“What exactly do you do for Mr. Lockheart?”

“This and that. In truth, I am no more than a well-paid secretary, although he does not use me for his matters of business.” He smirked. “You might say I act as his wife, until he can buy one.”

“Oh? Is he in that market?”

He gave her a smile that made her feel dirty. “You sound interested, Cuz.”

“I am quite happy as I am, Sandy.”

His raised brows told her what he thought of that claim. “I selected many of his servants, furnished all his houses except the London townhouse, and advise him in his acquisition of art. Right now I am busy with his stables, which he wants to have ready for use by the fall.”

Serena suddenly understood the hideous furnishings. “Mr. Lockheart hunts?” She could not recall hearing much about the man, other than he was rich and rather odd.

“No.”

The door opened before Sandy could explain, and their host entered the room. Serena was surprised—he was not only younger than she had expected, he was also elegantly dressed and strikingly handsome. Serena realized she’d given in to preconceived notions and had expected a brawny merchant or flashy cit.

He crossed the long expanse of carpet and Sandy leapt to his feet to make introductions.

“Mr. Lockheart, may I present Mrs. Lombard.”

The tall, well-proportioned Adonis took her hand and made a perfunctory bow over it.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, madam.” His eyes were slate gray and the most opaque Serena had ever seen, observing her without a hint of interest or any other emotion. His lips, sinfully lush and shapely, bore no trace of a smile.

He was perhaps a head taller than she, his dark blond hair on the longish side. Like Sandy, he was dressed informally to accommodate her lack of evening dress, in a bottle-green coat, rich brown waistcoat, and buff pantaloons tucked into coffee-colored Hessians polished to a blinding shine. His snowy white neck cloth was tied with simple elegance; he wore a plain gold watch with no fobs at his waist. His clothing had been made by a master and tailored to fit his form as snuggly as a well-made glove.

“Thank you for inviting me to Rushton Park, Mr. Lockheart.”

He nodded abruptly and glanced at his watch, his sensuous mouth turning down slightly at the corners. “There are still seventeen minutes until dinner.” He looked up, his gaze flickering over Serena’s untouched sherry to Sandy’s empty glass. “What are you having, Featherstone, I will refill it.”

“Ah, thank you, sir. Brandy.”

He took the glass without speaking and went to the sideboard.

Sandy smiled at her and gave a slight shrug. So, her prospective employer was a gloriously handsome man who was also brusque and without social graces. Well, she had heard he was different.

“I daresay Jessup has informed you Mr. Beech will not be here for dinner,” Sandy said, his flickering eyes proclaiming his discomfort with silence.