Anne replied, turning around. “I see I would have lost my guinea.” Her tongue stilled as she saw the incredibly handsome man standing in the doorway. He looked to be just under six feet tall, and his slender yet athletic physique showed his close-fitting blue superfine coat and pantaloons of ribbed kerseymere off to advantage. The soft frills of his shirt fell above a buff waistcoat, and a pristinely white neckcloth contrasted sharply with his dark complexion and black hair. He smiled at Anne and walked leisurely towards her. “One should never make wagers on things of which one has insufficient knowledge. If you will notice, the figures are less robust and the background less distinct than in a Rubens.” He made a graceful bow as he came up to her. “Henry Stanton, Marquess of Talford. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Miss Amberly or Miss Southwell?” “My lord,” She curtseyed, trying again to place the familiar-sounding name, “I am Anne Southwell. Thank you for giving us shelter here.”
