“Lord Bryant will never marry,” Nate said.

Mrs. Oliver looked to Diana for confirmation, as if Diana hadn’t just told her as much. “That is also true. I, myself, have heard Lord Bryant say it.”

Mrs. Oliver leaned forward as if she wanted to ask more questions, but then, glancing at Nate, she stopped. She shook her head slowly and returned to her desk.

“It appears I will be staying in London for a while,” Nate said. He strode toward her desk and sat down.

“Nate.”

“What?”

“That is my desk. It has been mine for the past six months.”

He pushed off the desk with his powerful arms. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“As long as Lord Bryant isn’t here, I suppose you could take his seat.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed. “His seat?” He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair. “Lord Bryant has a seat in this office, but I have none? This is my office, Diana.”

“It is our office, and we will find you a place while you are here.”

“I could spend a few days at home with Mr. Oliver as long as you are here, Mr. Barton,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Diana doesn’t need me to be here all the time.”

Nate sighed. “No, Mrs. Oliver, I won’t take your desk. Diana, where is your old one?”

“In the storage room.” Her old one was a small secretary desk. Diana sat on her chair, her legs still shaking from dealing with Nate and Lord Bryant being in the same room. Nate shuffled around in the storage room and finally emerged carrying her old desk. He set it down in the middle of the room before moving Lord Bryant’s chair to the farthest corner of the office. Nate then returned to the storage room and came out holding one more chair, which he plopped in front of her old desk.

By the time he was settled, Nate looked rather ridiculous. His knees touched the bottom of her desk unless he straightened them out. His long legs protruded out from under the desk, and the square tabletop barely seemed to have room for his formidable palms.

Diana held back a laugh. “You never did grow into those legs, I see. Grace doesn’t mind?”

Nate narrowed an eye at her.

“You’ve been married over a year. Surely she has grown accustomed to them by now.”

“Grace never had an issue with my legs.”

“Didn’t she call them gangly?”

“I was the one who called them gangly.” He tried once again, unsuccessfully, to bend his knees so he could keep his legs under the desk but to no avail. Her little desk wasn’t built to accommodate a man of his size.

“That’s right.” Diana bit her cheek. “To impress her.” She shook her head. “It is a wonder you managed to get married at all.”

Nate groaned and dropped his head on the desk. After a moment, he lifted it. “Tell me where we are on the most recent Barton line. As long as I’m here, I might as well help.”