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writing table to scribble a note. “Since you’re so fond of paying calls, you can call on Lady Iversley this afternoon to give her this.” He handed the note to her. “Go ahead and read it if you don’t trust me to word it properly.”
    A strange panic filled her features before she masked it. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
    “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    He headed back toward the gallery stairs, hoping she would understand she was being dismissed. She’d found her own way in, so she could damned well find her own way out.
    “One more thing before I go, Lord Draker,” she said. “You should shave off your beard before tomorrow. Beards aren’t considered fashionable these days.”
    He turned a cold gaze to her. “Neither are impertinent women, but that doesn’t seem to stop you. Good day, madam.”
    “I just thought you’d wish to know—”
    “Good day, madam,” he repeated firmly.
    She looked as if she might retort, then sniffed and turned toward the door.
    As she swept from the room in a swirl of white muslin, he snorted. Shave off his beard indeed. Was that why she’d agreed to his proposal? Because she thought she could turn him into a suitable gentleman?
    If so, she was in for a surprise. He wasn’t one of her fawning suitors to be wound about her little finger for her own amusement. No sharp-tongued duchess’s daughter would tell him how to groom himself.
    Let her flash her winsome smile and flaunt those glorious breasts that begged to be kissed and fondled and—
    A sweat broke over his brow, making him curse. He could handle this damned attraction. He could. He just had to keep his mind focused on his goal. Besides, even if he wanted to turn his life upside down for the haughty chit—and he didn’t—it wouldn’t suit his purpose. The more he offended Lady Lofty’s sensibilities, the sooner she would beg her brother to end his association with Louisa.
    That couldn’t be too soon for Marcus.

Chapter Three
    Your duty is to your employer, not to your charge, for if she falls, they will blame you, not her.
    —Miss Cicely Tremaine, The Ideal Chaperone
    “A re you all right?” Cicely asked Regina as they settled back into the carriage. “You look flushed.”
    “I’m fine,” Regina lied. Who wouldn’t look flushed after half an hour of the Dragon Viscount’s scorching insinuations and fiery glances? It was no wonder the brazen scoundrel had no friends.
    Cicely looked unconvinced. “He didn’t shout at you? Or…or touch you?”
    Regina stared out the window, trying not to remember his powerful arm around her waist, holding her suspended in space. “We had a perfectly reasonable conversation. He is a gentleman, you know.” With a hard head, a million thorny prejudices…
    And a clever mind, drat him. She should never have agreed to his bargain. Let the Dragon Viscount—a man as unpredictable as a typhoon—court her? She must be daft.
    But what else could she do after all the nasty and ridiculous claims he’d made about Simon? He’d cast a slur on the family honor. If she’d refused his bargain, the arrogant lout would have considered that proof of her family’s lack of character. He would have used her refusal against her brother.
    And the blackguard had the audacity to call Simon calculating! At least her brother knew how to act like a gentleman. Simon didn’t growl at a lady or give her his back. Simon didn’t make outrageous proposals that any lady with an ounce of sense would reject.
    If I must go out into society, why not do it with a beautiful woman on my arm?
    Her breath quickened involuntarily. More men than she could count had called her beautiful. But few had dared to couple it with a hot, avaricious stare that played over her so insolently…so boldly—
    “Are you sure you’re all right?” Cicely asked. “You look rather pink-cheeked.”
    “It’s this heat, that’s all.” Regina opened her reticule to find her fan. It was not the viscount’s burning