Althea’s butler, Strensall, appeared with an exquisitely arranged tray, complete with a vase of tulips. Consistent with Monsieur Henri’s usual standards, the offerings would have fed a regiment of epicureans. Jane filled a plate with sandwiches, orange sections, two chocolate drops, and slices of yellow cheese flecked with caraway seeds, and passed it to her visitor.

“How do you like your tea, Sir Leviticus?”

“Plain will do, Your Grace.”

Well, of course. “Eat. I make it a point not to interrogate my prisoners until I’ve lulled them into misplaced trust.”

Sir Leviticus smiled—he was attractive when he wasn’t being so serious—and Jane passed him a steaming cup of tea.

“I cannot violate client confidences, Your Grace, not even for such glorious sustenance.”

“I will overlook the insult implied in your observation, sir. You are weary, thirsty, and hungry.” He was also likely worried, and too much of a gentleman to burden a lady with his concerns.

He sipped his tea and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, his gaze held lurking humor. “I meant you no disrespect, Your Grace.”

“Of course you didn’t, but when you imply Lord Stephen would hire a lawyer of less than sterling ethics, you insult his lordship.”

Sir Leviticus commenced demolishing his food. “His lordship said you were fierce. Said you’d had to be.”

“And now you redeem yourself by complimenting me. Lord Stephen has had to be fierce too. If he’s being sued by some subcontractor or vendor, you could have informed him of that by letter.”

Jane ought to have let the poor fellow finish eating before making that observation, but a lawyer riding hotfoot out from town did not bode well for Stephen’s interests. Not even a lawyer who was probably former cavalry and who doubtless enjoyed a good gallop.

“Aren’t you having any tea, Your Grace?”

Tell me why you’re here. Jane could not make that demand and hope to get anywhere with Sir Leviticus. Anybody who’d endured several years in Stephen’s employ would be a stout opponent in a battle of wits, and utterly loyal to Stephen. She considered strategy while she poured herself a cup of tea and stirred in a dollop of milk.

“Stephen once pointed a loaded gun at me,” she said. “He thought he was protecting his brother. Mind you, at the time Stephen could barely stand unaided, he was years away from his majority, and his brother didn’t need protecting—not from me anyway. If I were sent to my reward tomorrow, I could die secure in the knowledge that Stephen will guard with his life anybody whom he loves.”

Sir Leviticus paused between sandwiches. “As you would die to protect him. I would expect no less, given how his lordship rhapsodizes about his family. My errand does not involve any looming threat to Lord Stephen’s person or to his business interests.”