The telephone on Duncan’s desk gave a jangling ring; not an uncommon occurrence, of course, though he had hoped for a few minutes to relish the spark in Maggie Chamberlin’s gray eyes when he’d told her what was what.

Annoyed, Duncan grabbed up the cumbersome receiver and demanded, “Yes?”

There was a low male laugh at the other end of the line, a laugh Duncan recognized all too well. “Hello, Kirk,” said Reeve McKenna.

Duncan considered slamming down the receiver, and then thought better of the motion. Here was a chance, after all, to get under McKenna’s skin. “How are things in Sydney?” he asked as companionably as if he had been speaking to a friend and not a man he’d just as soon see dead.

Again, that familiar laugh sounded. “Sydney? You only wish I were in Sydney, old friend. I’m in Melbourne, as it happens.”

Duncan yearned to sit down, and then remembered that he was already sitting. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger while he tried to assemble himself. “Melbourne,” he echoed stupidly, hating himself the moment the word was out of his mouth.

“Loretta couldn’t wait to tell me that you were planning a trip,” Reeve said smoothly. “That’s the trouble with Loretta, her loyalties are flexible.”

Duncan let out a long breath but said nothing. When he got his hands on Miss Craig’s pretty neck, he vowed to himself, he was going to wring it.

“Of course,” Reeve went on in that dangerously affable way of his, “we’re going to have to discuss this situation. In person.”

Duncan sighed. “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere but here,” Duncan responded.

“The club?”

Duncan nodded distractedly, then realized that Reeve couldn’t see him. “Yes. Five o’clock?” He made the words sound cordial.

“Now,” Reeve argued, and with a click the call was disconnected.

Seething, Duncan left his study to order a carriage brought around.

Lady Simmons was neither a dour old matron nor a doxy. By turns, Maggie had expected her to be both. Instead, she was a pretty young woman with fashionably styled black hair and a quick, ingenuous smile.

“I know where all the best shops are,” she told Maggie warmly as they rode away from the Kirk house in an elegant carriage. “And Harry says that there’s nobody better at spending money than I am.”

In spite of the situation, Maggie found herself liking Lady Simmons, who insisted on being addressed as Rosalind. She was, Maggie quickly learned, a duchess; she and her titled husband had decided to spend several years in Australia as an adventure. They had two children, several English estates, and four dogs, of whom Rosalind spoke almost as fondly as she did of the future Duke of Devonshire and his younger sister, Polly.

“Have you and Duncan been friends for a long time?” Maggie asked when there was an opening to speak.