growled Lord Pomeroy to his sister. “You cannot hide behind Miss Hartwell’s skirts any longer,” she pointed out. “I do not understand how a diplomat—and a buck of the first stare!—can be so bashful at making the acquaintance of an inoffensive young woman.” “I am not bashful, merely suffering in anticipation of an evening of intolerable boredom.” “Hush, now, here they come.” A glance in the mirror over the fireplace assured Bertram that his blue coat clung unwrinkled to his broad shoulders and his cravat, in a spirit of irony tied in a trône d’amour, was perfection itself. He turned an imperturbable face towards the door. “Sir James and Lady Sutton,” announced Braithwaite. “Miss Sutton, Miss Elizabeth Sutton, and Lord Winterborne.” Bertram did not hear the rest of the names, nor notice the lady his sister intended him to woo. His shocked gaze was fixed on the face of the one gentleman above almost all others that he least desired to meet. Lord Daniel’s brother!
