Alex walked over until he was standing just in front of Charlotte, casting an admonishing look at the two footmen on attendance in the hallway. They instantly disguised the curiosity that decked both their faces and stood poker-straight against the walls. Alex kept walking forward until Charlotte receded a step and another step. He glanced at one footman, who quickly pulled open the door to the Chinese Salon, as it was called. Alex briskly took Charlotte’s arm in his hand, swung her about, and walked her into the room. The door swung to behind them with a quiet click.

Alex immediately dropped Charlotte’s arm and turned around to face her. “What makes you think I would leave my child to the mercy of that muffin-faced type you call your butler?” he said, affably enough.

Charlotte stared at him. She hadn’t thought about the fact that she had tried to say good-bye to him after seeing his child carried down into the servants’ quarters.

“My lord,” she said, “I am not … fit for this conversation this morning. I have a headache.” Charlotte dropped gracefully into a couch, feeling rather like a fraud, but also doing a good imitation of her great-aunt Margaret. Margaret was invariably ill with something, and she much enjoyed her own infirmities.

Alex stood before her, looking absolutely collected, Charlotte noted with some irritation.

“Perhaps you would like me to go down on my knees?” he asked. Charlotte saw the amusement lighting his eyes and glared at him.

“No.”

“Good,” Alex said.

An undefinable suggestion of fury hung around him in a way that was making Charlotte most uncomfortable. She raised her chin defiantly. No one could force her to marry, not even an earl of the realm. Her head throbbed painfully.

“Perhaps you would like to commence now?” she asked defiantly.