Win pulled a bottle of fine Scottish whisky from the bottom drawer of the desk where Uncle Roland had long kept it as Aunt Margaret, while known to indulge in wine and the occasional glass of brandy, did not approve of harder spirits. Nonetheless, she knew exactly where Uncle Roland kept his whisky, and he knew she knew.

“So”—Win filled two glasses—“I gather the baked goods were appreciated.”

Gray accepted a glass and sank down into one of the leather wing chairs facing the fireplace. “You might say that.”

“While Cook does make excellent scones, they have never elicited responses like this before. Which does indicate a welcoming Christmas basket has nothing to do with the matter at hand.” Win settled in the chair matching Gray’s and considered his cousin. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Gray grinned.

“You know ‘well, what?’ Are you going to tell me everything, or are you going to make me guess?” Win raised his glass to the other man. “Surely, you remember that I have a very fertile imagination.”

“Not this fertile. Even you could not conceive of this.”

“My, my, now I am intrigued.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on the secret, I would think. My third fiancée used to say I was very good at keeping the best secrets and not good at all at keeping everyday sort of secrets.”

“Third fiancée?” Gray raised a brow. “You never wrote to me of a third fiancée.”

“But I do believe I mentioned in one of my letters that I had begun to think telling you I was to wed was somehow bad luck.” He sipped his whisky. “As it turns out, apparently not.”

Gray stared. “How many fiancées have you had?”

“Officially?” Win grinned.

“Whatever you prefer.”

“Just three.” He thought for a moment. “As far as I can recall, although you should not hold me to that.”

“I suspect you and I need to have a long talk about all those things that were omitted from your letters.”

“No doubt. But as you have returned for the foreseeable future, there will be time. Long evenings sitting by the fire with Father’s good whisky and nothing to do but rehash the last eleven years.” Win shuddered. “Sounds entirely too domestic for my way of thinking. Still, I imagine your adventures are much more stimulating than mine have been.”

“I wouldn’t wager on that.” Gray laughed. Lord, he had missed this man.

“And speaking of returning home . . .” Win eyed him curiously. “Why are you staying at Millworth Manor?”

Gray considered the question. On his return ride, he had tried to think of something believable to explain his stay at the manor. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. Nothing that made sense, that is. Still, if he trusted no one else in the world, he trusted Win. “I need your word that you will not repeat to anyone what I am about to tell you.”

“That good, is it?”