Helen listened to Diana’s deep breathing. She had been asleep for over an hour, and it seemed safe to leave the bed. Earlier, while Helen was watched by her sister and their maid, Mary, she’d been forced to disrobe and don her nightgown. In the dark, Peyton wouldn’t notice. She couldn’t light a candle but was able to locate her dressing gown and slippers where she’d left them. Stealthily leaving the room, she hurriedly pulled them on, dislodging her nightcap in the process.

The candles were guttering in the wall sockets as she went to the stairway, her hair unraveling from the braid. Would he be waiting? At the bottom, she shivered. She rubbed her arms, unsure if it was the possibility of catching the thief or spending the night with Peyton that caused it. It would be better to send him away. But somehow, she doubted Peyton would obey her so easily.

The quiet kitchen lay in darkness with only the scuffle of cats on their nightly hunt. Something twined around her legs almost tripping her up and sending her heart into a gallop. “Quiet, Plato,” she whispered at the cat’s familiar greeting.

She slid the bolts back on the door, and a rush of chilly air blew her hair back from her face. Clutching her gown closer, aware that she wore little beneath it, she peered up at the inky blackness. Suddenly, a dark shape loomed into the doorway. Her heart in her mouth, she gave an involuntary squeak.

“Shush. You must have known it would be me.” An iron-grip on her arm moved her aside as Peyton slipped inside.

“You might have been the thief.” Indignant, she closed the door behind him, discarding any idea of deterring him. It would be a waste of her breath, which seemed to be in short supply.

“I’ve had a word with the watchman. He hasn’t seen anyone, but the fellow seems to be too fond of rum by the smell of him.”

“That’s comforting.” She was struggling to come to terms with receiving him in her nightclothes in the kitchen.

“It’s too early for the thief. They would wait to be sure the whole household was asleep.”

He sounded annoyingly pragmatic. “If he’s a smart thief,” she murmured, unwilling to let him have the last word as she led him up the stairs.

“He has been pretty clever up until now. And who’s to say he isn’t already in the house?”

She stopped so suddenly that he cannoned into her from behind.

When she gave a startled gasp, hands rested for a moment on her hips in her thin robe, causing her to stiffen. “You aren’t going to panic are you, Lady Helen? I thought you were made of sterner stuff.”

“And so I am, my lord,” she said in a prickly tone, far too aware of his overly familiar gestures and big body close behind her.

“Are you sure the butler has gone to bed?”

“Yes. Fiske retired at eleven. Jeremy is in the front hall. He’s good at dozing while remaining upright in his chair. I’ve caught him at it before.”

“Then let’s hope he does so tonight.”

She opened the door to the library. With the deep burgundy velvet curtains pulled across the windows, the spacious room was black as pitch. Helen stumbled forward in what she guessed was the direction of the desk. “I shall have to light a candle until we are settled.”

A hot flush rushed up her neck and spread across her face at the idea of settling somewhere in here for the night with this large ex-army man who was quite possibly a spy.

The cloak of darkness had its advantages. Men easily succumbed to their desires with a little encouragement. The worst of them needed none. And here she was in her nightclothes. How on earth did she get herself into this?

“No candles. I brought a rush light.”

A tinder was struck, and a small glow lit up the room with a wisp of smoke. The Egyptian sarcophagus in the corner of the room took on a decidedly eerie appearance. Helen had considered hiding inside it but now shuddered at the prospect of entering that dark space where a mummy once rested.

“Where can we hide?” She distracted herself by gazing around the dimly lit room. “Behind the sofa?”

“We can both fit in the coffin,” Peyton observed in an exasperatingly calm tone.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She fought to keep her voice from rising to a hysterical pitch. “I am not getting in there with you.”

“We’ll leave the door open a crack.”

“That isn’t the problem.”

In the faint light of the rush, his shadowed face loomed close to hers. “What is it then?”

“We would be…” She was unexpectedly lost for words.

“As close as birds in a roost? You have nothing to fear from me. I am not about to take advantage of the situation. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Her cheeks were now so hot she might be sitting by the fire.

“What then?” He’d taken to roaming about the room and no longer seemed intent on her answer.

“It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, realizing it was futile. They would never see eye to eye. She bent over the sofa to check the space behind it. “I can fit in here.”

“These artifacts look quite atmospheric in this gloomy light,” he murmured, right behind her. He peered into the dark space. “You could squeeze in there.” His shoulder nudged hers. “But I cannot, and we need to be together so that we may confer.”

“Confer?”

“Act together. As a force.”

“This is not the army. We are not at war.”

“We are in a way. We are fighting for justice, and this foe is a murderer,” he said, sounding ruthless and quite unlike himself.

She shuddered again.

“Come and look inside.” He swung the door of the sarcophagus open, and the smell of antiquity flowed out. “It’s roomier than you think.”

She swallowed. “I’m not…” she began. A scratching noise came from somewhere near the library door.

In the blink of an eye, Peyton had extinguished the rush light with his fingers and pulled her into the stone coffin, easing the door partly closed.

She took a deep breath of dusty stale air and something ancient, and indefinable, and clamped her mouth shut on a scream.

They waited, she hardly daring to breathe.

“Must have been mice behind the wainscoting,” he finally whispered, making no attempt to leave. “But now that we’re in here—”

Peyton appeared a good deal too pleased to be here. “It’s too cramped.” Aware of his spicy cologne and the touch of his leg against her bottom, Helen fought to remain calm. A hand alighted briefly on her side a whisker from her breast. She swallowed on a moan. The tension was excruciating.

Peyton cleared his throat. “Will you permit me to place my hands on your waist to support you? Otherwise, you might grow tired.” His breathing sounded strained. He must find the air as stuffy as she did.

With her pulse galloping, Helen was tired already. This had been a ridiculous, fruitless exercise, and she had only herself to blame for it. “If you must.”

She regretted it immediately. His hands seemed to burn into her flesh through her dressing gown. “Perhaps we might talk? If we keep our voices low, we can hear the door.”

“Good idea,” he said, his breath on her ear. “You have beautiful hair, Helen. It’s very long and silky.”

Helen launched into a rambling conversation. “I remember meeting your sister, Lady Greywood, years ago. She’s very pretty and has a pleasant nature, as I recall.” Not one of the spiteful debutantes Helen had encountered who had made her life hell. Elizabeth had Peyton’s coloring. Dark hair and green eyes. “I was very sorry to hear of her loss.”

“Thank you. Lizzie has only recently returned to society. I was very pleased to see it, but now, she’s met someone.”

He sounded worried. She wanted to turn and read his expression, which was foolish for they’d be pressed embarrassingly close together. “You don’t like him?”

“I wish I could say I did.” He sighed. “But Lizzie is keen to marry him and go to live in Italy.”

She wanted to know more but could hardly ask. Was the fact that Elizabeth would leave England trouble him most?

“I can quite see why you’d be uneasy about it,” she said. “You have a younger brother too, Viscount Brinkley.”

“Charlie was recently sent down from Oxford for some prank. Fortunately, they’ve reinstated him. He’s formed an unsuitable attachment to a Miss Groton, which has no future. I’m keen to see him finish his education and take the tour.”

“Did you take the tour, or did the war intervene?”

“I took it.” He chuckled.

“What amuses you?”

“The little I learned. But it is good for a young man to widen his horizons.”

“You have no need to explain,” she said hastily, guessing what he referred to.

His hands tightened at her waist. “I wasn’t about to. I haven’t forgotten I’m here with a lady.” His voice dropped a notch, as if he found that difficult, which silenced her.

Almost an hour passed. Helen’s legs began to grow tired, and she shuffled around in the small space allotted to her, careful not to tread on his big feet.

“We can’t stand up all night,” Peyton said, and for once, she had to agree with him. Although she doubted his solution to the problem would suit her.

“I’m perfectly all right,” she said, fearing what he might suggest next.

There’s room to sit if you’ll perch on my lap.”

“Are you always so frivolous?”

“Needs must. And perfectly aboveboard. To adopt a Naval term.”

“You were never in the Navy.”

“Here, I’ll show you,” he said with a soft chuckle. He sank down, pulling her with him onto his lap.

Before she could protest, he settled her across his knees, his hand touching parts of her that were just short of scandalous. She was sure he meant to do it. “There now, isn’t that better? It’s good that you’re not wearing your corset. You can be comfortable. Lean back against me and close your eyes. If anything happens I’ll wake you.”

“Oh!” How dare he mention the absence of her undergarments! Finding herself seated on muscular thighs and enveloped in strong masculine arms, Helen lost her ability to think of a suitable retort. Sleep? Was the man mad?

“I think we were mistaken. They’re not coming.” She struggled to rise without making matters worse. In the confined space, it proved impossible, and her elbow poked him in what she suspected with horror was a vital spot.

He groaned and tensed against her.

“Oh. I’m sorry, was that you…”

“It was.” His voice sounded strained.

Beginning to feel quite giddy, she suffered a fit of the giggles. It must have been the stuffy interior, the masculine smell of him, or the fear that, if she remained here, she’d soon succumb to his charm.

“I’m glad you find it amusing. But please don’t do that again.” He moved carefully as if in discomfort, but there was laughter in his voice. “Keep still and be quiet.”

She was in danger, but not from a foe, her own weakness. She liked being close to him far too much. How easy it would be to lean back against his strong chest and let nature take its course. She tensed with alarm at the direction her thoughts were taking. “I think I should leave,” she whispered.

“An excellent idea. If you promise to go straight up to bed.”

“Will you go home?”

“No. I’ll stay awhile.”

His hands vanished from where they’d rested on her diaphragm. “You know, you’re a very comfy armful, Lady Helen, if I might be so bold.”

“I think you’ve been quite bold enough.” She knew she sounded halfhearted. She could feel his chest shaking. He was laughing!

“I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“As do you,” he said with a chuckle.

“Perhaps a little,” she agreed, a quiver in her voice betraying her. “This has all been very silly. A terrible idea of yours.”

“I believe it was yours,” Peyton said.

“I intended to spend the night behind the sofa, you will remember.”

“As if I’d allow you to do a foolish thing like that.”

“You would have no say in it, sir.”

“No? You’re in here with me, though, aren’t you? Perhaps you prefer my company to the sofa’s?”

She huffed. “You are not making sense. It must be the lack of fresh air.” She began to wriggle forward. Once freed, she was sure she would think more clearly.

Peyton’s hands slid farther around to enclose her diaphragm, halting her progress. “You know, Lady Helen, you and I would make a good team.”

“Of detectives?” She paused, immediately caught by the suggestion.

“No, a woman could never be involved in dangerous work. A partnership certainly.”

She stiffened. “I believe a woman would bring much to detective work. They have assets men lack.”

“That’s true, quite appealing endowments, and often a very shrewd mind, but I had a different partnership in mind.”

“Really? I can’t imagine…”

“Marriage,” Peyton said firmly. “But I refuse to propose to you in this deuced coffin.”

A fluttery, empty feeling settled in her stomach. She fought to sound brisk. “Don’t be absurd. You really do need some fresh—”

A loud click made them freeze.

The library door opened, throwing faint light from the corridor wall sconces into the room. A vague shape appeared in her vision, creeping across the carpet to the desk. Peyton’s hands tightened on her arms, his warning a mere breath on her hair. Caught up in the suspense, her pulse racing, she peered out through the crack.

After several fumbles, a candle burst into flame as another person shut the library door. Peyton’s grip tightened. A dark-haired man she’d never seen before opened the portfolio, a candle raised to read Volta’s letter. The other person came to join him. The first man cursed.

“He’s ceased the experiments.”

“What?” came a feminine voice. “Perhaps Kinsey will continue them with someone else. We should remain patient.”

“It’s grown too hot for us here,” he snarled. “You should not have poisoned the maid. It is sure to arouse suspicion.”

“She deserved it,” Mrs. Chance said implacably.

Her words chilled Helen’s blood. She sucked in a breath while Peyton squeezed her arm, although whether to silence her or reassure her, she wasn’t sure.

“You enjoy killing too much, Charlotte,” the man observed. “It makes you reckless.”

“What are you saying, Pierre? It was you who poisoned Bart’s tonic. You can’t blame me for that.”

“It became urgent after you gave him that letter to deliver to me.”

“How was I to know a footman could read French?”

Without warning, Peyton’s hand on Helen’s shoulder pressed her down. “Wait here until I call you.” His quiet voice was like steel. From above her head came the sound of a pistol cocked. He pushed open the door of the sarcophagus and stepped out into the room.

“Move away from the desk and put your hands in the air,” Peyton growled.

Both heads turned toward them. “Mon Dieu! Who the devil is this?” The man’s menacing face looked almost ghoulish in the shadowy room.

“I didn’t expect you to bother with us, Lord Peyton. Not with you and Lady Helen busily carrying on a treat.”

Rage replaced her fear with a burning desire to confront the woman. Heedless of Jason’s instruction, Helen flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder and abandoned the hiding place. “How careless of you to make that assumption, Mrs. Chance.”

“Helen, raise Jeremy and send him for a constable,” Peyton said. “And while we are waiting for the Watch, you two can enlighten me about your nasty little scheme.”

Reassured by his imperturbable tone, Helen rushed to fling open the library door, closing it swiftly behind her. She was about to flee along the corridor when the flickering candlelight beneath the library door was suddenly extinguished.

A shot rang out.

 

***

Jason wasn’t confident his shot found its mark in the dark. When the candle had gone out, a knife had whizzed past him, too close for comfort, and thwacked into the bookshelves behind him. He’d got off the shot before diving behind a chair. Crouching, he pulled out the knife he carried in his boot, cursing under his breath at not foreseeing the Frenchman’s action. Helen must have heard the shot. For a moment, his fear that she would open the door and become a target, highlighted by the light from the corridor, brought his heart to his mouth. He couldn’t risk calling out to her now; it might bring her running. Helpless, he waited. If anything happened to her... If he lost her. Why couldn’t he have persuaded her to just stay in bed?

“Peyton?”

He slumped with relief. “Stay outside,” he ordered, not confident she would obey him.

Loud sobs emanated from the end of the room, and he knew his shot had not gone wide. Bright candlelight flooded under the door and lightened the room to gray. He rose and moved cautiously toward the desk. Locating the fallen candelabra, he lit it. The man’s prone body was spread-eagled on the floor. On her knees beside him, Mrs. Chance was patting his chest and making cooing noises.

Whirling around, Jason went to open the door. Helen’s stricken white face greeted him, a branch of candles wavering and flickering in her hand.

“I thought it was you…” she said in a choked whisper, reaching out to touch his arm where his coat was torn. “You’re hurt.” He looked down and saw blood. “I’ll fetch a salve and some bandage. Jeremy has gone for the constable.”

“I’m all right, just bring me a blanket.”

Her eyes widened. “A blanket?”

“No questions, Helen. Just do it.”

Jason returned to crouch beside the prone man. His ball had killed him instantly. Blank eyes stared sightlessly up at them.

Helen hurried in carrying the blanket.

When Jason threw it over the dead man, the housekeeper came to life. She launched herself at Jason, screeching like a banshee. He grabbed her wrists and held her until she wobbled and sank to the ground in a torrent of tears.

He hauled her over the sofa and sat her down. “Who is he?”

She sniffed. “The best man you’re ever likely to meet.”

“I doubt it. His name?”

“Pierre Valmay. My husband.”

“You’ve been working together?”

She raised wild eyes to him. “Why should I tell you?”

“Better you tell me now then undergo the less polite treatment you’ll receive at Bow Street.”

“They’ll hang me anyway,” she said bitterly.

“Who hatched this plot?”

“Pierre did.” For a moment, she looked triumphant and then slumped into despondency. “I overheard his lordship talking to Bart. He was describing his discovery and how it would be of immense value to England. When I told Pierre, he said he could sell the information to the French. And he would have, too, if you hadn’t interfered. Pierre could do anything he set his mind on.”

Jason flicked at glance at Helen. She was staring with fury at Mrs. Chance. “Why poison a harmless man like Bart?”

“We tried to persuade him to join us. With Lord Kinsey away for months, and with Bart’s knowledge of the portfolio and his ability to access it at night, it was the perfect time to recruit him. But the fool refused. Said he was going to tell his lordship when he returned. He promised not to draw Lady Kinsey into it after we threatened to hurt her and the children. But we couldn’t trust him.”

“You’re wicked!” Helen cried.

Mrs. Chance shrugged. “Bart must have realized his life was in danger, for I heard him asking Jeremy to deliver a letter to Whitehall. Then Pierre began following Bart, waiting for a chance to kill him without rousing suspicion. An opportunity to poison his tonic arose at the Lamb and Flag. Pierre paid a man to provoke Bart into a fight.” She stared up at them, and her expression became one of great cunning. “When Bart grew too ill to meet you and knew he wouldn’t live, he wrote a letter for Lord Kinsey. Hid it in his Bible. As if I wouldn’t find it!”

“We discovered the scorched remains of his letter in the fireplace,” Jason said. “You left enough to give us a vital clue.”

For a moment, her eyes burned with hatred, and then she dropped her gaze to her hands.

“You might have killed Alice, who did nothing to hurt you.” Helen’s voice was low and hard with anger.

“It was a warning,” Charlotte Chance said. “Just to get her out of the way.”

“I don’t believe you!” Helen came closer, her hands coiled into fists, her breast rising and falling with her agitated breath. “You wanted to hurt Alice because she had defied you.”

Watching with amazement and pride, Jason stepped closer in case he needed to restrain Helen should she try to hit the woman. She stared down at Mrs. Chance with intense loathing. “You deserve everything that is coming to you.” 

The door opened to admit the constable.

“Most of the household will be awake. I’d best go and speak to them, but first I want to tend your wound.” Helen turned and left the room.

Several hours past dawn, Helen had managed to dress and wake Diana. The house was still in an uproar after the coroner left and the body was removed. An officer from Bow Street took Charlotte Chance away in the wagon.

At the front door, with Helen’s expertly applied bandage covering a long but shallow knife wound, Jason placed his good arm around her. “You were magnificent. Now you should go to bed. You must be exhausted.”

She turned her vivid gaze up to him, her inviting lips curling in a smile. “I’ve never felt so alive. We have avenged Bart.”

“You are right, sweetheart.”

“About what you said in the sarcophagus,” she began. “You must—”

“I meant every word.” He drew her close and planted a kiss on her mouth.

A lanky gentleman with sunburned skin paused at the gate. “This is what occurs when my back is turned?” he cried, stalking down the path.

“Papa!” Helen ran and threw her arms around him.

Brilliant blue eyes flicked from Jason’s sleeve to his face. “Lord Peyton? What are you about kissing my daughter in full view of the street?”

“We need to talk, sir,” Peyton began.

“Papa, Lord Peyton has been wonderful. He—” Helen rushed to explain.

Kinsey held up a hand. “The coach lost a wheel on the outskirts of London. I have endured a bumpy ride in a horrible reeking hackney for some hours. I require coffee and food. Where is your mother? Surely it’s too early for her to embark on one of her charity affairs?”

“No, Mama is at Walcott. Alexander has broken his leg.”

“Dear heaven, the poor boy! Can’t I leave you all alone for a few weeks?”

“I’m afraid there’s more to tell, Lord Kinsey,” Jason said.

“Please join us for breakfast, Lord Peyton.” He swept his daughter inside.

In the breakfast room, Lord Kinsey, having disposed of a large breakfast of kidneys, bacon, and eggs, leaned back in his chair, his fingers linked over his stomach. “That’s an extraordinary story.” He shook his head. “Poor Bartholomew. I liked him very much. Intelligent and brave. He certainly didn’t deserve such a fate.”

“No, he did not.” Jason planned to tell Kinsey about his experience of Bart during the war. But that could wait.

“But, Papa, Volta has written,” Helen said. “He’s decided not to continue working with you.”

“Oh well. As to that. I’ve already come to the same conclusion, having discovered something with greater promise. I can’t wait to begin my research and shall look for a likely inventor to join me in my quest.”

“What quest, Papa?” Diana asked.

Her father waved a hand. “Flight my dear! I’ve discovered the Ancient Egyptians had some excellent notions about man being able to fly. I have brought copious notes and diagrams home with me.”

“Men will fly one day, Papa? How utterly fascinating,” Helen said. “I would really like to assist you with this new discovery, if I may?”

“I must say that surprises me, Helen.” He smiled. “I never suspected for a moment that my work would interest you.”

“But it does. I should like to accompany you on your next voyage.”

“Mm?” He patted her hand. “Would you indeed? I believe you have regained some of your spirit, my girl.” He turned to Jason. “Now, sir. You have explained your reasons for spending the night in my library more than adequately. I am extremely grateful for the outcome, if not the method employed.” He laughed. “But I imagine you found it difficult to persuade Helen to remain out of it! However, you have yet to explain your overly familiar attitude toward her, which goes well beyond the bounds of propriety.”

“I fully intend to, sir. But first, I would like to speak to Lady Helen alone,” Jason said. “If you’ll permit me.”

Looking troubled, Helen shook her head. “You have no need, Lord Peyton. There is nothing to be said.”

“I have every need.” Jason smiled at her. He wished there had been more time to do the thing properly. The ball would have been the perfect place to declare himself, having first danced her out onto the terrace, but it couldn’t be helped. Kinsey was not going to wait for that, and Jason couldn’t either. He threw caution to the winds, even while sensing it was too soon. But patience wasn’t one of his attributes. He needed to know now if Helen would become his wife.

Lord Kinsey’s warm smile encompassed them both. “It appears you have spent a great deal of time alone in each other’s company. I don’t see why a half-hour more will hurt. Please repair to the morning room. I require my library.” He stood and rubbed his hands. “Thorburn will be here soon, and there is much to be done.”

As they all trouped out of the breakfast room, Kinsey turned to Diana. “Is everything in readiness for your ball, my dear?”

Diana’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m not sure, Papa. Our housekeeper has gone to prison, and Mama isn’t here.”

“I will take over the housekeeper’s duties,” Helen said. “I have no need to appear at the ball.”

“You will attend it though, daughter,” Lord Kinsey said, brooking no argument.

He put his arm around Diana’s shoulders. “Your mother will return in time, and your ball shall be the most celebrated of the Season. I only hope Alexander recovers well. A broken leg is not something to sneeze at.”

As the morning room door closed behind them, Helen turned to Jason. “I did warn that we might be compromised. But fortunately, my father is a reasonable man. I believe he likes you. So please, do not feel you have anything to reproach yourself for.”

“I’m aware of that.” Stepping close, he raised her chin with a finger when she refused to meet his gaze. “I did not wish it to be under these circumstances. I would have chosen a more romantic course, but I care for you, Helen. Will you marry me?” Her eyes were dark, troubled. He’d hoped to find some sign of acceptance and at least affection, but her anguish turned his blood to ice. This was all too soon.

She attempted to move away. “I cannot marry you, Peyton.”

He caught her, making her stay. “Are you denying there’s more than fondness between us?”

“I consider you to be a friend. I am very grateful for everything you’ve done for us.”

“You’re grateful? This is not merely a friendship. And I won’t accept your gratitude!”

He cradled her face in his hands. Swooping down, he took her mouth. This was not to be a polite kiss. He cupped the back of her head, drawing her closer. Moving his mouth over hers, he learned the shape of her soft lips, delighting in her response. His blood heated and rampaged through his veins as he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips. When she made a small sound and opened to him, he slipped inside, the sweet taste of her mouth sending his blood swirling. Helen sagged against him. When she made a sound close to a sob, her arms crept up around his neck and her fingers twined in his hair.

He murmured encouragement and kissed her throat, beneath her ear, and, with a moan, returned to ravage her mouth. When he finally drew away, he smiled into her wistful eyes. “Can you still say ours is a friendship?”

Her cheeks were rosy, and her breath came fast, but she moved away from him, her fingers working to tidy her disordered locks. “You are a very attractive man, Peyton. I admit to enjoying your kisses. But I shan’t marry you.”

He fought to cool down and released a long sigh. “Is there someone else?”

“No. I shall never marry. I plan to travel with my father. I am confident he will permit me to accompany him now.” She sounded strained.

He watched, frustrated that she held herself aloof from him. “He might. But I gained the impression he’d rather you married.”

“Papa will grow used to the idea in time. And if he doesn’t, I shall remain at Cherrywood. I would rather spend the spring there than anywhere.”

He didn’t understand her. Didn’t believe her. “You are sure this is what you want?”

Turned away from him, her voice was muffled. “Yes, it is.”

“As you wish.” He bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, there are matters at home I must attend to.”

He left her and went to the library.

Learning of Helen’s refusal, Lord Kinsey shook his head with bemusement. “I am surprised and disappointed. But her mother will handle this. We men are somewhat lacking in these matters, are we not? I hope to see you, Lady Greywood, and your brother, Charles, at the ball.”

Jason made his way to the front door. He doubted Helen would get her wish to accompany her father on his travels. Kinsey was determined she marry. Having decided Jason was the man he wanted for her, he made it plain that he had not yet given up hope.

There was something here he didn’t understand. Recalling her decided preference for his kisses, Jason wasn’t going to give up hope either.

“Your hat, Lord Peyton. The gardener found it in the shrubbery,” Fiske said politely, handing it to him at the door. “If I may speak for the staff, we are all very grateful to you, sir.”

“Thank you, Fiske.” Peyton jammed the hat on his head and strode out the door.