“Do you?” Sinclair inquired, the corners of his mouth tightening, his only outward reaction to the statement. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure . . .”

“Oh. Yes, I know you. I’m a member of your club. Well, I should say, Birchwood’s club. I saw you there with him not very long ago, trailing after his coattails.”

At the mention of Birchwood, Sinclair tensed. She felt it ever so subtly as she stood beside him.

“Indeed?” Sinclair inquired. “I did not see you . . . and Birchwood did not see fit to introduce us.” It was a subtle slight, but felt nonetheless. Birchwood does not deem you important or he would have made introductions. True or not, that was his insinuation.

The gentleman’s gaze flicked to Nora. “Does he know you keep company with such . . . radical females?”

Radical? She sniffed and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. It would not be the first time someone called her that. Even her own family had been known to call her that, although never with any real heat.

“Oh, this lady here, you mean?” He glanced at Nora. “She is a close family friend and a guest of the Duke and Duchess of Birchwood.”

That left the man fumbling for words. “Wh—”

Sinclair nodded cheerfully and tipped his hat at the sputtering man. “Good day, sir.”

With a hand on her elbow, he turned them both about and together they continued down the gallery.

She could not help herself. She giggled. “His expression was too perfect,” she said.

She knew Sinclair would not agree with any of the vile man’s objections. He had chosen to bring her here, after all. But she had not expected him to be quite so amusing in his defense of her.

At first, she had feared he would resort to fisticuffs to defend her honor. Violence was never the answer. It only beget more violence. Sinclair had done as she wished and refrained. Warmth fluttered in her chest because he had stayed his impulse . . . for her. When she put a hand on his arm he had held himself back.

He was a man of reserve and restraint. Rigid control. A man who never lost his composure. He did not make jests or engage in levity. And yet he had used wit and humor to set that jackanapes in his place.

Sinclair shrugged. “I could have been serious with him, but he was ridiculous. He deserved ridiculousness in turn.”

“I suspect he wanted you to paddle my bum as though I were a child in need of punishment.” She was still giggling at her words when she sent him a glance.

Her giggle died swiftly in her throat when her gaze met his.

His dark eyes gleamed deeper and darker than they ever had before.