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unusual
discretion, he could stumble over his pretense and find himself
engaged. Last night had been a simple error on his part: He’d let
the cards distract him. And that mistake had become today’s on-dit, interpreted in such a way as to embarrass everyone
involved.
    “Everyone” included his grandmother. For all
practical purposes she had been the one to introduce them. Miss
Lambert had caught her eye and, without a ducal granddaughter,
cousin, or niece making a debut this year, it was entirely possible
his grandmama would make Miss Lambert her protégée. Heaven help
them both if that happened.
    He groaned again. What he really must do was
pay a call on his grandmother and convince her that Miss Lambert
was not a candidate for the coveted position of Braedon wife.
    Of course that meant that the delectable Miss
Lambert could not be considered for any other part in his life. He
acknowledged some disappointment. She was lovely, lively, and had
not seemed at all averse to a flirtation. Just as well it was not
to be, he rationalized. Girls in their first Season were not in his
usual style. They were too easily hurt and rarely understood the
finer points of dalliance. But Christiana Lambert had been a rare
one. He’d been tempted to make an exception with her. The feeling
that wedged itself right under his heart must be hunger, Morgan
decided. He’d delayed breakfast too long.
    Roberts cleared his throat and Morgan
realized that the man was still waiting to be dismissed. He waved a
hand at his valet and the man moved to leave, then turned back. “I
believe your brother arrived last night and will be waiting below.
Perhaps he can advise you.”
    As unwanted as the news was, Morgan hid his
surprise. “James is here?”
    “No, milord. I am speaking of your younger
brother, Lord Rhys.”
    A reprieve only, he thought. Eventually James
would arrive. There was at least one good thing about having Rhys
in residence, Morgan thought. He never read the gossip columns.
    The breakfast room was bright, the curtains
pulled open to encourage the rare burst of London sunshine. Rhys
looked up from an empty plate. “Happy to see me?”
    “Most days.” Morgan made the concession, but
was more honest with himself. I need your honesty, your
enthusiasm. Yes, I’m devilish glad you’re here.
    Then he spied his brother’s empty plate. He
could smell bacon and ham, but saw little more than dirty dishes on
the sideboard. “Did you leave me any food at all, you pig?”
    Rhys grinned at the welcome. Morgan reached
for a muffin as his brother grabbed the last piece of toast and
slathered it with strawberry preserve.
    Before he could ask, Rhys announced his
reason for the rare Town visit. “Morgan, I have an appointment with
the Astronomer Royal.” Rhys made it sound as though he had an
audience with the King.
    Morgan nodded and bit back a grin as Rhys
prattled on about comets. His brother had been fascinated with the
night sky since childhood. It did not appear he was going to grow
out of it.
    Morgan stood up and tossed his napkin on the
table. “Your meeting is tomorrow?”
    When Rhys nodded, Morgan welcomed an
inspiration. “I’m off to visit our grandmother. Come with me. With
you along she is much less likely to try to convince me of the joys
of the married state.”
    Rhys shook his head without even a hint of
regret.
    “If you called with a day-old beard she might
be less inclined to treat you like a lad.” Morgan leaned closer and
took on an exaggerated air of supplication.
    Rhys rubbed his beard. “No, she will guess I
traveled by moonlight and rant at me while she calls for a razor.
No, Morgan, I am going to wait. I will call on her when I am
ready....”
    “To be treated like her favorite?” Morgan
suggested, as he straightened and turned for the door.
    Rhys threw a napkin at his brother and was
reaching for a piece of muffin. Morgan escaped before their
conversation descended into a food-throwing contest that