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forearms on his thighs. “I wish to inquire after Gabby.”
    Every muscle in Drew’s body tensed. “You mean my sister, Lady Gabrielle?”
    Ellis twitched. “Yes, of course, Lady Gabrielle.” He chuckled, but it came out strained. “It’s difficult for me to think of her as a grown woman. I meant no disrespect.”
    Drew banged his glass on the table beside him. “She’s not a grown woman, so stop thinking about her at all.”
    “You’re right, of course.” Ellis sipped his drink, studying Drew over the rim. “But will she be presented next season?”
    Did Drew detect a note of hope in his friend’s voice?
    “What has gotten into you, gent? Do you fancy yourself in love with Gabby?” Drew’s eyes narrowed on his friend as the magnitude of what Ellis’s objectives might be dawned on him. “Don’t tell me your intentions with my sister are dishonorable unless you’d like to schedule a dawn appointment. Since we have a history, I would only wing you, but you may lose use of your arm.”
    The earl smiled indulgently, not intimidated in the least despite his knowledge of Drew’s abilities with a firearm.
    “Rest assured that I have no intentions with Lady Gabrielle. I am simply curious. She seemed to be of age at the duke’s birthday celebration.”
    “Well, you are mistaken. It could be two years yet before Gabby is presented.” Drew hoped to discourage his friend, because despite his denial, Ellis wore a familiar lovesick expression. His brother, Richard, had adopted a similar smitten appearance once he met Phoebe.
    “Two years,” Ellis muttered. “In two years it is.”
    Bloody hell. The earl was making a mental note. What type of illness plagued Ellis and Rich? First Drew’s brother leg-shackled himself to Phoebe, a lovely young woman to be sure if one must select a spouse, and it appeared Ellis desired to follow his example. But Gabby? She was a mere girl. How could Ellis consider her otherwise?
    Listening to any more of his friend’s drivel would either drive Drew batty or compel him to issue a challenge to defend Gabby’s honor. Neither prospect pleased him, so he dragged his weary frame from the chair. “I’m off to Rendell’s.”
    “Yes, well, good luck,” Ellis mumbled.
    As Drew gathered his hat and cane from the porter, Jake Hillary strolled into the gentlemen’s club. His lip curled as his sight landed on Drew. Although Drew wouldn’t have claimed friendship with Hillary, he had never considered them enemies. What had gotten into the man that night at the Eldridge ball?
    “Hillary.” He called out a jovial greeting, willing to overlook the other gentleman’s hostile behavior. “Released from your escort duties tonight, or did you leave that peach of a sister to fend for herself?”
    “She’s none of your concern,” Hillary snapped. “And don’t bother making the rounds. She is under the safety of our father’s roof tonight.”
    Make the rounds? The ballrooms were the last place Drew wanted to be. He’d finally managed to extricate himself from his association with Lady Audley and preferred to avoid any future contact. Not even the prospect of catching a glimpse of Miss Hillary would compel him to visit the horrid places.
    Jake handed his hat and gloves to the porter. “Rest assured Lana will be under my protection when we visit your brother’s estate in a few days.”
    Hell’s teeth. What care did Drew have for the Hillarys’ affairs? He tipped his hat and tried to pass, but the gentleman blocked his way.
    “I suggest you stay in London and away from my sister, if you know what’s good for you.”
    Hillary was dicked in the nob. All this fuss over a skinny redhead made no sense. Skinny redhead.
    Drew pictured Miss Hillary as she had been that evening hanging from the tree with her skirts bunched around her waist. A more accurate description might be to call her a ginger-haired beauty with long legs and an arse out of Botticelli’s Primavera .
    He met Hillary’s