“Are you implying that I provided The Times with this information?”

“Did you?”

As he had so many times before, Philip deflected the hurt his father’s doubt arrowed at him. “No, I did not. No doubt someone overheard us. We were not exactly whispering.” Philip dragged his hands down his face. “Besides, I cannot see that it really makes much difference how the story was found out. Indeed, perhaps it is better that it is known. It might cut down on the speculation.”

A humorless laugh escaped his father. “You’ve been away from Society far too long. No, this is just the sort of story that whets the appetite and causes speculation and innuendo to run rampant. I’m just grateful that Catherine isn’t in London, being subjected to this mess.”

Philip’s heart squeezed at the mention of his sister. She was the one thing he’d missed during his years abroad, and he couldn’t wait to see her. Her son had contracted a sudden stomach ailment, regrettably postponing her travel plans. “Well, she’s soon to be subjected, I’m afraid,” Philip said. “I received a note from her this morning. Spencer has recovered and Catherine expects to arrive in London this afternoon.”

“I see. Well, we shall have to prepare her,” his father said. “The gossipmongers will pounce upon this situation like a pack of hounds on a trapped fox. Indeed, the gossip is already spreading, even amongst the servants.”

“How do you know?”

“Evans keeps me informed. I’m convinced there isn’t a butler in all of England who knows more than he. Would you care to hear the latest?”

Philip suspected he didn’t want to know, but somehow he heard himself answering, “Of course.”

“According to Evans, who, I might add, relayed the following with an enormous amount of hemming and hawing and throat-clearing, is that Lady Sarah cried off for two reasons: One, she did not want to die from your curse, and two, even without the curse she still would have jilted you, as she had no wish to become the bride of a man who is unable to… perform his husbandly duties.”

Philip winced. “Ah. I see. Since it is impossible to conceive that any woman wouldn’t wish to marry the heir to an earldom unless for very compelling reasons, tongues are wagging with the notion that the compelling reason is I will not be able to consummate my marriage.”

“I’m afraid so. Not the sort of conjecture a man likes to have to defend himself against.” He stirred a bit of sugar into his coffee. “Have you any news of Lady Sarah?”

“Not yet, but I’ve sent ‘round a note advising her of my intention to call upon her later today.” He patted his mouth with his napkin, then set the square of linen on the polished cherrywood table next to his plate. “And toward that end, I shall depart for the warehouse to continue with the unpacking of the crates.” Rising, Philip strode toward the door.

“What in God’s name are you wearing?” came his father’s outraged voice.

Philip halted and looked down at his loose-fitting, drawstring-waisted trousers. “Comfortable clothing. I’m going to be working in a warehouse, Father, not attending a ball.” With that, he exited the breakfast room. As he approached the foyer, the brass knocker sounded, and Bakari opened the door. Philip caught the sound of a familiar, throaty female voice. Her voice. The dictatorial matchmaker. He noted with some annoyance that his footsteps quickened.

“Will see if Lord Greybourne is available,” Bakari said, holding a calling card between his fingers.

“I’m available, Bakari.” He stepped around the butler and met Miss Chilton-Grizedale’s startled expression. His gaze swept over her, the details of her ensemble clicking in his mind. Peacock-blue muslin gown with matching spencer. Bonnet that framed her piquant face in a way that reminded him of a stamen surrounded by soft petals. A frown pulled down his brows. No, that didn’t sound quite right. But damn it all, she did somehow remind him of flowers. Perhaps it was her fragrance? He inhaled and instantly discarded the notion. No, she did not smell like flowers. She smelled like-he leaned a bit closer to her and inhaled again-like freshly baked cake.

No, it was her coloring, he suddenly realized, that brought flowers to mind. Her skin looked as soft as roses, her cheekbones blushed with peach, and her lips were colored with a delicate pinkish red, all colors he recalled from his mother’s formal country gardens at Ravensly Manor.

Bakari harrumphed. “Might want to invite lady in,” came his dry whisper behind him, “not gawk at her in the doorway.”

Annoyed at himself, Philip instantly stepped back. Damn. Clearly some brushing up on his manners was called for. “Please come in, Miss Chilton-Grizedale.”

She inclined her head in a regal fashion and entered the foyer. “Thank you, Lord Greybourne. I apologize for calling so early, but I believe it is essential that we get a timely start. I am ready to depart whenever you are.” Her gaze flicked over his attire, and her eyes widened.

“Depart? But you’ve just arrived.” Looking pert and fresh and smelling good enough to nibble upon.

Bloody hell, where had that thought come from? Clearly it entered his head because he harbored a weakness for freshly baked cake. Yes, that’s all it was.

“I’ve come to accompany you. To help you look through the crates to locate the other half of the stone.” Her clear, aqua gaze met his questioningly. “Where exactly are we going?”

“The crates are stored in a warehouse near the docks. I cannot ask you to accompany me to such an area, or to help me with such a task, Miss Chilton-Grizedale. It is tedious, dirty, exhausting work.”

She lifted her chin and somehow managed to appear to look down the slope of her pert nose at him-amazing, considering he stood a good six inches taller than she. “First, there is no need to ask me, my lord, as I have offered my assistance. Second, I am quite accustomed to work and do not tire easily. And as for the docks, you need not worry about protecting me, as I am armed. Third-”

“Armed?”

“Of course.” She held her reticule aloft. “Filled with stones. One cosh to the head will fell any brigand. A very practical device I learned long ago to carry with me at all times.”

He stared at the innocent-looking beaded bag dangling from her wrist by a velvet drawstring. She’d learned this trick long ago? What sort of upbringing had the very proper Miss Chilton-Grizedale had that would warrant arming herself? “Are you normally in the habit of, er, delivering coshes to the head?”

“Hardly ever.” He raised his gaze and met eyes flickering with mischief. “Unless, of course, a gentleman makes the error of trying to dissuade me from doing something I wish to do.”

“I see. And in that case you-”

“Cosh first, then ask questions later, I’m afraid.” She twirled the little bag around in a circle, then continued in a brisk tone, “And third, the time spent together will provide the dual purpose for me to reacquaint you with some of the rules of Society you have clearly forgotten. As for this expedition proving distressing to my clothing, I harbor no fear of my garments becoming dirty, as-brace yourself-they can be laundered. And last, I shall not find any task tedious that might result in the ending of this curse. Have you seen The Times?”

“I’m afraid so, although how they gained the information about the curse, I do not know.”

“Creepers, no doubt.” At his questioning look, she clarified, “Newspaper informers. They earn their living ferreting out information-most often information that the persons involved would prefer not to have offered up for public consumption.”

“And how do they gather this information?”

“They steal or intercept correspondence, eavesdrop, bribe servants, any number of devious ways. No doubt one of them overheard us talking in St. Paul’s yesterday.”

Philip shook his head. “Incredible. The lengths that people will go… just incredible.”

“Not at all. It’s quite common. Actually, I find you dunking such a practice to be incredible quite amazing. Forgive my bluntness, my lord, but you seem to hold a rather naive view of the world, for one who is so well traveled.”

“Naive?” An incredulous laugh escaped him. “I have no illusions about people and their motives, Miss Chilton-Grizedale, and I did not have to leave England to form those opinions. If anything, my travels abroad renewed my faith in my fellow man. In one way, however, I suppose you are correct, although I would call myself ‘un-practiced’ as opposed to naive. While I have been exposed to dishonesty in many forms, my time and thoughts have, for many years, been focused on objects and people from the past. I fear I cannot claim any expertise in the area of modern human behavior. In fact, what I know of it leaves me largely unimpressed.”

She regarded him through serious eyes. “Yet I believe that human behavior is most likely very much the same today as it was hundreds, even thousands, of years ago.”

Her statement surprised him. And piqued his curiosity and interest. But before he could respond, Bakari interjected, “Invite lady to stay for breakfast? Or tea?”

Another wave of annoyance washed over Philip. What on earth was the matter with him? He might have developed a few rough edges during his time away from polite Society, but he did hold a few social graces. Unfortunately, something about Miss Chilton-Grizedale clearly did not bode well for him recalling any of his manners.

“Forgive me,” he said. “May I interest you in something to eat? Or tea, perhaps?”

“No, thank you.” Her gaze swept over his attire. “How long before you are ready to depart?”

Depart? Oh, yes. The crates. The stone. The curse. His life with Lady Sarah. “I need a few moments to collect my journals.”