Signor de Luca rolled his eyes. Tucking the gun into the back of his trousers, he grimaced with disgust, took a deep breath, and reached into her bodice.

“Why, Signor!” Lady Armitage gasped. She slipped her fingers into her sleeve, where a knife was concealed—and then paused. Any minute now, she would stab the impertinent cad. Any minute.

“What is going on here?” came a female voice, the sort that suggests fingernails might be dragged down a chalkboard if people did not start behaving soon.

Signor de Luca, with his hand still rummaging inside Lady Armitage’s undergarments, looked back over his shoulder. Lady Armitage tipped herself to one side so she could also see. Her eyes widened as she found Cecilia Bassingthwaite in her sitting room, holding a tea tray.

“Just stealing the house,” Signor de Luca explained. He pulled from Lady Armitage’s bodice a handkerchief, a sachet of white oleander, half a biscuit, and finally a long silver key. He grinned at Cecilia, but she only frowned as she set down the tray.

“That was unchivalrous of you,” she said. “I’m sure Lady Armitage would have given you the key had you asked her nicely.”

“Of course I would have,” Lady Armitage agreed. She slipped the concealed knife down a little farther.

“I doubt it,” the signor retorted.

“Did you even ask permission before you intruded upon her intimate presence? I imagine not.”

“Words aren’t required if the lady gives permission with her eyes.”

Lady Armitage began to speak in defense of her eyes, but the conversation rushed ahead without her.

“What, even in the dark of a broom closet? Er, for example.”

“Light was coming in through the crack at the bottom of the door.”

“And a gentleman is adept at translating a lady’s eyes, is he?”

“A gentleman of experience is, yes.”

“Experience but no”—she surveyed the length of his body—“house.”

The signor bristled. “I can assure you, madam, that my real estate is of substantial—”

“Excuse me,” Lady Armitage said before this conversation became too titillating even for her. “Why is Cecilia Bassingthwaite standing in my drawing room?”

“You told me to bring you her finger,” Signor de Luca replied.

“Yes, but not attached to the rest of her person!”

“Captain Lightbourne has difficulty understanding what a lady tells him,” Cecilia explained, pouring tea into three delicate cups. “Tells him with words, that is, not some supposed look she gives when she has a headache and did not sleep well.”

“It’s a common fault in men,” Lady Armitage said. She silently figured what angle the knife might take between her wrist and Signor de Luca’s heart. “Modern patriarchy shows a shameful lack of respect toward women.”

Cecilia nodded. “Only last month I robbed a man and tied him to his horse, and he did not bid me good afternoon as I sent him on his way.”

“Shocking! I can’t tell you how many men have insulted me over the years.” (Actually, it was seventeen, but she only knew this because she kept her apothecary receipts.)