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“Why? Making some late-night assignation after all you said to the contrary?”
    So he’d been correct; that door had opened a crack.
    Hmm. Take umbrage? Look puzzled? What to do, what to do? Valentine knew he needed a reaction, quickly.
    He spoke while making his way along the sideboard, loading his plate with a steady hand, his back to Mailer.
    “Daisy? Although she’d be more fittingly named after some noxious, prickly weed,” he said, having decided on a course of action. He would—for the moment—ignore the fact that Mailer’s servants reported to him, and concentrate on keeping Daisy’s secret safe. “I fear my gentlemanly conscience belatedly got the better of me. When I chanced to see the sad creature slumping down the hall on my way downstairs, I felt bound by good manners to apologize for my earlier remarks. Lord knows she’s got enough problems on her own, without me adding to them. One can only hope the poor woman doesn’t now decide to take me in affection, for that would only lead to sorry disappointment. She couldn’t raise my interest were she to fling her naked self at my feet.”
    Adding a single slice of buttered toast to his plate, he turned about to face his host, his eyelids narrowed. “Now if you’d care to explain why my movements are being watched, I’d own to being quite curious to hear your answer.”
    Perfect. Admit to something—mea culpa, mea culpa—and then quickly turn the tables so that the other person is cast into the role of wrongdoer. Kate’s advice did come in handy from time to time. Look at Mailer—the wind seems to have entirely gone out of his sails.
    “I—I only thought to ask if she’d bothered you in any way,” Mailer said, not precisely a master of improvisation. “My wife took her on a few months ago while I was not at home. She’s no thief, I tempted her by leaving my ring on the hallway table...”
    Valentine sat himself down and flourished his serviette before placing it on his lap. “That ring? Perhaps it simply wasn’t to her taste.”
    Mailer held out his hand, the diamond at the center of the golden rose catching the sunlight. “There’s nothing wrong with this—you don’t think it isn’t masculine enough, do you? I mean, a rose?”
    I could skewer that damn ring through his nose and lead him around by it, no question. A true follower, nothing remotely resembling a leader. A man we need, but not the man we seek. “Nonsense, Charles, I’ve already told you it’s a fine ring.” Then, unable to resist, he added with an indulgent smile, “If you favor that sort of thing.”
    Mailer twisted the thing around his finger, and this time slipped it off and into his pocket. “The thing is, I believe Miss Marchant may be smart. ” He said the word as if this were somehow vile, to be avoided at all costs.
    Valentine coughed into his hand, to cover a grin. “Really? I would have thought that preferable in a governess, perhaps even mandatory.”
    “They’re just nursery brats, what do they need of a governess? Companion is more like it, that’s what she is. I don’t like it. I didn’t mind, not at first. But she makes my skin crawl somehow. I catch her looking at me, and I—”
    “Look back?” Valentine asked as he cut into a thick slice of ham; who would have thought sparring with idiots could so increase his appetite. Then he looked up, pulling a face. “Charles, you must be jesting. Nobody could be that desperate. It would be like seducing a broomstick.”
    “God’s teeth, no! When I have— No! She’s in the way at times, that’s all. Besides, I’ve never been partial to red hair.”
    Valentine took a bite of ham while keeping his amazed gaze on Mailer. “Really?”
    “I know, I know. I’ve red hair, and I loathe it. But it’s on top of my head, so at least I’m spared having to look at it.”
    Valentine threw back his head and laughed. “Charles, you’re a complete card. It’s no wonder I like you so much as to bury