Positioning herself behind her uncle’s chair, Leonora didn’t miss the rather more puzzled look in Jeremy’s brown eyes. Plain brown, not hazel. Comforting, not razor-sharp.

Like the eyes of the gentleman who walked into the room in Castor’s wake.

“The Earl of Trentham.”

Pronouncement made, Castor bowed and withdrew, closing the door.

Trentham had paused just before it, his gaze raking the company; as the latch clicked, he smiled. His charming mask very much to the fore, he walked toward the group about the hearth.

Leonora hesitated, suddenly unsure.

Trentham’s gaze lingered on her face, waiting…then he looked at Humphrey.

Who gripped his chair’s arms and, with obvious effort, started to rise. Leonora quickly stepped close to lend a hand.

“I pray you won’t disturb yourself, Sir Humphrey.” With a graceful gesture, Trentham waved Humphrey back. “I’m grateful for your time in seeing me.” He bowed, acknowledging Humphrey’s formal nod. “I was passing and hoped you would forgive the informality as we are in effect neighbors.”

“Indeed, indeed. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I understand you’re making some changes at Number 12 prior to settling in?”

“Purely cosmetic, to make the place more habitable.”

Humphrey waved at Jeremy. “Allow me to present my nephew, Jeremy Carling.”

Jeremy, who had risen, reached across the desk and shook hands. Initially politely, but as his gaze met Trentham’s, his eyes widened; interest flared across his face. “I say! You’re a military man, aren’t you?”

Leonora looked at Trentham, stared. How had she missed it? His stance alone should have alerted her, but combined with that faint tan and his hardened hands…

Self-preservatory instincts flared and had her mentally stepping well back.

“Ex-military.” With Jeremy clearly waiting, wanting to know, Trentham added, “I was a major in the Guards.”

“You’ve sold out?” Jeremy had what Leonora considered an unhealthy interest in the recent campaigns.

“After Waterloo, many of us did.”

“Are your friends ex-Guards, too?

“They are.” Glancing at Humphrey, Trentham went on, “That’s why we bought Number 12. A place to meet that’s more private and quieter than our clubs. We’re not used to the bustle of town life anymore.”

“Aye, well, I can understand that.” Humphrey, never one for tonnish life, nodded feelingly. “You’ve come to the right pocket of London for peace and quiet.”

Swiveling, Humphrey looked up at Leonora, smiled. “Nearly forgot you there, my dear.” He looked back at Trentham. “My niece, Leonora.”

She curtsied.

Trentham’s gaze held hers as he bowed. “Actually, I encountered Miss Carling earlier in the street.”

Encountered? She leapt in before Humphrey or Jeremy could wonder. “Lord Trentham was leaving as I went out. He was good enough to introduce himself.”

Their gazes met, directly, briefly. She looked down at Humphrey.

Her uncle was appraising Trentham; he clearly approved of what he saw. He waved to the chaise on the other side of the hearth. “But do sit down.”

Trentham looked at her. Gestured to the chaise. “Miss Carling?”

The chaise sat two. There was no other seat; she would have to sit beside him. She met his gaze. “Perhaps I should order tea?”

His smile took on an edge. “Not on my account, I pray.”

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