As she made her way down the corridor, she couldn’t help but reflect at how comfortable she felt within her brother’s lodgings. As she stepped into the smaller dining room, Mick set his newspaper aside and came to his feet. Not that he’d been reading it. Rather he’d been leaning toward his wife seated beside him and telling her something that caused her cheeks to turn a pinkish hue. Fancy wanted that, a man who, long after they’d been married, would whisper wicked things in her ear.

“Good morning, little sister,” Mick said, the normal teasing tinging his tone because she was not only the youngest but the smallest of Ettie Trewlove’s children. Even Gillie was nearly as tall as her brothers. “How are you this morning?”

A bit tired. Thanks to Mr. Sommersby, she’d not slept well. Surreptitiously parting the drapes just enough to peer through them, she’d seen him standing in the window of his bedchamber, looking out. Because he was too far away for her to see his features clearly, she couldn’t be sure if he was staring at the mews or the sky or even had his eyes closed. His movements, however, were more discernible. He’d leaned against the window casing and sipped something. Scotch most likely. Lazily, languidly. As though the view were arresting and deserving of his utmost attention.

She’d taken those damned green eyes into her slumber and dreamed of a man who enjoyed reading penny dreadfuls, whispering the words provocatively in her ear as his hands stroked places that had never been stroked by a man. She’d grown warm, writhing with need, only to awaken to find her blankets and sheet on the floor, Dickens peering out from beneath the mound with a narrowed glare, leaving her to wonder if perhaps she’d kicked him out of the bed as well. Not that she would confess all that to her brother.

“Doing very well, thank you. And you?” She headed for the sideboard where his personal cook had prepared a virtual feast, not that any of it would go to waste. Aslyn always distributed any remaining food to area shelters tasked with feeding the hungry.

“Couldn’t be better.”

She walked to the table where a footman pulled out a chair for her. After sitting, she looked at Aslyn. “And you?”

“Perfect.”

“In every way,” Mick added as he took his seat.

Of all her brothers, Mick was the last one she’d ever expected to be so frightfully besotted. Another reason she didn’t often take her dinners here. While she was ecstatic that the couple had fallen so madly in love, it was difficult to watch when she had yet to acquire the same level of devotion. Besides, she often felt like an intruder, knowing if she weren’t present a good deal more touching, stroking, and kissing would go on.