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anything but charge to her rescue.
    He hadn’t helped matters any when he’d asked her to dance. His motives had been not quite as suspect as she’d believed. While his first rescue had been rooted in sympathy, dancing with her had been a spontaneous action. It had also been a mistake. Not because he’d angered her, but because holding her in his arms had been far too pleasurable.
    The carriage rocked to a halt, and he grunted with annoyance. What else could go wrong with his life at the moment? He got out of the vehicle and wearily climbed the steps of the small house he’d provided Mary with. He’d been so busy thinking about the Lady Ruth, he still had no solution as to how to handle Wycombe’s intent to malign him. He sighed. Sleep would help clear his head, and he’d be able to come up with a plan of action later today.
    He didn’t even have to pull his key from his pocket, as Carstairs opened the front door when he was only two steps from the top of the stoop’s stairs. He handed the butler his top hat and cane then headed toward the staircase. Carstairs cleared his throat.
    “Forgive me, my lord, but Miss Mary would like a moment of your time.”
    “Now?”
    He pulled out his pocket watch to see the time. It was only six forty-five. She was an early riser like him, but never quite this early. He frowned. What could be so urgent—had Wycombe been so crass as to visit her unannounced? The staff had explicit instructions not to let anyone cross the threshold unless he or Mary said otherwise. Sleep would have to wait.
    “Where is she?” he asked as he met the butler’s stoic gaze.
    “In the parlor, my lord.”
    With a nod, he headed toward the salon where Mary spent a great deal of her time studying with the tutor he’d hired for her. As he entered the room, she was waiting for him. She jumped to her feet at his entrance, a look of trepidation on her face. Her blonde hair was piled fashionably on top of her head, and her blue day dress complemented her peaches and cream complexion. While he knew other men would find her exquisite, he’d never found himself aroused while in her company. It was one of the reasons he’d offered to provide for her with the understanding that their relationship would be strictly platonic.
    “Good morning, Mary. You’re up unusually early.”
    “I wanted to talk to you.” She seemed nervous. He frowned, but forced himself to smile at her.
    “What about? Is the new cook not working out to your liking?”
    “Oh no, Mrs. Boardwine is wonderful.” She hesitated then rushed onward. “Actually, I needed to tell you that I’m getting married.”
    If she’d pulled a gun and shot him, he couldn’t have been more stunned. What the devil was happening to his life? First, the Set trying to root out information about his mistress, and now Mary was telling him that she was leaving him for another man. No, she was getting married.
    “Who is he?” It was impossible to keep the sharp note of anger from his voice, but he was too upset to care.
    “Jeremy . . . Mr. Routh.”
    The tutor. Christ Jesus, he’d been cuckolded by the goddamn tutor. His mistress no less. No, that wasn’t possible. One couldn’t be cuckold if one hadn’t consummated the relationship. And he and Mary had never been together in that way. The fact was he’d never been with a woman. At the ripe old age of twenty-nine, he’d yet to discover whether a woman could find him desirable. He cringed inwardly.
    Did it matter? Did he really care what anyone thought? He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone. The harsh voice in his head sounded as clearly as if his uncle were standing in the same room with him. You’re half a man, boy. No woman will have you, let alone want you. You’ll never understand what it’s like to be a real man.
    “I see.” His voice bitter, he glared at Mary.
    “Oh please, Garrick. Please don’t be angry. We didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did.”
    Knowing Mary as he did,