And when he was shown into the lady’s drawing room to find her three, three!, Mastiffs flopped in front of the fire he scowled at them and said, “I am utterly disappointed in you, Lady Haywood. I thought you ferocious like one of your dogs. But you ran from my brother the moment he descended on us.” She’d run, and he’d chased after her. Was still chasing after her. “Perhaps I was using him to make my escape, Mr. Sinclair.” He turned to her then, his breath catching at the simple black day gown she wore. Simple and plain and so thin he could see the layer underneath. And the next layer and the next. He thought she must be wearing nearly ten sheer layers, and while he couldn’t see anything but material, he couldn’t seem to stop trying. He looked back up into eyes that knew exactly what he was thinking, and Sinclair handed her a scrap of paper. “My reference.” She took it and looked down at it.
