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“Artworks have on occasion nearly bored me to death, but I don’t think they’re truly lethal,” he said dryly. “Get yourself something stouter.”
    “A man needs a stout staff for emergencies,” a third voice said from the shop’s entry.
    Lucien looked up. “Robert,” he acknowledged, hoping the rest of his cronies weren’t going to appear, as well. He was too damned distracted this morning for the wolf pack—the main reason he’d settled for conversing with slow-witted William Jeffries, Lord Daubner. “Some of us are naturally equipped with stout staffs.”
    With a jaunty grin, Robert Ellis, the Viscount of Belton, descended the steps and joined them in the blade shop. “So why are you purchasing such a flimsy one?”
    “It’s not for me,” Kilcairn returned, and flicked the blade in Daubner’s direction. “Our count feels the need to enhance his apparatus.”
    Lord Daubner chuckled uneasily, his slightly protruding eyes on the rapier. “As Belton said, it’s just for emergencies. And Wallace gave me a good price, didn’t you, Wallace?”
    “Aye, my lord.”
    From the corner of his eye Lucien noted the shopkeeper backing into the storeroom to avoid being drawn further into the conversation. Lucien stifled a dark smile. Wallace could give Miss Gallant a lesson in avoidingtrouble. “You might as well walk down the street clutching a spoon as this sad thing.”
    “It’s not the weapon, Lucien.” Robert lifted another rapier down from the wall. “It’s how you wield it.”
    “Oh, goodness gracious,” Wallace muttered from the storeroom doorway.
    “Gadzooks,” Daubner blustered, waddling at full speed for the corner.
    Robert lifted his blade and swung it across at Lucien.
    Shifting his weight, the earl blocked the move and in the same fluid motion flattened the viscount’s rapier against the display table. “So it is. Point taken.”
    With a frown, Robert released his grip on the weapon, leaving it on the counter. “Don’t want to play today, eh? You might have said so.” He rubbed his knuckles where they’d collided with the hard wood.
    Lucien returned the rapier to its ebony scabbard and tossed it to Daubner. “You didn’t ask.”
    The viscount eyed him for a moment, then swiped a lock of wheat-colored hair back from his forehead. “Lost another governess, did you?”
    Immediately an image of the turquoise-eyed goddess who kept the devil spawn company in his breakfast room banished everything else from Lucien’s mind. “Found another one,” he said brusquely. “Accompany me to Boodle’s for luncheon.”
    Daubner cleared his throat.
    “You, too, Daubner.”
    “Ah. Splendid.”
    Belton fell into step beside him as they left Wallace’s shop, while Daubner brought up the rear. Pall Mall was still fairly uncrowded, as were the clubs lining the way, but none of Mayfair would remain that way for much longer. Once the Season began in earnest, getting a goodtable and competent service would become a contest of wealth and skill. It was a contest he generally won.
    “Are you still going to Calvert’s tonight?”
    “I haven’t decided.”
    Robert looked at him, brown eyes quizzical. “What happened to ‘anything to escape that damned harpies’ nest’?”
    Miss Gallant had happened—though Lucien wasn’t about to reveal that. Certainly he lusted after her; spending an evening away would hardly affect that one way or the other. But at the moment she held more interest for him than Calvert’s overexplored debaucheries. “Afraid they won’t let a pup like you in without me?”
    “You are my calling card to the dregs of London,” the viscount agreed with a faint smile. “Are you going, Daubner?”
    “Lady Daubner would have my head if I made an appearance at Calvert’s,” the stout man said grimly.
    “ If she found out,” Lucien supplied. “Don’t tell her.”
    Daubner jabbed a finger into Lucien’s shoulder blade. “Easy to tell you ain’t married, Kilcairn. You