“I’m looking for Lady Georgina Maitland.” The stranger’s voice, clipped and upper crust, would have frozen most men.

Harry raised one eyebrow. “And who might you be?”

“The Earl of Maitland.”

“Ah.” He started to close the door.

Maitland wedged his crop in the doorway to prevent him. “Do you know where she is?” There was warning in his voice now.

“Yes.” Harry stared flatly at Maitland. “She’ll be at the manor soon.”

Anger sparked in the other man’s eyes. “Within the hour or I’ll kick this bloody hovel down around your ears.”

Harry closed the door.

When he turned, he saw Lady Georgina peeking from the bedroom. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she had used a bedsheet as a wrap.

“Who was it?” Her voice was husky with sleep.

Harry wished he could pick her up and carry her back to his bed and make her forget about this day, but the world and everything in it waited.

He replaced the teapot on the shelf. “Your brother.”

HER BROTHER HAD TO BE the one person in all the world a woman didn’t want to meet directly after a night of ecstasy. George fiddled with the ribbon at her neck.

Tiggle batted her hand away and set a last pin in her hair. “There you are, my lady. As ready as you’ll ever be.” At least the maid was no longer sending her mournful looks.

Instead, she was now commiserating. Did everyone know what had happened last night? She really should’ve been more discreet than to spend the night. George sighed and contemplated feigning a headache. But Tony was nothing if not stubborn. He might not drag her from her room to interview her, but he’d be right outside the minute she tried to emerge. Best to get it over with.

She threw back her shoulders and marched downstairs like a Christian going to meet a particularly irate lion. Greaves sent her a sympathetic look as he held the breakfast room door for her.

Inside, Tony was standing by the mantelpiece, staring down his bony nose into the fire. He evidently hadn’t touched the food on the sideboard. Tony was the spitting image of their late father, tall and angular with a face dominated by prominent cheekbones and heavy eyebrows. The only difference was the auburn hair he’d inherited from their mother. That, and the fact that he was a much nicer man than Father had been.

Usually, anyway.

George noticed that Violet was conspicuously absent. She had a very good idea why, too. She’d corner the minx later.

“Good morning, Tony.” George strolled to the sideboard. Buttered kippers. Even Cook knew. She helped herself to a large serving. She was going to need her strength.