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Friday already. How delightful that we ran into you, Lord Marlowe.”
    “Delightful,” Gillian echoed gloomily, having just met the scandalized gaze of Letty’s best friend across the street. The hand on her elbow squeezed slightly, and she looked up in surprise at the dark, lined, cynical face of her companion.
    “Have I ruined you?” he asked softly with a meaningful glance in Mrs. Travers’s horrified direction.
    “It would take a great deal more than a chaperoned stroll in broad daylight with the infamous Lord Marlowe to ruin my reputation,” she replied loftily.
    “That bad, eh?” he commiserated. “Who’d have thought you’d be that hopelessly starched-up, that a rogue like me wouldn’t discredit you. I can see I arrived in London just in time.” There was an enigmatic promise in his eyes.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    He ignored her startled interjection. “Ah, well, I mustn’t forget you’re Derwent’s sister. There must be some resemblance there, some sympathy of feeling.”
    “There is not!” She denied it hotly, knowing that he was teasing her but rising to the bait nonetheless. “Derwent and I have been at daggers drawn for as long as I can remember. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a particle of sense, and know a . . . a . . .”
    “Rake? A blunder, a degenerate cad?” he supplied amiably, his eyes alight.
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “No, but that’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it, my love? I take leave to tell you, my dear Miss Redfern, that I am accepted just about everywhere nowadays. I am a veritable pillar of society. You would hardly be so cruel as to deny a reformed rake such as me of your ennobling companionship?” The laughter in his voice was dangerously beguiling.
    “Idiot!” She laughed reluctantly. “And I hadn’t heard you were a reformed gambler.”
    “Am I not allowed to place a few wagers?” he questioned innocently. “Faith, but the Redferns are a sticky lot. I am not allowed to womanize or gamble if I’m to be admitted to their august company. Am I allowed to drink, or is that too denied me?”
    “I don’t doubt you drink too much,” Gillian observed sternly.
    “You are wise not to do so. I drink too much, gamble too much, and spend too much time and money on women who are no better than they should be.” He smiled down at her, that lazy, beguiling smile that had such a dangerous effect on her. “And I chase shy, flustered young women who try to pretend they are aging spinsters well before their time.”
    “I’m going to be thirty in a matter of days,” she cried, nettled. “And I am not a shy, flustered young woman.”
    “I didn’t say I was chasing you, ” he said gently. “I merely make a habit of seeking out such blue-deviled females and cheering them up.”
    “Then you certainly aren’t referring to me. I would scarcely call your attentions cheering,” Gillian shot back. “They border on harassment.”
    “ Touché ,” he said lightly. “I am so glad to see your eyes are blue. I had been hoping they would be, but everyone I asked during the last two weeks couldn’t remember. I suppose it is because you usually keep them meekly downcast. You shouldn’t, you know. They really are magnificent.”
    “You asked people what color my eyes are?” she demanded in horror. “You must be mad!”
    “Merely eccentric. Is your hair red or blond? I still cannot see beneath that intimidating bonnet.” He leaned down to peer at her earnestly, forcing a reluctant laugh from her.
    “Behave yourself, Lord Marlowe. It’s a bit of both.”
    “You should laugh more often,” he observed, a thoughtful expression on his world-weary, handsome face. “It proves you aren’t nearly as starched-up as you pretend to be. I don’t despair of you yet.”
    “If you two would stop arguing,” Felicity’s aggrieved tones came to their startled ears, “I would appreciate it if someone would accompany me into the shop.” There was just a