“Your Grace, I’m sure you’re tired after your ordeal. We can discuss things tomorrow.”

“I’m not tired in the slightest.”

“I’m usually in bed by half eleven of an evening.”

“The ball would have lasted until three or four this morning.”

“The ball was cut very short.”

“You can make an exception. I want to hear how Blanche is doing.”

“She’s resting peacefully. She agrees that it wasn’t your fault. And of course she’s worried about being entangled in the scandal.”

“I’ll make this right, I swear it. Did she give you more names of heiresses?”

“She did.”

“I’ve prepared you a writing desk with all the necessary accoutrements for you to make a list of candidates.” He guided her to an escritoire and settled her in the chair.

She took a deep breath. “Very well.” She’d simply concentrate on the task at hand. She arranged the inkpot, pen, and paper into a tidy formation.

“I require fortification for lists of heiresses,” he said, opening a bottle of whisky. “Join me in a nip?”

She was here to be a good influence and whisky was not that. “Remember what I said about reforming, Your Grace? I think it would be better for you to enjoy a calming cup of chamomile tea instead.”

“I don’t drink tea.”

“That’s not very English of you.”

“I drink whisky. Or gin. Occasionally brandy.”

“It may surprise you to know that I also drink brandy from time to time,” she said primly. “We always put a few drops in our tea at the meetings of my lady’s club.”

“Bluestockings on the bottle, eh?”

“Nothing like that. Only a little brandy in our tea. It makes the conversation flow. I’ll bring you up a cup of tea and we’ll add a few drops.”

“How about we skip the tea and just drink the brandy. I have an excellent French Cognac here.” He held up an amber-colored bottle.

He didn’t wish to be alone tonight. He may have been laughing when she found him, and treating this all as a lark, but the events of the evening had shaken him.

She read it plain as day on his face.

Here was a man who’d thought he was doing the right thing and had had everything planned out and it all went to hell. He could be out gambling, drinking, taking a new lover. Drowning his sorrows in vice.

He was here at home because he cared about his sisters’ future. He wanted to do the right thing.

She could encourage that.

“Your sister is fixated on Lady Winifred Woolfrey, I’m afraid.”

“Lady Winifred is terrified of me.”

“She’s terrified of you because she’s a virtuous lady and you’ve a dreadful reputation.”

“True.”

“Once you reform, she’ll warm to the prospect.”

“Who said I was reforming?”

“Do be serious, Your Grace.”