Although he relished the sort of flirtation that would gain him entry to a beautiful woman’s bedchamber, he found society ladies in general to be shallow creatures who could speak only of fashion and gossip. That was why he had made up his mind to marry and be done with it. There was no point in holding out for a paragon who didn’t exist. Then, once the ring was on his finger, he would be free of the ambitious mamas who steered their insipid daughters into his path.

Satisfied with the plan, Hadrian returned his attention to the newspaper. He was deep into a piece about the training of the local militia when the rattling of the doorknob disturbed his concentration.

“Back so soon, Chumley? I’m in no humor for—”

He glanced up and stopped in mid-sentence. A young boy of perhaps five or six years darted into the room and shut the door. Garbed in homespun shirt and trousers, he had a thatch of messy, straw-colored hair and a smudge of dirt on one freckled cheek. A slingshot dangled from the pocket of his pants.

His blue eyes fastened on Hadrian at the table. “Hallo, mister.”

Hadrian cocked an eyebrow. Judging by the rough quality of the clothing, the lad appeared to belong to one of the servants. “You aren’t allowed in here,” he said, not ungently. “This is a private parlor.”

“Aw, I won’t bother you, promise I won’t! I only need somewhere to hide.”

Without invitation, the lad commenced to prowling around the small room, looking for a suitable spot. The sparse furnishings offered no convenient draperies to slip behind or chest in which to conceal himself. He made a complete circuit and then ended up by the table, eyeing it speculatively.

All of a sudden, he flashed a triumphant grin and ducked underneath the cloth to crouch at Hadrian’s feet. “Ahoy, mate!” came his muffled voice. “This is the best spot ever!”

What the devil—?

Flummoxed, Hadrian dropped his newspaper. He was accustomed to being obeyed. Instead, the urchin was huddled against his leg, no doubt leaving dirty pawprints on his polished Hessian boots.

He snatched up the edge of the cloth to frown at the boy. It was tight quarters under the small table, and the long drape of linen formed a tent that reached almost to the floor. From out of nowhere, a snippet of memory flitted through his mind of himself at that age hiding from his nurse.

An unexpected twist of humor stirred in Hadrian. But it wouldn’t do to chuckle when he needed to maintain authority. Summoning a stern tone, he stated, “You cannot be playing games in here. Now, run along.”

That freckled face held a look of tragic entreaty. “But it’s hide-and-seek. She’ll never find me here.”

“Who? I won’t have a throng of children dashing hither and yon.”

“That won’t happen, mister, I promise you!” He sketched an X over his scrawny chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die!”