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Not since Lily.

Lily, with her open laughter and quick wit. With her scent of honey and her bright, intelligent eyes that shone even in a dimly lit room. There was no comparison.

“I do not wish to receive a visit,” he said sharply, his tone resolute.

Harriet arched a brow and took in the chamber with a mocking gaze. “Your home is … quaintly Gothic.”

He fought the flush rising in his neck, determined to see her out before further damage could be done. “Be that as it may,” he said coldly, striding across the room to throw open the door Michaels had so thoughtlessly closed, “I do not receive visitors without invitation.”

Before he could call for a footman, Harriet advanced again, lifting her hand slightly, her fingers brushing the air near his coat in a gesture that hovered … too familiar, too bold. Brendan took a measured step back, spine straightening, his presence hardening like a shuttered door. The impropriety of the moment hung in the air between them, unmistakable and uninvited.

“You cannot prefer that silly debutante to me,” she murmured, her voice dropping into an insinuating hush.

Brendan stared at her, astonished. “It is time for you to go,” he said, voice low with tightly controlled anger.

Harriet swayed slightly, the boldness in her face flickering into uncertainty. “You would not discard me the way Perry Balfour did last year, would you? I am … fashionable. Admired. Most gentlemen are honored to spend time with me.”

Brendan shut his eyes in horror. Was Harriet having a sodding crisis of the soul? And was he not a thorough idiot for picking up with her after Perry had left Town to marry little Emma Davis? Perry had warned him to stay away from the widow, but Brendan had thought he could handle her.

“I beg of you. You must leave at once.”

It would seem he was now going to pay for his error in judgment involving Lady Slight yet again. His association with this particular widow was proving to be a very poor choice.

Somehow, he needed to get the viscountess out of his home before Lily returned. It would be the height of disrespect for his bride to find his former paramour in her new home. But how to remove the viscountess expediently, without wounding her dignity?

He did not know how to march a woman out, and his skills of diplomacy were failing him in such an unprecedented situation.

Brendan had never had an overlap with the women he was pursuing. He had always been a one-woman kind of man, so there had never been any jealous lovers or unseemly displays of emotion. His affairs had always ended naturally, both parties happy to move on. He did not seek drama in his life, an unfortunate hindrance now, as he had no relevant experience in disentangling himself from someone like Harriet.

I must get her out before Lily returns.

Carefully, he lifted his hands and placed them with deliberate restraint near her arms, an unmistakable signal to create distance, not contact.

“Harriet,” he said in a quiet, unyielding tone, “please step back.”

She did not. Instead, her posture shifted forward, the fabric of her gown brushing his coat as she closed the space between them, her face far too near.

It felt all wrong. Every inch of him recoiled. He wanted his little chatterbox with her quick wit and luminous smile, not this forced intimacy, not this painful shadow of a past mistake.

Brendan took another step back, but Harriet leaned in again, her presence oppressive. He shifted, attempting to guide her back without insult, but she clung to him like a woman desperate to reclaim something already lost.

“Good evening, Wesley. Do you happen to know where Lord Filminster is at the moment?”

Lily had decided to find Brendan forthwith to discuss the gossip in the news sheet that morning. She ought to have spoken to him earlier, when the opportunity had presented itself, because her anxiety over it had grown exponentially on the way home from Sophia.

Ordinarily, Lily preferred to tackle worrying issues as quickly as possible. She hated having thoughts fester in her head, and there could be no more poisonous fear than the notion of her husband being unfaithful with the voluptuous widow. Brendan had done nothing to deserve mistrust, so she must simply speak with him.

“His lordship is … in the … library.” Wesley’s pleasant face was stiff, and he was clearly reluctant to impart Brendan’s whereabouts. Lily’s brows drew together in query, but the footman merely turned a ruddy shade before darting off to put away her bonnet and pelisse.

Heading down the dim hall in the opposite direction the servant had taken, with First John trailing a few feet behind, Lily saw the library door standing open and moved to walk through it.

She stopped in shock.

Her gaze collided with the unwelcome sight of Lady Slight far too close to Brendan in the doorway, her arms wrapped around him in a way that made Lily’s stomach twist. Her head began to swim. She realized she had stopped breathing.

Inhaling a reedy breath, her eyes flickered to Brendan, who appeared … appalled.

Appalled he has been caught?