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the state of the plumbing.”
    She was clearly in a temper. Her eyes had turned squinty, which paradoxically just made her more attractive. It was hard not to wonder what all that passion would be like in bed.
    When Lady Xenobia had first entered the study, Thorn had noticed her figure and her mouth—no man alive would ignore that mouth. But he had been thinking of this as a cursory interview with a faux-titled charlatan who would demand a great deal of money for beautifying Starberry Court.
    Now, though, he had a strong suspicion that if he checked Debrett’s , “Xenobia” would appear, likely engraved in gold.
    His indifference had evaporated. Something about those furious blue eyes was giving him an erection. A very unwelcome erection, since he hadn’t bothered to put on a coat when the ladies were announced.
    Damn it, there was a reason men wore coats, and his reason was getting bigger every moment. Thank God they were sitting down. He had to get his body under control before Lady Adelaide returned and he was forced to stand.
    “That was a very enlightening assessment, Lady Xenobia. And I appreciate your approval of my chosen spouse.”
    Her eyes flashed again, and Thorn felt an answering throb in his cock. Damn it. “But inasmuch as you are unable to refurbish my house in a fortnight,” he continued, “I am forced to reconsider.”
    “No.”
    He raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I said no.”
    “You seem not to understand me. I’m sure I can find someone to smarten up the house within the next two weeks. I’m grateful for your advice, and I will certainly instruct whomever I engage to remove any trace of debauchery they may find.” He couldn’t stop himself. “Swinging chairs or a mirrored ceiling, for example.”
    He had the keen sense that most young ladies would—at the very least—look curious at this glimpse into the further reaches of erotic customs. Not Lady Xenobia. Her eyes flared again, though she took a deep breath, clearly making a valiant effort to overcome her temper.
    “No.”
    “No?” No one contradicted him. Certainly not a woman.
    That lush mouth of hers pressed into a flat line and she rose. Hell. That meant he too had to stand. His prick was still trying to burst his breeches, even though he was dueling with a she-devil.
    “I am withdrawing my request that you refurbish my house,” he said. “Starberry Court merely needs to be made habitable; it needn’t be transformed into a residence fit for a duke.”
    Luckily, she was busy glaring at his face. “You are wrong, Mr. Dautry. If your house is not impeccably furnished and adequately staffed, Lady Rainsford will not agree to this betrothal, no matter how much money you have. What’s more, the house is not your only challenge. It will take you at least a month to acquire a wardrobe that will persuade Laetitia’s mother you are a gentleman.”
    Her eyes swept over him, from hair to boots.
    Shit.
    But she didn’t appear to notice anything untoward—other than his lack of a cravat and coat. “You should think of Starberry Court as a background that will disguise who you really are,” she continued, seeming to discard the idea that he could conceal his true status with a new coat.
    A man would probably spend a lifetime teasing her just to get that heated look in response. Thorn gave her a smile that—he had been reliably told—made women weak at the knees, and therefore was practically guaranteed to make her even more furious. “Do tell me, Lady Xenobia: who exactly am I?”
    Her eyes glittered. “Are you attempting to intimidate me?”
    “Absolutely not. I’m merely attempting to clarify your thoughts on the subject. Because since I haven’t managed to sack you—not that I ever officially hired you—I might as well know my new employee’s opinion of me.”
    She looked at him with about as much warmth as you might expect from a wild boar. That was the way it was in the peerage: they were all man-eating