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Which might well explain his purpose this evening.

The thought left a trace of disappointment, though she tried not to let it linger. Peering down again, Lily saw Mr. Ridley standing alone as his carriage rolled away into the night. Just as she had suspected, he turned and crossed the street with purpose, his long stride taking him directly to Lady Slight’s front steps.

She watched as he knocked. The butler answered, and Mr. Ridley stepped inside without hesitation.

Lily sighed and turned slowly back to her book, though the words now blurred before her eyes.

What might it be like to know him better? To discover if his conversation matched the quiet confidence of his bearing? Did he think her merely a young girl with too many opinions, or might he, if he were truly looking, see her as a woman worthy of consideration?

She would probably never know.

Such a waste that a gentleman so affable, so intriguing, should devote his time to a woman like Lady Slight, a viper of the first order, who had once stirred strife between Sophia’s brother-in-law, Perry, and the woman he now so happily called his wife.

When Brendan finally reached Harriet’s townhouse, he was disappointed to learn she had not yet returned as promised. The butler, unperturbed by a gentleman caller at such an hour, accepted Brendan’s word that the lady was expecting him and showed him upstairs to the first-floor rooms without comment.

In her private drawing room, Brendan tossed his gloves aside, poured a glass of wine, and settled into a well-cushioned armchair. He stretched his legs out before him, the weight of the day heavy in every muscle. Sipping slowly, he let his gaze drift toward the empty fireplace. The hour was late, and between the early start and the exertion of carrying young Ashby, fatigue wrapped around him like a thick fog.

Setting the half-drunk glass aside, he leaned his head back and let his eyes close. Within moments, sleep overtook him.

When Brendan stirred again, it was to the unmistakable sounds of Lady Harriet Slight returning home in full voice. Her bright instructions to the servants floated upward through the house. Still bleary, Brendan blinked and rubbed his eyes, groaning as he sat up and felt the stiff protest of his shoulders. A clock chimed in the hallway below, and he tried to count the hour, uncertain whether it was four or five. Either would mean it was time he took his leave.

As he rose, Harriet swept into the drawing room in a flourish of silk and perfume, pausing in surprise when she saw him.

For a moment, they both stared.

Lady Slight, widow of a viscount whose life had ended not long after their marriage, was every bit as striking as ever. Her flaming red hair was arranged in careful ringlets that framed her perfect face. Though her gown was cut in the latest daring fashion, it was her animated presence that drew the eye more than anything else.

“Brendan! I completely forgot we had plans,” she said with a musical laugh. “After the coronation, I was spirited off to a soirée. Or three, if I am truthful. It was a whirl of introductions and sparkling conversation with all the best of society. I do hope you found a way to keep busy while I was gone?”

Brendan suppressed the flicker of annoyance rising in his chest. Though Harriet was often amusing company, her unreliability wore thinner with each encounter. He could now understand why Perry had left the brief association behind with little ceremony.

Perhaps our time is drawing to a close.

The familiar weight of ennui settled once again across Brendan’s shoulders, a heavy cloak dragging at his limbs. He resisted the urge to sit back down on the settee and drift off once more. But he remembered he had to see the baron this morning.

It was time to leave.

Finding a new companion would be an inconvenience at present, and maintaining his current understanding with Lady Harriet was easier for him if he wished to avoid nights alone at his club. The alternative might offer peace and solitude, but it lacked the warmth and comfort of a feminine companion.

“Of course.” He stepped forward and pressed a courteous kiss to her cheek, breathing in the gentle scent of rose water lingering on her skin. No man could deny that Harriet was a charming woman—vivacious, confident, with a sparkle in her gaze and graceful curves.

Stepping back, he offered a smile. “Did you enjoy your evening?”

“What a day of marvels!” she declared with a merry laugh. “We shall never again see a coronation so grand. They say it surpassed the one held for that little French tyrant himself. Did you know a tailor went all the way to Paris to study the emperor’s robe?”

“I heard a veritable fortune was spent on the festivities,” Brendan said dryly. If there was sarcasm in his tone, it was lost on her.

“It was glorious!” she continued, her cheeks pink with either excitement or, perhaps, a touch too much champagne.

Brendan chuckled. “I am glad you enjoyed yourself. It sounds like quite the night.”

“Night, darling? I returned at six o’clock in the morning! Proof, if ever there was, of a successful outing.”

Brendan blinked. “Six o’clock? I must go!” He snatched his gloves from the side table and muttered a quiet curse. It was not that he feared the baron would cut him off—forfend such a public embarrassment!—but Brendan had no desire to worsen their already strained relationship without a clever strategy to send the baron packing back to Somerset.

He made for the door, ignoring Harriet’s slightly offended expression as he passed.

There were matters more pressing than morning pleasantries. He needed to get home.