“I am, at present,” Sir Lucius continued, “only concerned with my own.” No sooner had he spoken the words than the rap of another visitor echoed through the house.

Sir Lucius picked up his wine glass and held it in his hands. A smile hovered on the corner of his mouth. “Ah. Now the fun begins.”

Chapter Three

It was just as he had predicted. In minutes, following on the heels of Lucius’s servant, a dashing young man rushed into the room, his brow thunderous. He tossed his cape back, revealing a thin blade. He would have looked comical in his dramatic entrance were it not for his stern expression. With one hand, he removed his hat, and with the other, he raised a shaking finger toward Lucius.

“You—you, sir, shall answer for the seduction of my sister. How little it surprises me that her innocence has led her right into a trap set by a known rake. Her reputation will not survive after you’ve been closeted together in this way. I will see that justice is done, even if it has to come from my own hand.”

The bold nature of this statement was somewhat lost when he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat in search of a handkerchief and wiped his nose, which had begun to run. Lucius shot an amused glance at Briggs, then at Miss Lockhart, who was staring at the sight before her as one transfixed by an oddity.

When the gentleman had tucked the handkerchief back into his waistcoat, he allowed himself to look around the room. It was then that he peered more closely at the small group gathered around the table. He stopped short at the sight of Miss Lockhart.

Lucius stood. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sir Lucius Clavering, Baronet of Mardley. It appears you already know me by reputation—” Lucius narrowed his eyelids at the word, for although he had once dabbled with fair Cyprians like all men of his age, they had long ceased to hold any interest for him. If his reputation was less than pristine still, he knew it had more to do with his according only the barest civility to young ladies without coming up to scratch with offers of marriage. Rake was an epithet used purely out of spite.

“I do not have the pleasure of knowing you at all,” Lucius continued, “and I cannot say I am the poorer for it. You will recognize your sister, Miss Woodsley, of course. And this”—with a nod to the most recently arrived guest—“is Miss Lockhart.”

The young buck’s eyes widened as he fixed his gaze on Miss Lockhart, and he visibly faltered. “I don’t know what kind of deep game you’re playing at, sir—”

“Why, none at all,” Lucius replied smoothly, forcing down his irritation. Who did this greenhorn think he was? “If you thought I had designs on your sister—a girl upon whom I had not laid eyes before she forced my hospitality this evening—let me assure you it is no such thing. Miss Lockhart’s presence safeguards her reputation quite nicely.”