Mr. Barton dropped his sister’s arm and threw his hands up in the air, but Diana remained still. Watching him. Devil take that chin of hers. As if she knew he had been bored out of his mind waiting for a chance to torment the two of them again.

“Why would Lord Bryant miss us?” Mr. Barton asked. “He barely even knows us.”

Everton put a hand to his heart. “I take offense to that statement. I was at your wedding.”

“By no invitation of mine,” Mr. Barton growled.

“And,” Everton added, “Diana and I discussed you often and at great length. Enough that I had even imagined you to be a friend.”

“You two spoke about me?” Mr. Barton turned toward his sister. They hadn’t really. His name had come up once or twice, but he had never been a real topic of conversation. How would Diana respond to his deceit? Most women he knew would have been thrown off course and mumbling by now.

“Oh, don’t you bother your head about it, Nate. It isn’t as though we talked about your gangly legs. I trust you know I am capable of keeping family secrets.”

Oh dear, that was brilliant. Diana was brilliant. Mr. Barton’s nostrils flared as his eyes flashed back and forth between Everton and Diana.

“The two of you are incorrigible. This is as bad as dinner at home.”

Dinners at Everton’s home were sad, quiet affairs. After a year or two of dining alone in his cumbersomely large dining room, he had finally opted for a tray in his study each evening instead. What would dinner be like at the Bartons’ home? Family members talking over each other, most likely. It wouldn’t be the stiff, formal affair his family had endured, back when he’d had a family.

“Diana, how might I assist you today? Any men need chasing off?”

Mr. Barton shook his head. “I’m here now; she doesn’t need your assistance.”

“You will chase men off for her? As you are her brother, I can’t help but think you would be less effective at getting rid of would-be suitors. After all, you haven’t managed to run me off yet.”

“But you aren’t a suitor, are you? Not really.” Mr. Barton stepped closer to his sister, a protective gleam in his eye.

“Seems to me that might be more of a reason to run me off, not less.”

Mr. Barton took a deep breath. If Diana hadn’t laid a hand on his arm, Everton might have found himself on the receiving end of his fist once again.

“Nate,” Diana said, “he is simply provoking you. So was I. I’m sorry. Surely the three of us can sit in a room together for a few hours without resorting to violence.”

“Hours?” Mr. Barton turned to his sister. “You think he will be here for hours?”

“He often is.”

“But I’m in London now. There is no cause for it.”

“He said he likes it here. I’m not about to turn out a man who helped me. You must give Lord Bryant some credit. Truthfully, if he weren’t such a devil, he might be considered a saint.”