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answered the door, dipped him a curtsey and bade him to come in. “Allow me to fetch me mistress,” she said, scurrying through a door to the bed chamber.
    As he took a seat on the faded sofa, it occurred to him these skimpy lodgings were not only unfit for the beautiful, cultured Carlotta Ennis, but they were also completely unfit for little Stevie. The boy would have to have a nurse and nursery and room to play. This place was most inadequate. What had he been thinking of to contemplate his own relocation when it was the lad's mother's relocation which mattered most? James fleetingly thought of how disappointed Mrs. McKay would be to lose her most respectable tenant, then he remembered he had paid her a year's rent in advance—money she was free to keep. He smiled. She would not be too disappointed.
    That peculiar feeling in his stomach returned as beautiful Carlotta gracefully swept into the room. She wore a sprigged lilac dress and looked rather like a young girl—not a widow closer to thirty summers than to twenty.
    “What a pleasant surprise to see you, my lord,” she said, offering him her hand.
    He stood and bent to kiss it, stirred by her lavender scent. “Oblige me by allowing me to escort you to the Pump Room. The waters there should be beneficial to you—given your recent ill health.”
    Her brows lowered almost imperceptibly as a flash of some emotion—was it fear?—flitted across her lovely face, to be replaced immediately with dancing eyes and a happy voice. “How very kind of you to be concerned for me,” she said, slipping her arm through his, “but what I really need is sunshine. Please do me the goodness of escorting me to Crescent Fields.”
    “Whatever you desire, my dear Mrs. Ennis. Shall you need a bonnet?” Though he did not discuss it, James was keenly aware of Mrs. Ennis's avoidance of the Pump Room.
    She turned to gaze at him with those sultry eyes of hers. “I never wear one.”
    Of course. Her lack of headwear had not gone unnoticed by him. “Another example of your distinctive style, I should say.”
    Her lashes lowered. “Then you've noticed.”
    “That you wear every shade of purple known to man?”
    She tossed her head back and laughed. “I've never been a slave to fashion. My philosophy is to wear what looks best on one.” She leveled a serious gaze at him. “Hats look hideous on women.”
    “I must admit,” he said, opening the exterior door for her, “I'd much rather gaze upon a lady's shimmering hair than a hat.”
    She looked up at him. Almost seductively. “I daresay a man thinks of how much he would like to run his fingers through a woman's hair.” Then she swept through the doorway.
    He swallowed, breathless at the thought of running his hands through Carlotta's glossy black hair. Now he understood. Carlotta did not dress to please other women. She dressed to please men.
    Once they were on the pavement, she looked up at him and smiled. “I could scarcely sleep last night, my lord, for my anxiousness to see Stevie. To think, by this time next week my little lamb will be with me!”
    He filled with pride and, smiling, squeezed her hand that rested on his arm.
    “There's just one thing,” she said hesitantly.
    His brows lowered at the tinge of worry in her voice.
    “I fear my lodgings are not adequate for a rambunctious lad.”
    He patted her gloved hand. “Not to worry your pretty head. We'll have to procure more suitable lodgings for you—and the nurse we must hire.”
    She spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “You are aware of the fact I have no money?”
    “And you must be aware of the heavy debt I owe your husband, the lad's father.” Your husband . It had been some time now since James had thought of Carlotta as belonging to Stephen Ennis. James was suddenly imbued with a bitter jealousy toward a man long dead, a man buried beneath Portuguese soil. “Allow me to let a house for you. In what area should you desire to live?”
    She did not