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carnivores, to his mind. Except his father. And Eleanor. And a few others.
    “First, Eleanor hired me, not you. And second, you are the bastard son of a duke,” Lady Xenobia said bluntly, showing that she had balls, to put it equally bluntly.
    “Do you realize that you are the first lady who has ever said the word ‘bastard’ aloud to me?”
    She looked him straight in the eye. “The word has more than one meaning.” It seemed she applied at least two of those meanings to him.
    Thorn grinned. “Are all daughters of dukes like you?”
    “I’m the daughter of a marquess, not a duke. And precisely what are you implying?”
    He saw over her shoulder that Iffley was helping Lady Adelaide with her pelisse. “You are the first person I have employed who refused to be let go.”
    “I am extremely fond of your stepmother. I promised her that I would help you, and I shall. Your parents are rightfully concerned about your prospects for a respectable marriage.”
    Thorn shrugged. He was fairly sure neither Eleanor nor Villiers gave a damn who he married. “Eleanor instructed me not to inquire about your fee.”
    “I never discuss such matters,” she said coolly. “My solicitor will contact yours.”
    “You’re a lady, all right,” he muttered. She had probably seen the bulge in his breeches without the faintest idea what it was.
    “Do come, my dear,” Lady Adelaide chirped from the doorway. “I have several more calls to make.”
    “We shall meet you at Starberry Court the day after tomorrow,” Lady Xenobia said, chin in the air, as if she were Queen Elizabeth addressing Parliament. “First thing in the morning, if you please, Mr. Dautry.”
    She leaned a bit closer, lowering her voice. “ ‘First thing in the morning’ in this case will signify nine o’clock, Mr. Dautry. Forgive me for the clarification, but I would guess that your evenings are quite . . . tiring.”
    She had seen his erection. And that throaty voice of hers only made him stiffer.
    “In the meantime,” she continued, “I would suggest that you place yourself in the hands of Monsieur Devoulier.”
    “Why that tailor in particular?” Thorn drawled, thinking with some satisfaction of the various coats Devoulier had made for him over the years. He might not choose to dress like a peacock on a daily basis, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t the clothing to do so.
    “He excels in making shortfalls less obvious,” she said coolly. And damned if she didn’t glance at his crotch.
    How in the hell did she think his cockstand would become less obvious? And did she think that he walked about like this all day? Actually, he might do so—around her. Her folded arms were making her delectable bosom plump up like a present any man would beg to receive.
    Iffley escorted the ladies out of the library, which gave Thorn time to admire Lady Xenobia’s bottom before it was concealed by her pelisse. With a sigh, he looked down at his breeches.
    As the front door closed, Lady Xenobia’s actual words sank in: she had called his cockstand a “shortfall.” A shortfall ? An involuntary bark of laughter erupted from his throat.
    No woman—lady or otherwise—had ever complained about his tool. Lady Xenobia hadn’t even seen it in the flesh.
    That was tantamount to a dare.
    And he had never refused a challenge in his life.

Chapter Five
    June 18, late morning
    40, Hanover Square
    London
    I regret to interrupt you, Mr. Dautry, but a child has arrived.” Iffley’s voice had a sour ring, as if he were a classical actor forced to introduce a burlesque. “By special delivery,” the butler added.
    Thorn was wrestling with the design for a band of rubber, to be made at his new factory with all possible speed. He wanted it to be large enough and strong enough to secure a trunk on the top of a carriage, though he had no idea whether that was possible.
    He scowled at his butler. “It’s a misdirection. Get out.” He had to do something about the band’s