“Uh, sure.”

“Gabriella has never been in possession of a condom in her life. I doubt she knows where to buy them.”

I gasped, my cheeks flaming red. I did, too! What a cheeky sod!

“I would suggest you keep some about your person or give her some for Christmas if this is to continue.”

I was going to kill him.

Miles glanced at me, desperately trying not to laugh. “Noted, Alex. Thank you.”

“And cousin dearest.” He released me, only to stand in front of me and grip my shoulders. “In an emergency, there are some in the bottom of my wardrobe in the shoebox.”

He winked at Miles and turned away, leaving us both standing in the hallway, staring after him.

“Well,” Miles said, slipping his arm around my waist. “And here I thought the aristocracy was boring.”

“Oh, no,” I replied slowly. “It is anything but boring.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

My house had never felt as uncomfortable as it did right now. Arthur had kept to his word two days ago and left, and he’d followed Alex’s advice.

He was being paid because I’d made sure of it.

Aunt Cat only emerged from her bedroom when she didn’t think anyone else was around, meaning we’d only run into each other a mere handful of times.

Until this morning.

“That’s a dog.”

Aunt Cat looked up from where she was feeding a black, grey, and white dog a shredded chicken breast at the kitchen island. “Cleverly observed, Gabriella. I see you’ve kept your appointment with the optician.”

“I went last mo—that’s not the point. Why is there a dog in the kitchen? Where did it come from? Who does it belong to?” I blinked at the dog as it lapped up the chicken like it was starving.

“I found it.”

“No.”

“I did.”

“One does not find random dogs, Aunt Cat.” I eyed the dog, who looked at me right back with one brown eye and one blue eye. Cute. “Especially not ones that look healthy like this one does.”

“Well, I found him.”

“Have you taken him to the vet to see if he’s microchipped? He should be. All breeders have to chip their puppies by law now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Charlotte Wentworth told me when Glen, their beagle, escaped his crate and hopped on poor Lupi when she was on heat,” I replied, still hovering in the door.

“Glen and Lupi. What stupid names for dogs.”

Like the woman had good taste in naming animals herself.

“Well, have you? Checked for a chip?”

“He has a microchip.”

“Then I assume you’ve called the owner.”

“I can’t do that, dear.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t answer my own phone call.” She paused. “I suppose I could, but it’d be terribly awkward, using two hands. Plus, that bloody echo would be nightmarish.”

Oh, my God.

She was joking, right?

“You said you found him!”

“I did, dear. At a rescue.”

“That is not finding him!” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You know what? I’m not doing this right now, Aunt Cat. Dad is already angry, and he’s going to lose his mind when he comes home and finds the dog. Besides, I’m not sure I can even look you in the eye right now.”