A cross between a Madonna and a wanton, as had been noted last night, was apt by far. Anastasia exuded sexual promise, and yet seemed untouchable, a combination ripe for stirring a man’s desire, yet making him hesitant to proceed, thus leaving him wishful and fantasizing.

Those who were doing no more than fantasizing, he would merely hurt. The others, though, and he could see there were several others who were actually entertaining thoughts of a more permanent nature, unaware that the lady was unavailable for anything permanent, Christopher was going to slowly take apart piece by piece . . .

“I am surprised to see you here, Lord Malory,” was said by his side.

He hadn’t noticed the dowager countess approaching him. He knew her by sight but couldn’t recall ever actually speaking to her before. She, apparently, knew him by sight as well, to know who he was.

As for her wondering at his presence, he replied skeptically, “I doubt that, Lady Siddons, considering who your houseguest is.”

“No, truly,” she insisted, though she said it with a smile that merely confirmed his impression. “After all, you were privileged enough to obtain the gem, yet foolishly tossed it away.”

“I’ve tossed away nothing, madame,” he said stiffly, well aware what she meant, and continuing in the same vein, “The gem is still legally mine.”

Her brow shot up, indicating he might have actually surprised her this time, yet her tone was merely curious. “I find that passing strange, considering the connections available to a marquis that would expedite the disposal of matters of that nature. Perhaps you have merely been delayed in seeing it accomplished?”

“Perhaps I have no intention of doing anything of the sort,” he shot back.

“Well now, that presents a dilemma. It might behoove you to make the gel aware of it, since she is quite under a different impression. Or do you think she’s been launched just to gain your attention?”

“Actually, that she’s been launched a’tall is beyond comprehension,” he told her. “Or aren’t you aware of who she really is?”

“Who she is? You mean aside from being your wife?” she rubbed it in, then, “I can’t imagine what you’re thinking. She’s my dear friend’s niece, of course. I don’t believe you’ve made his acquaintance. Well, come along, my lord, and we shall rectify that.”

She walked off, fully expecting him to follow her. He did, since he did in fact have a few pertinent questions to put to Sir William Thompson.

The old man was alone, standing sentinel next to a rather large fireplace, where he’d been keeping a “paternal” eye on his young “relative.” Making quick work of the introductions, Lady Siddons left them alone there.

Christopher didn’t mince words, asking right off, “Why have you claimed Anastasia as your niece?”