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bearing the card of Mr. Monroe Burke, who shortly after entered with a newspaper folded in hand.
    Splendid. More mouths to feed.
    “Where have you come to whisk me away to today?” Wycliff asked dryly. The last time Burke had just dropped in on him had been in Tahiti. That was about a year after Burke had deliberately stranded him there. Ah, friendly competition.
    But then Burke had sailed back with news of his inheritance and a “free” passage back to England. Wycliff hadn’t realized what he was inheriting. He might have stayed on those warm white sands, under cloudless skies and a hot sun.
    “Good morning to you, too, Your Grace,” Burke replied. “I’ve come to see how you’re settling in.”
    “Plagued by creditors, annoyed with the weather, longing for sunshine, and already bored with the title,” Wycliff answered, sipping his coffee. Things were worse than he had anticipated. His hope for a quick visit in his native lands was fading.
    “And missing the free, easy, and much more naked women of Tahiti,” Harlan added, with a wink of his good eye.
    Burke grinned and said, “Let’s start a club.”
    He saw Eliza’s eyes widen. With another day or two in the Wycliff household she wouldn’t be shocked by anything.
    “Why are we here, then?” Wycliff asked. “I see no advantages to life in England.”
    “We’re here because you’ve become a duke,” Burke pointed out. “You have responsibilities.”
    Harlan pulled a face.
    “But that doesn’t explain what either of you are doing here.” Wycliff caught Eliza’s eye, and she sauntered over with the coffeepot. He attempted to glance discreetly at her breasts. They were round and heaving and lovely, and he’d just been at sail for far too long. He was a man, a Wycliff. He couldn’t help but look.
    “I like to balance my adventures at sea with adventures in London,” Burke answered.
    “Cheers to that,” Harlan added, raising his glass, and Wycliff turned away from ogling Eliza’s breasts to join in.
    “Is it not bad luck to toast with water. Or tea?” Burke wondered. “Or all that coffee he’s drinking?”
    “Who says there’s nothing stronger in this?” Harlan replied, grinning. “The housekeeper keeps quite the stash.”
    “That’s where all the money is,” Wycliff muttered, but only Eliza heard him. He delighted in the soft rush of her breath; laughter, restrained.
    “So, have you forgiven me yet, Wycliff?” Burke asked. It was strange to have his childhood friend address him by this new name of his, the title. He thought about saying something, but knew that he was lucky to be addressed as such and not some horribly insulting appellation that served to highlight friendship.
    He didn’t feel like Wycliff yet either. But that didn’t signify.
    “Forgiven you for tracking me down in paradise and returning me to cold, rainy, responsibility laden England? Never.”
    “It’s growing on me,” Harlan said.
    Wycliff turned to him, appalled. “Yesterday you had a list of seventy-three places to travel to that were far better than England.”
    “Hadn’t hit the town yet,” Harlan remarked. “Did last night. English lasses are quite something.” Wycliff glanced over at Eliza.
    A coy suggestive smile played on her lips. His own romp last night had done nothing to satiate his desire, and it was the housemaid he kept thinking about.
    “Complete sentences are also ‘quite something,’ ” Wycliff remarked.
    “Well excuse me, Your Graceship, not all of us attended Eton,” Harlan retorted, purposefully mangling the form of address.
    “I see the bickering continues,” Burke cut in with a smirk. “You two are like an old married couple.”
    “Aye, all bickering, no bedding,” Harlan quipped and Wycliff scowled in annoyance . . . and noted a gleam of amusement in Eliza’s eyes.
    “Thank you for clearing that up,” Wycliff drawled.
    “I don’t think those are the rumors you need to be concerned about,” Burke stated