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turban waved perilously close to Lord Wellstone’s face. “This is a surprise. And a pleasure, too, of course. Do sit down.”
    Bertha giggled again, and Lucy waited for the ax to fall. Lord Wellstone nodded to her stepsisters, including the silent Esmie in his acknowledgement. “Miss Esmerelda. Miss Bertha. Mr. Whippet, I believe,” he added with a brief nod to the other gentleman. He took the chair opposite her stepmother’s sofa. “I do hope my call is not ill-timed, but your man assured me that you were at home.”
    Her stepmother and stepsister launched into twitters of denial of any inconvenience. Their compliments and effusions would have overcome most men, but Lucy watched in morbid fascination as the viscount appeared to encourage them in their outrageousness. Oddly, he ignored Lucy just as Esmie ignored the entire party, and Lucy breathed a small sigh of relief. Perhaps he had not come to denounce her after all.
    “Would you care for tea, my lord?” her stepmother asked.
    The viscount considered the teapot for a long moment. “I would, indeed, Your Grace.” He paused ever so slightly, his handsome face troubled. “Unfortunately, I can only do it justice when it is piping hot.”
    “Lucy!” The duchess snapped her fingers. “You will bring more tea straightaway.”
    Lucy’s head snapped up, and her cheeks colored. She started to refuse, but to her surprise, Lord Wellstone turned toward her and, beyond the view of the others in the room, gave her a surreptitious wink.
    “This moment, Lucy.” The duchess made a shooing motion. Something very strange was happening. Lucy’s stomach churned.
    “I don’t want to trouble you,” Lord Wellstone said rather insincerely, but her stepmother shushed him.
    “It is no trouble, my lord. Lucy, ” she stressed, “will be glad to fetch a fresh pot of tea.”
    “Yes, yes, of course,” Lucy agreed, still confused as to the viscount’s intent. Deciding that retreat was the better part of valor, Lucy bobbed a curtsy and left the room. She clambered down the back stairs as she tried to puzzle it out. Despite the fact that his grandmother lived next door, Lord Wellstone had never before paid a visit. If he was not here to denounce her for the contretemps in Lady Belmont’s garden, what could the man be thinking by establishing such an acquaintance and raising expectations?
    Belowstairs, Cook still snored in her chair, and the fire burned low. Lucy reached for the scuttle to replenish the coal and then picked up the poker. Surely her life had grown complicated enough for one day. She was strategically arranging the coals among the embers when there was a knock at the open kitchen door. She turned and moaned softly under her breath when she saw her gardener standing on the threshold. Her dratted heart raced at the sight of him.
    NICK CRINGED as the girl whirled around, clutching a poker in her hand. Having seen her wield the scythe in Lady Belmont’s garden, he knew to proceed with caution. After all, she had been rather adamant before about not wanting to be rescued.
    “Hello.” Nick winced. Not a brilliant opening. The girl arched one pale eyebrow incredulously. Nick fought to hide a smile. She was a woman of spirit, he would certainly give her that. “Somehow I didn’t think you’d be cast into raptures at the sight of me.” He decided to take a chance and step inside. His eyes traveled around the room, taking in the spare furnishings and an older woman, most likely the cook, snoring in the corner.
    “Why are you here?” The girl hadn’t lowered the poker an inch. Nick ignored the fact that the sight of the hoyden sent his pulse skittering. It was only nerves. And battle fever, brought on by the altercation in Lady Belmont’s garden.
    “I don’t believe those men are finished with you, princess, and I don’t fancy the idea of leaving you as easy prey for the likes of them.”
    She turned away, and Nick wondered if she found something amiss with him