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suddenly sprouted a second head.

      ‘Well, no. The Earldom of Wendover is a wealthy one with properties in Buckinghamshire and Suffolk, if I remember rightly. It can stand a few losses at the gaming tables. I am convinced you are worrying over nothing, Miss Lovejoy. You will see. Your brother will eventually settle down.’

      ‘But...the tradesmen. Gideon flatly refuses to pay them. He says they can wait. He never used to be so...so careless of other people, but whenever I remonstrate with him, all he will say is that is how everyone in society carries on.’

      Dominic shrugged. ‘Many do.’

      He did not do that himself. Neither did his father. But he could not deny that many gentlemen considered tradesmen to be at the bottom of the list of debtors to be paid.

      ‘It is your brother’s prerogative to pay the tradesmen who supply your household as and when he chooses, just as it is the tradesmen’s prerogative to cease supplying such late-paying customers if they choose. In my experience, most tradesmen elect to continue enjoying the patronage of their aristocratic clients for the prestige it brings them.’

      ‘That is appalling.’

      He agreed. It was one of the many habits of the higher echelons of society that he disliked, but he would not admit as much to Miss Liberty Lovejoy as she sat on his father’s sofa passing judgement. She seemed determined to believe the worst of his world, including blaming his brother for her brother’s misbehaviour.

      ‘Can you not ask your brother to stop encouraging Gideon? Please, my lord.’

      Dominic passed one hand around the back of his head, massaging the tight muscles at the top of his neck. ‘Even if I were inclined to speak to him on this, I can assure you Alex would likely do the exact opposite of what I asked of him.’

      And, now he came to think of it, that was no doubt the exact reason Gideon was behaving as Miss Lovejoy had described.

      ‘Perhaps if you trusted your brother to make his own decisions instead of—how did you put it?—remonstrating with him, he would mend his ways that much sooner.’

      Liberty surged to her feet.

      ‘So it is my fault, is it, Lord Avon?’

      Dominic didn’t answer, distracted by her curvaceous figure as she paced the room, her skirts swishing. She really was magnificent.

      ‘If you would do me the courtesy of replying to my point?’

      Her voice dripped sarcasm. Furious with himself for ogling her in such an ill-bred manner, Dominic blanked his expression and calmly met her glare. If looks could kill, or even maim, then he would be prostrate on the floor even now. The impulse to prod her further was irresistible. He raised one brow in deliberate provocation.

      ‘You may have noticed, my dear Miss Lovejoy, that calmness, elegance and poise are three of the qualities most desired in the young ladies of our world. There is a very good reason for that and I would advise you to nurture such traits in your own behaviour.’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Only that too much vigour and...er...passion are not the done thing, you know.’

      He smiled kindly at her as she continued to look daggers at him.

      ‘You, sir, are no gentleman.’

      ‘I am merely trying to give you a hint as to how to go on in society, Miss Lovejoy.’ He folded his arms across his chest, enjoying her chagrin. ‘And, might I add, sarcasm does not become you. Am I correct in assuming that you and your sister will be making your debuts this coming Season?’

      Liberty turned to her sister. ‘Come, Hope. We are wasting our time expecting any assistance from His Lordship.’ She glared again at Dominic. ‘I shall write to your father, as you suggested, sir, in the hope that he possesses the conscience you so clearly lack.’

      Hectic pink flushed Hope Lovejoy’s cheeks as she shot a furious look at her sister. She stood and smoothed out her skirts, then dipped a curtsy as she smiled apologetically.

      ‘Do please excuse us for invading your home, Lord Avon,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon.’

      Dominic bowed. ‘No apology is necessary. Good afternoon, Miss Hope Lovejoy.’

      He then glanced at Liberty and guilt thumped him hard in the chest at the despair that dulled those extraordinary eyes. He stifled a sigh.

      ‘I shall have a word with Alex and make sure he and Wendover are not getting in too deep, Miss Liberty Lovejoy—’ and her name still made him want to smile ‘—but other than that there is little I can do. Alex will not take kindly to any attempt by me to tell him how to behave.’

      Gratitude suffused her features.

      ‘But I am still convinced you are worrying over nothing,’ he added.

      ‘I thank you nevertheless, my lord.’

      Liberty’s face lit with a more-generous smile than his offer warranted and, before he could stop himself, he found himself responding. He blanked his expression again and crossed to the bell pull. Liberty Lovejoy provoked strange emotions in him—emotions he did not care to examine too closely—but he was reassured by the knowledge their paths would rarely cross. Wendover, as a peer—even a hellraising peer—would find acceptance everywhere, but his sisters, raised in obscurity and with a grandfather in trade, would likely only frequent the fringes of society.

      William, thankfully, answered his summons promptly.

      ‘Please see the ladies out, William.’

      He bowed again, avoiding eye contact with either of his visitors, then stood stock still after they had gone, staring unseeingly at the closed door, wondering how one voluptuous, sweet-smelling woman had stirred such unaccustomed feelings within him. He had always kept his emotions under strict control, as behoved his father’s heir. Alex and their younger sister, Olivia—before she had wed four years ago—had always been the lively, mischievous ones of the family, but Dominic had grown up with the weight of expectation on his shoulders. It was his duty to make his father proud, to uphold the family name and to always behave as befitted a future duke.

      Also, strangely, he felt compelled to protect his father—a nonsensical-seeming notion when one considered how powerful Father was. But Dominic recalled his mother’s death all too clearly, and how Father had suffered from guilt. Dominic had seen and heard things no eight-year-old boy should ever see and hear and, by shouldering the responsibility of being the perfect son and the perfect heir, he had vowed to shield his father from further distress.

      He shook his head, as though he might dislodge those memories and the thoughts they evoked, clicking his tongue in irritation. He swung round to face the room. Betty hovered not five feet from him, having been unable to get past him to the door as he stood there like a mindless idiot, blocking her exit.

      He frowned and moved aside, motioning for the maid to leave, his promise to Miss Lovejoy—it had been a promise, had it not?—nipping at him. He would speak to Alex.

      ‘Betty?’

      ‘Yes, milord?’

      ‘Is Lord Alexander currently in residence?’

      Dominic did not live at Beauchamp House, preferring the privacy of his own town house when staying in London. He had travelled up to town yesterday from Cheriton Abbey and had merely called at Beauchamp House to warn the staff that his father’s butler, Grantham, would be arriving shortly to prepare the house for the arrival of the Duke and Duchess and to find out what day his sister, Olivia, and his brother-in-law, Hugo, were due to arrive in London.

      ‘No, milord.’

      ‘Ask downstairs if anyone knows where he is staying in London, will you please?’

      Betty nodded and then scurried past him out of the room.

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