He could hardly wait.

Throughout the night he’d watched the time, anxious to leave the casino behind and return to the chateau. He hadn’t cared a bit about gambling, but taking the duke out on the town had been for Harrison’s benefit, to give his friend more time alone with Maddie before all hell broke loose. Because Kit had a feeling the duke was not here for a simple visit. Engagement rumors were rarely wrong in circumstances such as this, and Lockwood’s sudden appearance meant Maddie would soon receive a proposal.

And if she said yes, God help them all.

Once inside his bedchamber, Kit removed his topcoat and tossed it on the bed. Then he unknotted his bow tie and removed his collar. Alice might not appreciate his state of undress, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d been in these clothes all damn night and was itching to get out of them. If Alice didn’t like it, that was too bad.

He’d just finished putting away his budgets and notes on the supper club when the door opened. Alice slid inside, still dressed in her evening gown. Her hair was slightly askew, as if she’d been lying down while waiting on him. Had she imagined being his willing pupil? He couldn’t stop thinking of it, like how she’d hang on his every word, rapt with attention, eager for instruction and guidance. With her big, doe-eyed gaze focused on him, watching and waiting, while her brain absorbed his expertise on men and women. Perhaps she’d ask for more personal instruction at the end of the lesson as a way to get in the teacher’s good graces . . .

Damn. There he went again, off on a prurient tangent and forgetting with whom he was dealing.

Exhaling, he poured them each a glass of bourbon. “Shall we sit?”

She nodded and followed him to the armchairs near the fire. When they were settled, he stretched his legs and took a long drink. “So, what would you like to know about men?”

“Wait, before we begin.” She held out a piece of paper. “That is the recipe for lobster thermidor.”

“Thank you.” He took the recipe and slid it into his trouser pocket. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine, too.”

“Considering Franconi was your family’s chef, you’ve probably had it many times.”

A tiny smile emerged and she sat straighter. “I can still remember the first time Angelo served lobster thermidor. He returned from Paris, where he’d visited Chef Mourier and learned of the dish. Knowing how much I like lobster à la Newburg, he prepared lobster thermidor as a surprise for my sixteenth birthday.”

“How lovely. I actually ate it in Paris when I visited Harrison a year ago. We dined at Maison Maire.”