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thought him ancient. He was barely eight years older than Pixie. Only just approaching thirty, for God’s sake. It wasn’t as if he really needed a cane to steady himself.
    “What happened to her?”
    “Didn’t she tell you?” Jack didn’t want to talk, so he kept his eyes firmly on the next bill.
    “No. She hasn’t explained anything, and I am too afraid to bring the matter up myself. I don’t like that she is so timid.”
    “I cannot break my sister’s confidence. Even for you. She will tell you when she is ready.”
    “Why is she afraid of physical contact?”
    Jack ground his teeth. She wasn’t going to apologize for her ridiculous comment about his age? How typical. “She was hurt.”
    “By whom?”
    “I cannot explain without breaking my promise.” He had hoped that after a week, Virginia might have confided the secret herself. But it appeared his plan hadn’t worked so well, after all.
    “The housekeeper doesn’t forget that you don’t eat fowl, does she?”
    Jack sighed. “Of course not, but the housekeeper says she does every week. It makes the discussions livelier than they could normally be.”
    “You are a very good brother.”
    “Flattery? Why thank you. Any day now, I will have you calling me by my first name again. But then the world will stop turning.” And according to Pixie, he’d be too old to enjoy it. Jack grimaced.
    Pixie moved to stand behind his left shoulder. “Where does the tally now stand?”
    Even as the light scent of roses reached his nose, one delicious enough to salivate over, he shook himself back to the task at hand. “The debt stands at a little under nineteen thousand pounds, but I still have the last two months to include. I should be able to make a guess at the missing months’ regular expenses.”
    “Nineteen?”
    The fact that Mrs. Grange had managed to hide and delay the revelation of these accumulated debts irked him. He should have known the harridan would play fast and loose with Pixie’s future in retribution to his refusal. But Mrs. Grange’s behavior would ruin Pixie. She’d be terrified. “I fear so. It is a sickness your mother has. I hope you are not afflicted with it.”
    “No, I do not gamble, Ettington. Luck does not hold.”
    “I am glad to hear it.” Actually, Jack was not just glad—he was overjoyed. When Mrs. Grange eventually passed, Pixie would not have to contend with this issue once the current mess was dealt with. But her mother needed a tighter leash to control her gambling habits or they would enter Fleet before Pixie reached two and twenty.
    Thinking of anyone he knew in that horrible place made Jack’s blood boil. He threw off his coat and waistcoat, and then loosened his cravat, pacing to rid himself of his agitation. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the mantelpiece, he stalked back to the long table, pouring as he moved, then tossed it back before pouring another.
    He downed the second glass, and then looked across the room. Pixie’s eyes were about to fall out of her head at his undressing. He smiled and a bright flush of color swept over her cheeks. Her gaze locked in the middle of his chest, then swept upward to his bare throat. As he removed his cravat, Pixie swallowed. Jack found her reaction fascinating. Despite the sharp tongue, Pixie was still innocent. Yet she didn’t turn away or berate him as usual. It was almost as if she had never thought of him as a man before.
    The idea was supremely lowering. He’d been appointed as her guardian, not her grandfather.
    Jack cleared his throat to draw her attention upward to his face. “Perhaps you should retire for the night. There is a great deal left to contend with and I would prefer to be comfortable to do it.”
    “I cannot leave you here alone to sort out my problems.”
    Jack tugged a waistcoat button undone. “Why not? I did agree to help.”
    “Help, yes, but not do everything.” Pixie turned her back to him and fussed with the papers. Her flustered