Alex doffed his hat again, remarking gravely that he hoped to have the pleasure of greeting them that evening, and rode away. His whole body protested, riding down the street away from his delectable love, especially given that her riding costume emphasized every lovely curve. His eyes darkened as he imagined picking up Charlotte and putting her on his library table, tossing up her elegant skirts, uncovering … His horse curvetted in protest as his hand involuntarily shortened the reins. For God’s sake. He rode a bit faster. The tale about Guthrie was flummery. In fact, he had to be home before Pippa awoke from her nap.

He was extremely irritated as he threw the reins to a waiting groom and strode into the front hallway of Sheffield House. Instantly he paused and cocked an experienced ear. No piercing screams meant that Pippa had not yet woken up. Alex walked into his library, only to be greeted by his desperate-looking secretary, Robert Lowe. Alex’s desk was piled with papers and had been for days; his secretary seemed to tag behind him everywhere, asking for signatures. Alex grimaced, remembering his ordered life before Pippa’s arrival.

Meanwhile he sat down at the desk and quickly began working through the largest pile of papers, tossing them in the direction of his secretary with instructions about how to respond. Suddenly he stopped in astonishment. Before him was a sheet of newsprint, clearly one of the scandal sheets printed daily, with an arrow pointing to a paragraph.

Last night Lord L——was caught with Lady D——.

If Mrs. B——will still continue flirting

We hope she’ll draw, or we’ll undraw the curtain.

“What the devil is this piece of rubbish doing here,” Alex said in a deadly voice, his dark eyes pinning his secretary to the chair.

“I just thought,” Lowe said miserably, “I thought you might want to consider a suit for libel…. Anyway,” he finished in a rush, “I thought you should know.” Alex’s eyes sharpened and he returned to the sheet he still held in his hand.

A certain earl had better stop a-knocking

It takes a stiff rapper to enter a duke’s locker.

Alex swore and violently crumpled the sheet, throwing it to the ground. His secretary trembled.

“Out!”

Lowe left, clutching a sheaf of papers to his chest, bowing reflexively as he went. He felt ill. The whole house knew (thanks to Keating) just how perfidious his master’s first wife had been, and they knew quite well that he didn’t have any problems with his “rapper,” given the satisfied ladies—well, women—who had occasionally graced the master’s bed since his wife left. Although there haven’t been any in England, Lowe thought.

Meanwhile Alex leaned against the mantelpiece in the library, his face savage with rage. God damn her, God damn her! Maria, with her soft wails and shrieking complaints … he shook with disgust even thinking of her.