He led the way to a door on the right side of the foyer and held it open for her.
    â€œBut…don’t you have more important things to do?”
    â€œNot a one.” His mouth curved in that sensuous smile of his. “You asked for a tour. I am providing one. Decline, and you’re free to walk out the door. But you won’t be allowed back again.”
    So that was it. Another of St. Aubyn’s attempts at control through intimidation. This morning, however, she wasn’t in the mood to be intimidated. Today she could begin doing something useful, and no jaded, arrogant marquis was going to make her run away.
    Saint had a difficult time not laughing. His guest looked like a deer surrounded by a pack of wolves, not knowing which direction to run. Undoubtedly she’d thought to spend the morning gossiping with the troll, Mrs. Whatever. The idea that Miss Ruddick would actually have to confront some of the orphanage’s inhabitants and view their living quarters must have been horrifying to her.
    Her expressive gray eyes studied him and the doorway beyond as though she were weighing her chances of going in and coming back out alive. It would have been amusing, if it wasn’t so predictable.
    â€œVery well, my lord,” she said, gesturing for him to lead the way.
    Saint exited the foyer, swiftly covering his surprise. With her falling in beside him, they entered the downstairs hallway. Hm. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as predictable as he’d thought. That made her an exception among females. So far. “These were for the most part administrative offices. This used to be an army bar—”
    â€œBarracks for George the Second’s Coldstream Guards,” she finished. “What do you use them for now?”
    â€œYou’ve done some research,” he said grudgingly.
    â€œSurprised?” she asked coolly.
    And becoming more so by the moment . “I’ll let you know.” He returned his attention to the long corridor. “The orphanage uses the rooms for storing old furniture and for the odd accountant.”
    Nodding, she made a note of some sort on the top page of the stack of papers she cradled in her left arm. “How many offices are there?” she asked. “And how large are they?”
    So now the timid Miss Ruddick was all business. He gazed at her profile. “As for quantity, about a dozen. Size, I don’t know. Let’s go inside one and explore, why don’t we?”
    She swallowed, looking up from her scribbling.