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robe and slipped it on. No sense in taking unnecessary chances, she decided as she headed towards her bedside table to retrieve her cell phone and play back her message.
    Ben’s voice greeted her. “Good morning, Amelia. I need to see you, but I have class until eleven-thirty. I won’t be able to get to the diner before noon, so you need to get there early and save our usual booth.” He’d hung up without bothering to ask if she was available.
    “Oh, I’ll be there, Ben,” she muttered aloud. “And I’ll be early because I can’t wait to return this damn diary to you and get the hell out of this situation.”
    She tried to pretend that her thigh hadn’t just started burning in the spot where her tattoo had once been, but the pain was worse than usual. The damn duke must be nearby watching—or listening—or maybe she really was losing her mind. Determined to get rid of the diary as soon as possible, she hurried to dress then practically ran out of the door.
     
    * * * *
     
    One good thing about her hasty exit from her apartment was her early arrival at the diner. Past experience had taught her that she needed to arrive by ten-thirty if she had any hopes of tying up the back booth that Ben preferred. She’d also learned over time that if it was already occupied when she got there, she should find a seat nearby, then be prepared to make a dash for the booth when it became free.
    The second she pushed the diner door open, her gaze zeroed in on the booth of her choice and she bit back an oath. A lone man sat in Ben’s usual place on the far side of the booth with a cup of coffee in front of him and a newspaper propped up on the ketchup bottle. His head was bent, giving the impression that he was reading the paper, and might well have plans to be there for a while.
    The aroma of coffee and hot cinnamon rolls reminded her that she’d had only iced tea for breakfast. She gave Betty her usual wave that meant Bring me tea and a menu, then perused the tables close to the rear of the dining room to try to locate an empty seat.
    As she scanned the area, her gaze homed in on the man sitting in the back booth. He’d raised his head and was lifting his coffee cup towards his mouth. “Damn,” she muttered. “No wonder I thought that head of dark hair looked familiar.”
    She stalked to the back of the restaurant and paused beside the man who was occupying Ben’s favourite booth. He glanced up and she grimaced. It was almost certainly the duke, except instead of his usual coat, vest and intricately tied cravat, today he was clad in a black turtleneck and a tan sport coat. He looked fantastic in modern clothes, but his presence here infuriated her. It was bad enough that he’d been harassing her in her apartment. She had no intention of allowing him to spoil her enjoyment of the diner. She slammed her purse down on the table.
    “Blast you! What in hell do you think you’re doing here? And if you make my thigh start burning again because I said hell, I’ll dump your coffee over your head and see if you enjoy being burnt.”
    The man immediately slapped his hand over his coffee cup, obviously intending to keep it anchored to the table, and scowled. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else, Miss. I’m waiting here for—oh my God. Are you Amelia Comstock, Uncle Ben’s researcher?”
    “ Uncle Ben?” Amelia frowned in confusion. What was going on here? First this man had invaded the privacy of her bedroom and now he was in the diner, sitting in Ben’s seat, claiming to be Ben’s nephew.
    She placed her palms flat on the table to steady herself, then leant forward to stare into the man’s eyes. “What are you trying to pull here? Ben’s never mentioned a nephew. Say, have you been dressing up and slipping into my apartment? I’ll bet you have. Come to think of it, Ben has a key to my apartment and if you’re really his nephew—”
    The man jumped to his feet. “Stop right there. I’ve never been in