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    “If your ankle’s well enough, that is? His lordship mentioned you might’ve hurt it getting out of the carriage.”
    “Yes, it’s fine.” Lydia twisted around, trying to figure out which door hid Lord Greenwich. A slender white line lit one part of the hall, but the maid pushed her along to the stairs.
    “Good enough, miss. Though not ‘miss’ for long, right?” The maid chuckled. “Ah, it’ll be good to have a lady take charge of the house. Of course, Miss Mayhew’s done a fine job, but a wife gives a home the personal touch…and children soon, we can only hope.”
    Now that was doubtful. His lordship couldn’t be bothered to hear an apology, much less look at her. At the mention of the stunning housekeeper, a niggling question pressed its point: Why did the earl seek a stranger to provide an heir when a beautiful, unmarried woman already lived under his roof?
    ***
    After the door snapped shut, Edward peeled off his hat and cloak, tossing aside his armor to the outside world. He needed his study’s comfort and solitude. Even the air smelled better in here; his lungs expanded, testing that notion. Leather-bound volumes brushed with oil, the flat scent of beeswax polish on wood, and…
    Tick, tick, tick. His mind, however, moved like a constant clock, keeping rest at bay. Categorical thinking divided the evening into neat columns. Column one: he coerced a woman to his home—a woman with vivid green eyes and smooth skin, though he couldn’t fully vouch for the latter, since he’d touched her glove to skin, but appearances were promising.
    He’d used all the weapons in his arsenal to achieve Miss Montgomery’s acquiescence: persuasion, reason, family wealth and name, a little humor…and yes, threats.
    Column two: he needed her—a simple detail encased in messy reality. The flesh-and-blood part of him admitted he wanted her. What was meant to be a simple transaction at a tumbledown inn turned into the unexpected. That surprising business of caressing her neck, albeit with his gloves on, set him back a notch.
    Prowling his study, Edward contemplated that verity. His father’s silver fob pressed inside his hip pocket, a reminder of familial duty. Time ticked by with the persistence of an astronomical clock. The universe moved forward, and so must he.
    Nothing else would be accomplished tonight. He chuckled, recalling the astonishment on Miss Montgomery’s face when he stated she’d go home with him. Tonight. Considering the evening’s proposition, her assumption that he would demand conjugal rights this very evening made logical sense.
    But he was not a rutting monster.
    Drawn to the shelves, Edward moved along rows of favored tomes. His hands skimmed one gold-embossed spine after another. Flamsteed’s Celestial Atlas caught his eye. Someone incorrectly shelved the folio in the history section. Probably Rogers, the new footman charged with the study’s care. Edward grinned, recalling the lad’s delight when given leave to borrow books at will.
    A favorite, Greek, Roman, and Persian Governments in Antiquity: A Comparative History Complete with Variorum stopped him . He breathed clean leather and reached for the preferred text. Right as his fingers touched the spine, an intrusive knock at the door begged entry.
    Go away.
    The evening’s transaction weighed on him: a burden to properly care for the unknown woman abovestairs. Edward pulled the book and let it fall open, flipping idly through its pages. He needed this respite.
    “Go to bed, Rogers,” he shouted at the paneled door. “I’m fine.”
    Tap. Tap.
    Whoever was on the other side wanted an audience; sanctuary and solitude would be short-lived.
    “Enter.”
    An angelic blond head peered around the door. Of course. Claire.
    “I’m not bothering, am I?” She slipped in, not waiting for a response.
    “Never.” He glanced at her and leaned his shoulder against the shelf.
    “I know better than that.” She smiled, walking toward