But Sophie instinctively knew that Mr. Peabody would not be waiting for her near the whimsical statuettes of fairies and sprites. He’d no doubt prefer to be away from the house and the lanterns and the other guests. At a bend in the path, she paused and squinted into the moonlit landscape beyond the garden.

“Miss Kendall.” His voice, low and rich as chocolate, heated her blood.

She looked up to find him lounging beneath a large birch tree, his back pressed against the trunk. Dressed in a black jacket, trousers, and boots, he blended into the shadows; only the crisp white of his cravat stood out in the darkness.

He pushed himself off the tree and inclined his head politely. “Thank you for coming.”

She took a few steps off the path, into the soft grass. Toward him. “Mr. Peabody,” she said softly. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down at the ground. “My name isn’t Peabody.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not the tailor, but I happen to own the building.” He met her gaze, his expression apologetic. “My name is Reese, and I’m the Earl of Warshire.”

Sophie blinked. Not in a hundred summers would she have guessed that Mr. Peabody was an earl. He was too wild and unrefined. Too rough around the edges. “The Earl of Warshire,” she repeated, combing through her mental files for any pertinent information. “Wait. I thought the earl had…” She stopped because she couldn’t bring herself to say what she recalled about the former earl, who must have been Reese’s older brother—that he’d died a few months ago after a tragic hunting accident. “Your brother?” she asked.

He nodded as though he didn’t trust himself to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “You must feel the loss keenly.”

“I do.” His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat. “I should have told you I wasn’t Mr. Peabody that night,” he said. “I’m not sure why I didn’t.”

“Maybe because you thought I was trying to rob you blind?” she replied.

That garnered a half smile. “Maybe.” He swallowed and looked at her earnestly. “In any event, I fell asleep before I could thank you for the tea. You were right about me not sleeping much. And that’s the other reason I asked you to meet me tonight.”

She shook her head, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Miss Kendall,” he said, his voice sober. “I require your help. And I think we could strike a deal that would benefit us both.”

Sophie moved a bit closer. Marveled at the way the moonlight cast his face in relief—the faint hollows of his cheeks, the straight line of his nose, and strong edge of his jaw. “What sort of help do you need?” she asked, her curiosity far outweighing any apprehension.