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barrier, from the raised threshold to the uneven flagstone floor. He took two steps before letting loose another colorful string of curses at the realization that Mr. Peabody’s premises were above stairs. He was faced with the choice between a painful climb and the humiliation of being carried.
    Harley’s obvious intention to carry him goaded him forward, and he lifted one foot to the step only to recoil before an even greater problem staring down at him from the landing and smelling of lilacs and honey.
    “Damn it to hell.” Georgiana’s eyes burned so intensely he expected them to bore holes in his face. He squeezed his eyes to shut the pity he saw there. It was more than a man should have to bear.
    The scent of lilac moved closer on the rustle of soft muslin and a deep, sensual voice said, “You may well wish me to perdition, sir, but surely our relationship hasn’t come to such a pass that you condemn me to that place without some greeting.”
    He opened his eyes and blinked twice. Fate played foul jokes with his life and left him helpless.
    “I see there is no pretense of not knowing me this time,” she went on without waiting. “We have become dinner companions, if not yet friends.” She held her mouth at a wry angle, her chin high. She expected a response. God, but she is beautiful. His body responded, whether he willed it or not.
    Andrew dipped his head in the shadow of a bow. “Lady Georgiana, no”—his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper—”no pretense at all.” He spat the last four words in a staccato rhythm and watched her expression soften. She looked at him as if she cared. He hated that more than her pestering ways.
    “As much as I might wish to tarry, I am afraid I have business to conduct just now.” He gestured up the stairs with his eyes and cane.
    “Ah, business.” Sadness and amusement moved across her expressive face and fit comfortably together. “I won’t keep you from it. However,”—she paused and looked in his eyes, demanding his full attention; he had no choice but to give it—”given your admitted lapse of manners in the past and the abrupt end to Mrs. Potter’s dinner, I think perhaps you owe me some compensation.”
    He could think of no possible response to that.
    “Dinner, Mr. Mallet. You appear to be out and about again. You will have dinner with me tomorrow night. The Rose Arbor at the foot of Regent Street isn’t exactly up to the standards of London, but they serve a pleasant dinner. It sits near Parker’s Piece. Shall we say six o’clock?” The imperious words came out in a rush.
    A slight but clearly visible flush that rose from her neck to touch her cheeks belied her confidence. No lady ordered a gentleman to sup with her, not even a Hayden. When he hesitated, she snapped, “It is perfectly respectable, and I will be chaperoned. You needn’t fear that you will be compromised for goodness sake!”
    He shook his head to stop a laugh and nodded in surrender. He would dine with her—if he could. He knew that she would try to solicit his help over dinner. He would refuse, and that would be the end of it.
    “I will dine with you, Lady Georgiana.”
    “Tomorrow night?”
    If she believes that to be possible, I must have masked my condition better than I thought. “Certainly.” He nodded. Move on before I collapse, Georgiana. I will deal with you later.
    She smiled tightly. “Until then, Mr. Mallet.”
    Andrew labored up the first step while she passed. She looked for a moment as if she wanted to assist him, but he glared, without yielding, into her troubled blue eyes. He could see her accept just how unwelcome it would be and pull back.
    A moment later she was gone, and his shoulders sagged. “Harley,” he whispered.
    “I know. I’ve got ye.”

Chapter 8
    Once again he didn’t come. Only a fool would have expected him to.
    John, the footman, arrived with the news just as her maid, frustrated by her mistress’s uncharacteristic indecision about