“He’s filthy,” the taller young lady said. “And he smells dreadfully.”

Charles couldn’t disagree. The stench from the dog’s muddy fur was emanating all the way through the folds of his greatcoat. No doubt he’d have to burn it. As for the dog himself…

“He’s somewhat worse for wear, I grant you,” Charles said. “He’s only recently arrived on a ship from Spain. The sailors should have taken better care of him.”

“From Spain?” the older woman repeated scornfully. “This dog?”

“He is, ma’am. A rare breed. One of the only of his kind.” Charles inwardly grimaced at so blatant a lie. But he supposed it was in a good cause. Given the chaos the dog had wrought, the interfering busybody was five seconds away from calling for the poor creature’s destruction. “Why do you think I was pursuing him?”

“He is yours, then?” Kate asked.

“Yes,” Charles answered emphatically. “He is. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must get him home.”

She continued to look at him, as though he’d said something that both bewildered and intrigued her. “You better had, sir,” she said at last, “before the constable arrives.”

Charles didn’t have to be told twice. Offering the three ladies a rigid, militaristic bow, he strode away through the growing throng, the snarling dog still cradled in his arms.

This wasn’t going to go over well at Grillon's Hotel.

But no matter.

In twenty-four hours, Charles would be home. Once there, his mother and sister would take charge.

A half-starving London street dog wasn’t the Christmas present he’d envisioned for them, but knowing their feelings toward the canine race, the matted stray might yet prove to be the perfect gift.

Lady Katherine Beresford stared after the tall, raven-haired gentleman as he stalked off down Bond Street, disappearing into the crowd of Christmas shoppers.

His greatcoat had made him seem impossibly large and imposing. Without it, he somehow appeared even more so.

He was clad all in black—black wool trousers, coat, and waistcoat, with a stiffly-knotted black cravat. His skin was bronzed from the sun. An oddity at this time of year. They’d had nothing but rain for weeks. But this gentleman must have recently returned from a more pleasant clime. He had the look of a man who spent most of his time out of doors. A man who enjoyed a bit of sport—riding, fencing, and boxing. Indeed, the cut of his coat set off his broad shoulders to magnificent effect.

“What a rude fellow,” Christine remarked. She stood beside Kate, her narrow face the picture of ladylike outrage.

“Yes, he was,” Kate agreed slowly. “But a handsome one.”