Regardless, Sebastian would spend the blasted week at Selby’s, trying to fight off his friend’s overly affectionate—and often inebriated—Aunt Minnie and having to speak in an overly loud voice to Selby’s Uncle Teddy, who was significantly hard of hearing.

A sharp rap at the door to the bath chamber pulled Sebastian from his thoughts. “Yes,” he called, more than a little peeved that his bath was being interrupted.

Hawthorne, his butler, pushed open the door and strode inside. The man stood at attention, staring directly at the marble wall in front of him.

“Yes, Hawthorne,” Sebastian shot out. “What is so bloody important that it couldn’t wait until I’m dressed?”

Hawthorne’s blue eyes remained trained on the wall, but his jaw flinched. “It’s Her Grace,” he said in a voice that sounded like a man who sorely regretted having to proclaim this information. “She’s in the silver drawing room and she demands to speak with you immediately.”

If a small dragon had flown into the bathing chamber and dropped a bar of soap directly in front of his face, causing a splash, Sebastian couldn’t have been more surprised. “Her Grace?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and drawing out the words into a long, confused question, more trying to reconcile the thought in his brain than truly asking the man to repeat himself.

“Her Grace,” Hawthorne repeated, painfully. “The Duchess of Edgefield.”

“My wife?” Sebastian clarified, his eyes still narrowed. All the words were English, yet they still made little sense.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hawthorne answered. “And I wouldn’t have bothered you under such conditions, however, she…” the poor man trailed off, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

Sebastian arched a brow. “She insisted, did she, Hawthorne?”

“Quite emphatically, Your Grace,” Hawthorne replied with a definite nod.

“It’s all right, Hawthorne.” Sebastian rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I know precisely how demanding she can be.”

The butler’s only reply was another blank-faced nod.

Sebastian continued soaping his arms and chest. Hmm. This was interesting. Veronica was here. He hadn’t spoken to the woman in over two years, and she was here, demanding he speak to her. Which could only mean one thing…she wanted something from him. That was interesting.

But he wasn’t about to snap to her merest demand. She could bloody well wait.

He soaped his hair and dunked himself beneath the hot, bubbly water before slowly reaching for the razor. By God, he was bathing, and he wouldn’t rush just because she had arrived on his doorstep demanding he speak to her. But he had to tell Hawthorne something. The poor man was wilting in the steamy heat of the chamber.

“Tell Her Grace I’m indisposed at the moment and will be down within the hour,” Sebastian finally offered.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hawthorne replied, bowing, turning, and hurrying from the room.

Sebastian spent the next several minutes doing his best to shave his shadow of a beard with the razor, using his fingertips to gauge where he needed to stroke. He’d been in something of a hurry before, but now he took his time, quite pleased with the thought of making her wait.