As soon as the thought entered his mind, he cast it out. However beguiling her curves, she’d already proven herself a termagant and not at all to his tastes.

He preferred more mature women, sophisticated ladies prepared to enter into mutually satisfying liaisons devoid of unnecessary emotion. Women capable of conducting an affair in a dignified manner.

He did not believe in doing anything rashly, which made his sudden departure from Town and his sudden arrival here all the more uncharacteristic of him.

A couple years past, the good doctor had written to him informing him of his change of address. The man had not given any explanation and Con had not inquired. He’d thought perhaps he’d gone to live with a relation at this Haverston Hall. The doctor, he had assumed, was not a young man, after all.

Upon arriving in Brambledon, he’d learned that Haverston Hall was the home of the Duke of Warrington. A curious thing, but he had not let that give him pause. He had stopped at the pond to freshen up. He was covered in dust. He’d eschewed the train and ridden hard from London, after all. As he was here to ask a favor of Dr. Langley, he wanted to present himself well.

He’d toyed with the idea of writing a letter first, but thought it would be more compelling to present his case in person. He had also assumed, likely erroneously, that he would be more difficult to decline in person.

Perhaps Constantine would have his answers at last.

He eyed the formidable-looking gentleman and assumed him to be the Duke of Warrington who reigned over Haverston Hall. He had that air of nobility about him.

“Nora?” the lovely woman inquired. The fact that she was increasing with child did not distract from her beauty or grace. “Who is your guest?”

So the girl was named Nora—and apparently of some station from the way the refined and polished lady was looking at her in a familiar and intimate manner.

“Ehh . . .” Nora looked at him with a bit of alarm in her eyes, and it occurred to him that he had not even given her his name.

Warrington, presumably, stepped forward to rectify that situation. “I’m Warrington and this is my wife, the Duchess of Warrington.” He settled a hand under his wife’s elbow. “And you are, sir?”

“Sinclair.” He inclined his head. “Constantine Sinclair.”

“Oh! Colonel Constantine Sinclair?” The duchess perked up. “How delightful.” She looked to Nora. “Are you not delighted, Nora? It’s your Colonel Sinclair whom you’ve been writing to all these years!”

Your Colonel Sinclair.

Nora looked perfectly horrified at her sister’s choice of words.

He sank back on his heels and stared hard at the girl who gaped almost comically, her mouth clearly searching for words. Obviously she had no defense.