He was a big man, Calandra Pennyhope thought. Yes, indeed, he was entirely too big for her cramped little parlor.

Watching Bliss’s husband out of the corner of one eye, Calandra continued to rock in her chair, her hands busy with the bright blue scarf she was knitting. He stood in front of the fireplace, his arms braced against the mantelpiece, glaring at the clock as though willing the hands to stop turning.

It was late, and Calandra was heartily worried herself, but Mr. McKenna was no comfort to her and she was clearly no comfort to him.

“Perhaps Miss Stafford knows you’re here and is avoiding you,” the spinster suggested sweetly. He was handsome enough, this Jamie man, but in Calandra’s limited experience, the good-looking ones were often shameless rogues.

“Perhaps,” he agreed dryly. He showed no sign of leaving, however—he didn’t move or look away from the clock. He’d been standing where he was for nearly an hour, muttering the occasional oath under his breath.

Beast, Calandra thought, flushing angrily and setting her jaw. Why, for two pins she’d stab him with one of her knitting needles. She was just about to suggest that he vacate the premises, for the dozenth time since he’d arrived early in the afternoon, when the bell knob beside the front door was turned.

Calandra prayed fervently that Bliss had come home, and followed this with just as earnest an appeal that she had not. Mr. McKenna had strode into the entry hall and pulled open the door before either she or Bertha had had a chance to react.

“Oh, no,” she heard Bliss say, in a weary voice.

“Oh, yes,” responded that reprehensible husband of hers.

Calandra flinched as the door slammed with a reverberating crash. She and Bertha just weren’t used to this kind of thing anymore. In fact, they never had been.

Jamie looked terrible. There were shadows under his eyes, his face was stubbly with a new beard, and Bliss would have been willing to bet that he hadn’t had a decent meal or a good night’s sleep in two days.

“Where have you been?” he rasped.

Bliss steeled herself against a tendency to sympathize with him. After all, if Jamie truly hadn’t slept or eaten properly, it was only because he’d been too busy dancing attendance on that beautiful blond friend of his. Besides that, Bliss had just walked a long, long way in the cold, and she wasn’t feeling too chipper herself. “That’s a long story,” she said, starting to go around him.

Jamie blocked her way, trapping her there in the entry-way, against the door. “A story you’re about to tell, Duchess. In minute detail.”

Bliss sighed. She was too cold, too tired, and too hungry for this. “It all started,” she said caustically, “when I saw you help your mistress out of a carriage and kiss her, right there on the street!”

The expression on Jamie’s face would have been amusing if it hadn’t been for the circumstances. “My what?” he demanded.