He looked down, got halfway through the first page, and then:

“Good morning, Sir Harry!”

It was Sebastian, clearly in a jocular mood. He wouldn’t be calling Harry Sir Anything, otherwise. Harry didn’t look up. “It’s afternoon.”

“Not when one awakens at eleven.”

Harry fought off a sigh. “You didn’t knock.”

“I never do.” Sebastian flopped into a chair, apparently not noticing when his dark hair did its own flop-into his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Working.”

“You do that a lot.”

“Some of us don’t have earldoms to inherit,” Harry remarked, trying to finish at least one more sentence before Sebastian would require his complete attention.

“Perhaps,” Sebastian murmured. “Perhaps not.”

This was true. Sebastian had always been second-in-line to inherit; his uncle the Earl of Newbury had sired only one son, Geoffrey. But the earl (who still thought Sebastian a complete wastrel, despite his decade of service to His Majesty’s Empire) had not been concerned. After all, there had been little reason to suppose that Sebastian might inherit. Geoffrey had married while Sebastian was in the army, and his wife had borne two daughters, so clearly the man could produce a baby.

But then Geoffrey had taken a fever and died. As soon as it became apparent that his widow was not increasing and therefore no young heir was in the offing to save the earldom from the devastation that was Sebastian Grey, the long-widowed earl had taken it upon himself to produce a new heir to the title and to that end was now gadding about London, shopping for a wife.

Which meant that no one knew quite what to make of Sebastian. Either he was the devastatingly handsome and charming heir to an ancient and wealthy earldom, in which case he was without a doubt the biggest prize on the marriage mart, or he was the devastatingly handsome and charming heir to nothing, in which case he might be a society matron’s worst nightmare.

Still, he was invited everywhere. And when it came to London society, he knew everything.

Which was why Harry knew he’d get an answer when he asked, “Does the Earl of Rudland have a daughter?”

Sebastian regarded him with an expression that most would interpret as bored, but that Harry knew meant, You nodcock.

“Of course,” Sebastian said.

The “nodcock” bit, Harry decided, was implied.

“Why?” Sebastian asked.

Harry glanced briefly toward the window, even though she wasn’t there. “Is she blond?”

“Very much so.”

“Quite pretty?”

Sebastian slid into a sly smile. “More than that, by most standards.”

Harry frowned. What the devil was Rudland’s daughter doing watching him so closely?

Sebastian yawned, not bothering to cover it, even when Harry shot him a disgusted look. “Any particular reason for the sudden interest?”

Harry stepped toward the window, regarding her window, which he now knew was on the second floor, third from the right. “She’s watching me.”

“Lady Olivia Bevelstoke is watching you,” Sebastian repeated.

“Is that her name?” Harry murmured.

“She’s not watching you.”

Harry turned. “I beg your pardon.”

Sebastian gave a rude shrug. “Lady Olivia Bevelstoke doesn’t need you.”

“I never said she did.”

“She had five proposals of marriage last year, and the number would have been double that if she hadn’t dissuaded several gentlemen before they made fools of themselves.”

“You know a great deal about society for one who claims disinterest.”

“Have I ever claimed disinterest?” Sebastian stroked his chin in an affectation of thoughtfulness. “How untruthful of me.”

Harry gave him a bit of a stare, then rose to his feet and walked to the window, free to do so now that Lady Olivia was gone.

“Anything exciting?” Sebastian murmured.

Harry ignored him, moving his head slightly to the left, not that that did much to improve his vantage point. Still, she’d left the window scrim tied back farther than usual, and if the sun weren’t glinting on the glass, he’d have had a good view into her room. Certainly the best yet.

“Is she there?” Sebastian asked, his voice dipping into a mocking quaver. “Is she watching you right now?”

Harry turned, then immediately rolled his eyes when he saw Sebastian moving his hands about, his fingers making odd flexing motions as if he were trying to fend off a ghost.

“You’re an idiot,” Harry said.

“But a handsome one,” Sebastian returned, immediately resuming his slouch. “And terribly charming. It gets me out of so much trouble.”

Harry turned, leaning lazily against the window frame. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I pine for your company.”

Harry waited patiently.

“I need money?” Sebastian tried.

“Far more likely, but I have it on the best authority that you lightened Winterhoe’s purse by a hundred quid Tuesday last.”

“And you say you don’t follow gossip.”

Harry shrugged. He paid attention when it suited him.

“It was two hundred, I’ll have you know. Would have been more, too, if Winterhoe’s brother hadn’t shown up and hauled him off.”

Harry did not comment. He had little affection for Winterhoe or his brother, but he could not help but sympathize.

“Sorry,” Sebastian said, correctly interpreting Harry’s silence. “How is the young whelp?”

Harry glanced toward the ceiling. His younger brother Edward was still abed, presumably sleeping off whatever excesses he’d got himself into the previous night. “Still detests me.” He shrugged. The only reason Harry had moved to London was to keep an eye on his younger brother, and Edward hated that he’d been forced to bow to his authority. “He’ll grow out of it.”

“Are you evil these days, or just an old stick?”

Harry felt the stirrings of a smile. “An old stick, I think.”

Sebastian slouched ever more into the chair and gave the impression of a shrug. “I’d rather be evil.”

“There are some who would say you needn’t worry on that score,” Harry murmured.

“Now, now, Sir Harry,” Sebastian admonished. “I’ve never debauched an innocent.”

Harry acknowledged the statement with a nod. All appearances to the contrary, Sebastian did conduct his life according to a certain code of ethics. It was not a code that most would recognize, but it was there, nonetheless. And if he’d ever seduced a virgin, he’d certainly not done so on purpose.

“I heard you gave someone a beating last week,” Sebastian said.

Harry shook his head in disgust. “He’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Harry turned back from the window to face Sebastian directly. “Actually, you didn’t ask anything.”

“Very well,” Sebastian said with exaggerated concession. “Why did you beat the young thing to a pulp?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Harry said irritably.

“I heard you knocked him unconscious.”

“That he managed for himself.” Harry shook his head with disgust. “He was completely sotted. I punched him once, in the face. At most, I hastened his blackout by ten minutes.”

“It’s not like you to strike another man unprovoked,” Sebastian said quietly, “even if he has had too much to drink.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. He was not proud of the episode, but at the same time, he could not bring himself to regret it. “He was bothering someone,” he said tightly. And that was all he was going to say. Sebastian knew him well enough to know what that meant.

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, then let out a long sigh. Harry took that to mean that he would drop the subject, and he walked back over to his desk, surreptitiously glancing over at the window on his way.

“Is she there?” Sebastian asked suddenly.

Harry did not pretend to misunderstand. “No.” He sat back down, finding his spot in the Russian document.

“Is she there now?”

It was remarkable how quickly this was growing tedious. “Seb-”

“Now?

“Why are you here?”

Sebastian sat up a bit. “I need you to go to the Smythe-Smith musicale on Thursday.”

“Why?”

“I promised someone I’d go, and-”

“Whom did you promise?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me, if I’m forced to attend.”

Sebastian colored slightly, always an entertaining, if unusual, event. “Very well, it’s my grandmother. She cornered me last week.”

Harry groaned. Any other female, and he’d have been able to get out of it. But a promise to a grandmother-that had to be upheld.

“Then you’ll go?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes,” Harry said with a sigh. He hated these things, but at least at a musicale one didn’t have to make polite conversation all evening. He could sit in his seat, say nothing, and if he looked bored, well, so would everyone else.

“Excellent. Shall I-”

“Wait a moment.” Harry turned to him suspiciously. “Why do you need me?” Because really, Sebastian hardly lacked social confidence.

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I suspect my uncle will be there.”

“Since when has that scared you?”

“It doesn’t.” Seb shot him a look of pure disgust. “But Grandmama is likely to try to mend the rift and-Oh, for God’s sake, does it matter? Will you go or won’t you?”

“Of course.” Because really, it hadn’t been in any doubt. If Sebastian needed him, Harry would be there.

Sebastian stood, and whatever distress he’d been feeling was gone, replaced by his customary nonchalance. “I owe you.”

“I’ve stopped counting.”

Seb laughed at that. “I’ll go wake the whelp for you. Even I think it’s an unseemly hour to still be abed.”

“Be my guest. You’re the only thing about me Edward respects.”

“Respects?”

“Admires,” Harry amended. Edward had more than once expressed his disbelief that his brother-whom he found dull beyond measure-should be so close to Sebastian, whom he wished to emulate in every way.