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a moment,” Grant said to the other men, who nodded gravely. Without waiting for the servants, Grant opened the door and stepped into the room—and then stopped.
    The initial impact of the room’s outrageous decor stunned him. The sky-blue walls met a ceiling painted pale yellow and crisscrossed with an azure and sea-green Moorish lattice design. Crimson sofas and Egyptian-style cross-framed chairs, embellished with gold leaf, provided the seating. Carved wooden sphinxes served as table and sofa legs, while brass lanterns, much like those that could be seen in pictures of Turkish palaces, hung from the ceiling. The light scent of incense perfumed the air.
    He instantly recognized the furniture from the descriptionshe’d read on several of Miss Abbott’s bills. On the mantel sat a clock that he knew she had paid £325 for. He moved closer to study it. The clock’s face was set into the carved figure of a half-naked Isis. Her full breasts cuddled the numeral 12.
    “Unusual, isn’t it, sir?” Wallace said. “Henny always called it rubbish, but Miss Abbott claimed it was a work of art. She said it was classical.”
    “Like your livery?” Grant asked dryly.
    Wallace’s face broke into a big grin. “Oh, no, sir. She termed our livery ‘original.’ ”
    Grant smiled and looked around the room again. Now he saw that it held a certain grace, a certain flair. Like Phadra Abbott herself.
    “Miss Abbott is one of the best patrons I’ve ever worked for,” the butler was saying.
    His words brought Grant back to his unpleasant task. He’d discovered that the best way to deliver bad news was to be direct. He stated baldly, “Unfortunately, as her guardian, I must regretfully inform you that your services will no longer be needed.”
    “You’re her guardian, sir?” Wallace asked. His eyebrows came together in a fierce frown.
    “Yes, I am,” Grant answered. “As a representative of the Bank of England, I bear responsibility for her.”
    “Well, then, sir, it is high time you saw to your responsibilities!” the butler practically roared, and shoved Grant in the shoulder.
    “I beg your pardon,” Grant began, confused by the man’s anger.
    “You certainly should beg it,” Wallace snapped. “That young woman has been given far too much freedom. She believed every shark’s story in London and would have found herself up to her pretty neckin ugly tricks if we hadn’t kept her out of trouble.” He leaned forward, both fists clenched, and for a moment Grant thought he was going to have a fistfight on his hands. “It’s about time, I say, that you owned up to your responsibility and took a hand in her affairs—although I won’t hesitate to tell you that I think less of you as a man for waiting until the wolf is at the door.”
    As a banker who’d worked his way up through the ranks, and as the head of a household, Grant had sacked many individuals, both at work and at home. He’d seen his share of angry reactions, but he’d never had an employee defend the employer before. He raised a conciliatory hand, but Jem jumped in before he could speak. “Wallace is right! Miss Phadra is one of the kindest, good people I know. Men like you should be hung at Tyburn for leaving defenseless women to their own devices—”
    “I’m just her banker,” Grant finally managed to get in.
    Wallace shoved Grant again, his lip curling with disgust. “Yes, and just like Henny says, you all are a lot of bloody grave robbers.”
    That insult was going a step too far. “Is that what Mrs. Shaunessy says?” Grant said. “Or yourself?”
    “Meself,” the butler announced with a trace of the street in his voice. “ I say you are a bloody grave robber for leaving a poor, defenseless woman to her own devices, and I’ve a good mind to give you a taste of me fist.” He raised a beefy fist that made Grant realize that this man was no ordinary butler.
    “And after he gives you a popper, I plan on landing one on you, too!” Jem