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earl, and the two resumed their journey.
    “Do you reside in London all year, then, my lord?” asked Gillian, dimly aware that she was, perhaps, being a bit presumptuous. It was none of her concern, after all, where the earl whiled away his life.
    “Yes.” The warmth of his gaze told her he had taken no offense. “I’ve made my residence in Town since I sold out, and—”
    “Sold out?” Gillian’s voice lifted.
    “Yes,” the earl said again. “I was in the army for several years after I came down from Oxford.” He lifted his brows, and now there was a certain stiffness in his tone. “You seem surprised.”
    Gillian laughed self-consciously. “Oh, no! That is ... you don’t have the look of a military man.”
    At this, a definite flash leapt into his lordship’s eyes. “Really?” he asked coolly. “Not enough swagger, do you think? Or, perhaps I should sport a set of mustachios.”
    Gillian put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I am sorry! My wretched tongue. I only meant that...” She trailed off in embarrassment.
    Lord Cordray laughed. “Never mind. Even during the thick of the fracas with the Corsican Monster, I never considered myself a military man, so I suppose it’s not surprising that I don’t look like one.”
    Gillian returned his smile tentatively and changed the conversation to a lighter subject. They rode companionably, and it was not long before the outlines of Rose Cottage could be seen. They turned toward the stable yard, where a young man ran out to greet them. Cord was somewhat surprised. Did the Folsome family coffers extend to more than one groom? Sir Henry was obviously not the impoverished academic he had envisioned. Once Gillian had been assisted to the ground, Cord prepared to remount.
    “I am pleased to have made your acquaintance, Miss Tate. I hope—”
    “But are you not coming in?” Gillian bit her lip. Why in the world had she said that? She had the feeling that the less she had to do with this man the better for her well-being. In addition, though he had come to her rescue, she certainly did not want him to think she wished to push the acquaintance to something more.
    Indeed, Cord felt some surprise at the invitation, but answered immediately. “It is certainly my intention to pay a call on your aunt and uncle—and you, of course— but it’s very early, and I thought ... If it would not be an inconvenience, however,” he continued hastily, observing her obvious discomfiture, “I am most anxious to meet Sir Henry and his sister. Will they mind receiving a visitor at this hour?”
    “Oh, no. Both are early risers, and they will no doubt have been apprised of the ominous circumstances of Falstaff’s riderless return. They fret so over me, you see, and are no doubt watching for my safe return.”
    As though in answer to her words, a window in an upper story at the back of the house was thrown open. From it a head protruded, covered with thinning gray hair. A pair of spectacles clung to the tip of the man’s rather bulbous nose, and his plump jowls were quivering under a strong emotion.
    “Gillian! Gillian, what the devil do you mean by it? It’s gone, by God, and I well know who is responsible! You will come to my study immediately!”
     

Chapter Three
     
    Miss Tate swung about to face Cord. He noted with interest that she blushed very becomingly. He also observed that she was breathing very rapidly, an activity that did interesting things to her upper body.
    “On the other hand,” she said after a moment, “I do not wish to importune you. I’m sure you have much to do right now. Perhaps, as you said, later in the day would be more convenient. I’m sure . . .”
    A spurt of unholy amusement surged through Cord. If he had an ounce of conscience—or social sense—he reflected briefly, he would exit this intriguing scene. On the other hand, if he were possessed of either, how many times would he be forced to leave his admittedly overactive curiosity