“It ain’t my problem if the ladies are drawn to me,” Digger said. “A gentleman doesn’t turn ’em away if they’re askin’ for a minute or two.” His eyes slid to Pippa once more. “Ain’t that right, Lady Soon-to-be-a-countess?”

“I find it difficult to believe either that ladies are drawn to you or that, in such a case, you would act the part of a gentleman,” Pippa retorted.

“Cor! Listen to this one!” Digger laughed, the sound booming around the floor of the hell. “She’s a little mink.”

Pippa narrowed her gaze. “I believe you are looking for the word minx.”

“No, I found just the right word. You’re a mink. All sharp teeth and”—his lecherous gaze slid over her—“I’m bettin’ very soft fur. Tell me, Cross, ’ad a feel yet?”

Pippa did not understand the words’ meaning, but when Mr. Cross lunged at Digger, hands like lightning clutching the older man’s lapels with wicked force, she had no doubt that she’d been thoroughly insulted. “You will apologize to the lady.”

Digger pulled away from the grip without much effort, straightening his maroon frock coat. “Ah, not yet then, I’m guessin’,” he said smartly. “But not long of a wait now, neither. Not yer usual type, I’ll say.” He bowed low, a teasing gleam in his eye. “My apologies, Lady Soon.”

Her teeth clenched at the mocking name.

Mr. Cross spoke, quiet menace in his tone. “Leave this place.”

“Don’t you want to hear what I came to say?”

His hesitation was so slight . . . a half second . . . less. But Pippa heard it. “No.”

One side of Digger’s mouth crooked up in a smirk. “You will change your mind. I give you two days.” He waited a beat, and Pippa had the distinct impression that there was an invisible knife hovering between these two men, each strong in his own way. She wondered who held the weapon.

Digger drove its point home. “You never could resist family matters.”

Mr. Cross lifted his chin defiantly.

Digger tipped his hat to Pippa, using the movement to give her a proper leer. “As for you, Lady . . . this won’t be the last time we meet.”

“If you know what’s best for you, it will be.” Mr. Cross’s words were cold and unwavering, leaving no room for resistance.

“Nonsense. The lady ’as questions.” Digger’s blue eyes bored into hers. “I’ve answers, I do.”

Mr. Cross took a step toward them, a low, dark sound rumbling in his throat, catching Digger’s attention. He turned his wicked smile on Mr. Cross. “Another reason for you to come see me, then.”

Mr. Cross’s fury was unmistakable, sending a ripple of something not altogether pleasant through her. “Get out.”

Digger did not seem impressed, but he did not tarry. “Two days, Cross.”

With an insolent wink for Pippa, he was gone.

They stood in silence for a long moment, watching the thick velvet curtains sway with his exit, listening for the heavy sound of the main door closing behind him before Pippa released the breath she had not known she had been holding.

At the sound, Cross turned on her, grey eyes flashing and furious. “Perhaps you would like to explain how it is that you are still here?”

Chapter Three

“It occurs to me that I should have considered this course of action prior to now. After all . . . if one wishes to understand the inner workings of the goose, one must observe the gander.

The common grey goose (Anser anser) boasts one of the most easy to identify ganders in the entire goose genus. Ganders are larger than females, with broader heads and longer necks, and when they reach sexual maturity, they have a tendency toward aggressive behavior around female geese. Interestingly, males can also display intensely protective behavior toward females, though it’s often difficult to distinguish between the two types of conduct.”

The Scientific Journal of Lady Philippa Marbury

March 22, 1831; fourteen days prior to her wedding

In the interest of self-preservation, Pippa said the first thing that came to mind. “He knocked.”

“And it did not occur to you that one knocking at the door to a gaming hell might not be the kind of person with whom you would wish to become acquainted?”

For someone with a reputation for being charming and affable, he did not seem to be at all such. “I am not an imbecile, Mr. Cross.”

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Speaking the words does not make them so, Lady Philippa.”

She considered lifting her skirts and naming all the bones in her foot. Instead, she stayed quiet.

“Remaining silent might well be the first intelligent thing you’ve done today.”

“There was no one else to answer. I waited. Indeed, I was rather surprised that the gentleman was allowed to bang upon the door to his heart’s content.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “I assure you, such neglect will not occur again. And, for the record, Digger Knight is no gentleman.”

“Yes. I gather that now.” Her blue eyes narrowed behind thick lenses. “Of course, by the time I realized it . . . he was already in.”

“Would you like to explain why his hands were on your person?”

She thought it best not to reply to that. She would not like the situation to be misconstrued.

He pounced on her hesitation. “Did you ask for it? Was he your next choice for research partner?”

She hedged, looking to the door, considering escape. “Not . . . precisely.”