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query, Lenore stepped in. “Allow me to make known to you His Grace of Eversleigh, Papa.”
    Mr. Lester’s steady gaze did not waver. If anything, it intensified. A sardonic gleam in his eye, Jason bowed gracefully, then accepted the hand the old man held out.
    â€œHaven’t seen you in some years, I think,” Mr. Lester remarked. “Knew your father well—you’re becoming more like him with the years—in all respects, from everything I hear.”
    Standing beside her father’s chair, Lenore studiously kept her eyes blank.
    Jason inclined his head. “So I have been informed.”
    Mr. Lester’s head sank. For a moment, he appeared lost in memories. Then he snorted. Lifting his head, he looked out across the crowded room. “Remember being in Paris one year your father was there. Group of us, him included, spent quite a bit of time together. Had a rousing six months—the Parisian mesdames —now there were women who knew how to heat a man’s blood.” With a contemptuous wave, he indicated the press of bodies before him. “This lot’s got no idea. You—m’boys—don’t know what you’re missing.”
    Jason’s smile grew harder to suppress. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lenore colour delicately. In his own best interests, he decided to forgo encouraging Mr. Lester to recount his memories in more detail. “Unfortunately, I believe Napoleon’s comrades have altered things somewhat since you were last in France, sir.”
    â€œDamned upstart!” Mr. Lester ruminated on the emperor’s shortcomings for some seconds before observing, “Still—the war’s over. Ever think of chancing the Channel to savour the delights of la bonne vie , heh?”
    At that, Jason smiled. “My tastes, I fear, are distinctly English, sir.” As if to include Lenore in their discussion, he allowed his gaze to rise, capturing her eyes with his before adding with calm deliberation, “Besides, I have a particular project before me which bodes fair to absorbing my complete attention for the foreseeable future.”
    Despite the quake that inwardly shook her, Lenore kept her gaze steady and her expression serene. Favouring attack as the best form of defence, she countered, “Indeed, Your Grace? And what project is that?”
    She had thought to rattle him; although his features remained serious, his expressive eyes warned her she had seriously underestimated him.
    â€œI find myself faced with a conundrum, Miss Lester. A conclusion which, while apparently consistent with the facts, I know to be false.”
    Mr. Lester snorted. “Sounds just like the musty old theories you so delight in, m’dear. You should give His Grace a hand.”
    Speechless, Lenore looked up, straight into Eversleigh’s gleaming grey eyes.
    â€œAn excellent idea.” Jason could not resist a small smile of triumph.
    To Lenore, the gesture revealed far too many teeth. Eversleigh was dangerous. His reputation painted him in the most definite colours—those of a highly successful rake. “I really don’t believe—”
    Her careful retreat was cut off by Smithers, announcing in booming accents that dinner was served.
    Lenore blinked, then saw a slow smile light Eversleigh’s fascinating features. He had scanned the crowd and now stood, watching her expectantly. Reality hit Lenore like a wave. Eversleigh was the senior peer present. As his hostess, it was incumbent upon her to lead the assembled company in to dinner—on his arm. Aware that, at any moment, the restive crowd would work all this out for themselves and turn to see her, dithering, beside her father’s chair, Lenore resisted the temptation to close her eyes in frustration. Instead, her serene mask firmly in place, she walked into the wolf’s lair. “If you would be so kind as to lend me your arm, Your Grace?”
    She was hardly