The letter dispatched in the care of a groom, he rang for Hungerford.

Dealing with his butler was bliss; Hungerford never questioned, never made difficulties, but could be counted on to ensure that, even if difficulties did arise and his orders no longer fitted the situation, that his intent would be accomplished.

Telling Hungerford that he proposed protecting his intended bride from social and even possibly physical attack by installing her under this roof, within the purlieu of Hungerford’s overall care, was all it took to get everything in Upper Brook Street ready.

He had little notion of what arrangements would be required to prepare the house to receive not only the widowed Miranda and her daughters, ten and twelve years old, but his prospective bride, her family, and her household, but he was sure his staff under Hungerford’s direction would meet the challenge.

Beaming, clearly delighted with his orders, Hungerford retreated. Tony considered the clock; it was not yet noon.

He debated the wisdom of his next act at some length; eventually, he rose, and headed for Hendon House.

At two o’clock, he paused beside Collier, leaning on his street sweeper’s broom at the corner of Waverton Street.

The big man nodded in greeting. “Just missed her, you have. She returned from some luncheon, then immediately headed off with the three lads and their tutor to the park. Kites today, if you’ve a mind to join them.”

“And Miss Pevensey?”

“Lord Manningham called ’bout eleven and took her up in his curricle. They haven’t returned.”

Tony nodded. “I’m going to talk to the staff, then perhaps I’ll fly a kite.” He paused, then added, “I plan to move Mrs. Carrington and her household to Upper Brook Street, but I’ll want you and the others to keep up your watch here. I’ll leave Scully and one other in residence, to keep all possibilities covered.”

Collier nodded. “When will this move happen?”

Today if Tony had his way. Realistically…“At the earliest tomorrow, late in the day.”

Leaving Collier, Tony strode on; reaching Alicia’s house, he went quickly up the steps. Maggs answered the door.

Tony frowned; Maggs forestalled him. “Scully’s with ’em. No need to fret.”

His frown darkening at the thought that he was that transparent, he crossed the threshold. “I want to speak with the staff—all of you who are here. It might be best if I came down to the kitchens.”

From beneath the wide branches of one of the trees in Green Park, Alicia watched, a smile on her lips, as Scully and Jenkins wrestled with the second of the two kites they’d brought out.

The first kite, under Harry’s narrow-eyed guidance, was soaring over the treetops. David was watching Scully and Jenkins, a pitying look in his face; Matthew’s eyes were glued to the blue-and-white kite swooping and swirling above the trees.

“There you are.”

She turned at the words, knowing before she met Tony’s eyes that it was he. “As always.”

Smiling, she gave him her hand; his eyes locking on hers, he raised it to his lips and pressed kisses first to her fingers, then to her palm. Retaining possession, he lowered his hand, fingers sliding about hers, and looked out at the scene in the clearing before them.

“I wonder…” He glanced at her, raised a brow.

“Should I rescue Jenkins and Scully from sinking without trace in your brothers’ estimation?”

She grinned; leaning back against the tree trunk, she gestured. “By all means. I’ll watch and judge your prowess.”

Over numerous afternoons, he’d taught the boys the tricks of keeping their kites aloft. He’d transparently enjoyed the moments; something inside her had rejoiced to see him caught again in what must have been a boyhood pleasure.

“Hmm.” Studying the kite flyers, he hesitated; she got the impression he was steeling himself to resist the lure of the kites and do something else, something he was reluctant to do.

A moment passed, then he looked at her. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you.”

She widened her eyes, inviting him to continue.

Still he hesitated; his eyes searched hers—abruptly she realized he was metaphorically girding his loins.

“I want you to move house.”

She frowned at him. “Move? But why? Waverton Street suits us—”

“For safety reasons. Precautions.” He trapped her gaze.

“I don’t want you or your household subjected to any repeat of yesterday.”

She had no wish to argue that; no one had enjoyed the experience. But… she let her frown grow. “How will a different house avoid…” The intentness in his black eyes registered. Her lips parted; she stared, then baldly asked, “To which house do you wish us to move?”

His lips thinned. “Mine.”

“No.”

“Before you say that, just consider—living under my roof you’ll have the protection not just of my title, my status, but also of all those allied with me and my family.” His eyes pinned her. “So will your sister and brothers.”

Folding her arms, she narrowed her eyes back. “For the moment, let’s leave Adriana and the boys out of this discussion—it hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re always quick to drag them into the fray.”

He scowled at her. “They’re part of it—they’re part of you.”

“Perhaps. Be that as it may, you can’t seriously think—”

He cut her off with a raised hand. “Hear me out. If it’s the proprieties that are exercising you, my cousin and her two young daughters—they’re ten and twelve—will be arriving tomorrow. With Miranda in residence, there’s no reason—social, logical, or otherwise—that you and your household cannot stay at Torrington House. It’s a mansion—there’s more than enough room.”

“But…” She stared at him. The words: I’m your mistress, for heaven’s sake! burned her tongue. Compressing her lips, she fixed him with a strait look, and primly asked, “What will your staff think?”

What she meant was: what will the entire ton think. To be his mistress was one thing; the ton turned a blind eye to affairs between gentlemen such as he and fashionable widows. However, to be his mistress and live openly under his roof was, she was fairly certain, going that one step too far.

His expression had turned bewildered. “My staff?”

“Your servants. Those who would have to adjust to and cope with the invasion.”

“As it happens, they’re delighted at the prospect.” His frown returned. “I can’t imagine why you’d think otherwise. My butler’s going around with a smile threatening to crack his face, and the staff are buzzing about, getting rooms ready.”

She blinked, suddenly uncertain. If his butler thought her living in the Upper Brook Street mansion was acceptable… she’d always understood tonnish butlers to be second only to the grandes dames in upholding the mores of the ton.

Tony sighed. “I know we haven’t properly discussed it, but there isn’t time. Just because we’ve trumped A. C.’s last three tricks doesn’t mean he won’t try again.” His expression resolute, he met her eyes. “That he’s tried three times to implicate you suggests he’s fixated on the idea of using you to cover his tracks. I’m sure he’ll try again.”

An inkling of why he was so set on moving her into his house, having her, at least for the present, under his roof, reached her. She hesitated.

He sensed it. Shifting closer, he pressed his point. “There’s a huge schoolroom with bedrooms attached, and rooms for Jenkins and Fitchett nearby. There’s a back garden the boys can play in when they’re not having their lessons—and the staff truly are looking forward to having boys running up and down the stairs again.”

Despite all, that last made her smile.

He squeezed her hand, raised it to his chest. “You and the boys and Adriana will be comfortable and safe at Torrington House. You’ll be happy there.”

And he’d be happy if she was there, too—that didn’t need saying, it was there in his eyes.

“Please.” The word was soft. “Come and live with me.”

Her heart turned over; her resolution wavered.

“There’s no reason at all you can’t—no hurdle we can’t overcome.”

Lost in his eyes, she pressed her lips tight.

Felt a tug on her gown. She looked down.

Matthew stood beside them; neither of them had noticed his approach. Face alight, he stared first at one, then the other, then breathlessly asked, “Are we really going to live at Tony’s house?”

By the time they got back to Waverton Street, Alicia had a headache. A frown had taken up permanent residence on her face; she couldn’t seem to lose it.

She was seriously annoyed, not specifically but generally—she couldn’t blame Tony for involving her brothers, but involved they now were, and determined to convince her of the huge benefits of removing with all speed to Torrington House.

If Tony was ruthless, they were relentless. She went up the steps, shooing them before her, feeling almost battered.

Despite their arguments, she felt very sure she needed to think long and hard about this latest proposition. She needed to investigate, and make sure that her presence in his house wouldn’t harm his standing.

Nor make her own any more perilous.

“Off to wash your hands. No tea until you do.”

It was blackberry jam day again, so they rushed off without argument.

With a short sigh, she swung to face Tony.

He was watching her closely. “Come and sit down.”

She let him steer her to the parlor. Scully and Jenkins disappeared. Sinking onto the chaise, she fixed Tony with a darkling glance. “I haven’t agreed.”

He inclined his head and, wisely, made no reply.

Tea should have soothed her temper. Unfortunately, her brothers were not so perspicacious as Tony; although clever enough not to directly argue their case, their artful comments, tossed entirely among themselves, on the possibilities they imagined might accrue should they go to live in Upper Brook Street—possibilities like having suitable banisters to slide down, possibilities they innocently requested advice on from Tony—filled the minutes.

She kept her lips shut and refused to be drawn.

Then she heard the front door open, and Adriana’s and Geoffrey’s voices. She turned as they came in.

Adriana’s face glowed. “We had a lovely drive around Kew. The gardens were well worth the visit.”

Alicia sat forward and reached for the spare teacups, wondering how to broach the subject of Tony’s proposed move, preferably in a way that would ensure her sister’s cooperation in holding back what had started to feel like an inexorable tide.

Adriana tossed her bonnet onto the window seat, took the cup of tea Alicia had poured to Geoffrey, sitting in the second armchair, then sat beside Alicia on the chaise. Taking the cup she handed her, Adriana’s gaze went to Geoffrey; he was being served crumpets and jam by Harry and Matthew.

Following her gaze, Alicia watched, noted. Despite their love of crumpets, the boys had readily shared; they’d accepted Geoffrey, not perhaps in the same unquestioning way they’d accepted Tony, yet they clearly counted him one of their small circle and trusted him.

Smiling, Adriana turned to her. “Geoffrey told me about Tony’s suggestion that we move to Upper Brook Street.” She sipped, then met Alicia’s eyes. “It sounds an excellent idea…” Her voice trailed away; seeing Alicia’s reaction, she blinked. “Isn’t it?”

Alicia looked at Tony. He returned her regard steadily, giving not an inch. She glanced at Geoffrey, but he was— quite deliberately she was sure—chatting with her brothers about the merits of blackberry jam.

Slowly, she drew breath, then met Adriana’s gaze. “I don’t know.” The unvarnished truth.

“Well—”

Adriana tried to persuade her all over again; her arguments echoed Tony’s, yet were sufficiently different to assure Alicia he hadn’t been so foolish as to plot with her sister against her.

He knew the thought crossed her mind; when, recognizing her suspicion was misplaced, she glanced at him, he searched her eyes, then faintly raised a brow. Raising his cup, he calmly sipped. And left her fighting a rear-guard action against everyone else in the room.

Her brothers didn’t press her directly; instead, they supported and elaborated on Adriana’s themes. And then Geoffrey, more quietly but also more seriously and with considerably more weight, threw his support behind Adriana and Tony.

Looking into Geoffrey’s steady brown gaze, Alicia felt her resistance waver. She could see why Geoffrey wanted Adriana and the rest of them under Tony’s roof. Glancing at Tony, she knew the same reason was a significant part of his motivation, too. Was she being irrational in refusing to agree?