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the cane in her hands. “The downstairs lodger is…unsettling.”
    Hell, another cur to bring to heel. Harry could see where dealing with every man who had designs on Miss Ryland could be a full-time occupation.
    “You shall not go back there. I have a house”—he had several; Harry Harmon often stayed at one—“in Kensington where you can stay.”
    Simone knew gentlemen often kept their ladybirds in love nests in Kensington, close enough for quick visits, far enough from Mayfair to be discreet. “How can I stay at your house if we are not…not…”
    “Well enough acquainted yet?” he politely supplied for her, taking his cane out of her hands. “I also have rooms at my club.” The apartment at McCann’s was private, hidden, and well guarded, but it was no place for a lady, or a woman he did not have full confidence in. “I can stay there until we come to an agreement. My secretary Mr., ah, Harris, will not mind staying in Kensington for a few days to assist you.”
    “But—”
    He twirled the cane in the air, stifling her protests. “If we do decide to attend the house party together, you’ll need a new wardrobe, won’t you? I doubt a governess’s salary extended to the several ball gowns required for that elevated company. Do you possess a stylish riding habit, since you wish to ride?”
    She could only shake her head. The only fashionable, nay, the only passable, gown she had was the borrowed one she wore. “I hadn’t realized how complicated this would be. Or how costly.”
    Harry had. He knew his companion had to be elegant and expensively dressed for this to work. Lord Royce’s bastard had to be seen as an extravagant wastrel, a devil-may-care hedonist no one would suspect of having a serious thought, much less a spymaster’s convoluted mind. “Harris can arrange for a seamstress to come to the house. I would not wish you out and about before we leave for Richmond, if we are to go.” He would not want her gossiping with friends, mentioning his name, telling her landlady about her windfall. What he said was: “I’d fear some other man might catch your fancy. The dressmaker will know what is suitable.”
    “Or Mrs. Burton,” she began.
    They both recalled the red satin Lydia was stuffed into.
    “No, I trust you and Harris and the dressmaker he’ll select.”
    “But the money, sir. I cannot afford anything such as you suggest.”
    “Consider the new wardrobe my token of honorable intent. That is, my dishonorable intent, I suppose I should say. The fripperies will be yours to keep whatever we decide.”
    “I do not know if I can accept such a gift.”
    “My dear, you truly must determine once and for all if you wish to pursue this new path. Accepting gifts is precisely what a mistress does best. Well, perhaps not best, but she never turns down a bauble or an opportunity to feather her own nest. She never makes a gentleman feel that he has stepped over the line of propriety, either. That is what wives are for. Besides, have you never heard that it is better to give than to receive? I will have the pleasure of seeing a pretty woman dressed as her beauty deserves.”
    Simone blushed. “You are too kind.”
    Harry recalled he was not supposed to sound like a flirtatious mooncalf yet. He made an old man’s “Harrumph” and told her that Harris would see to everything. He also offered to send a man to fetch her things from across the street. “That way you need not face the boarder, or the landlady.”
    In her new finery, either would have been awkward, so Simone accepted still more of the major’s generosity. “There is not much. A trunk, a few gowns on hooks, my toilet articles on the night stand. Oh, and a parcel of letters from my brother. I should not want to lose those.”
    And Harry would not mind reading them, to see that all was as she’d said. “Done. I’ll make arrangements with Mr. Harris, then send a carriage back for you. I think it best we not leave together, don’t