His lips quirked. "I'm acquainted with your grandfather."

A disbelieving look was her reply. "I suppose you're going to tell me I look like him?"

A short laugh, soft and deep, feathered across her senses. "Now you mention it, I believe there is a faint resemblance-about the chin, perhaps?"

Honoria glared.

"Now that," her tormentor remarked, "is very like old Magnus."

She frowned. "What is?"

He took a slow sip, his eyes holding hers. "Magnus Anstruther-Wetherby is an irascible old gentleman, atrociously high in the instep and as stubborn as bedamned."

"You know him well?"

"Only to nod to-my father knew him better."

Uncertain, Honoria watched him sip; her full name was no state secret-she simply didn't care to use it, to claim relationship with that irascible, stubborn old gentleman in London.

"There was a second son, wasn't there?" Her rescuer studied her musingly. "He defied Magnus over… I remember-he married against Magnus's wishes. One of the Montgomery girls. You're their daughter?"

Stiffly, Honoria inclined her head.

"Which brings us back to my question, Miss Anstruther

Wetherby. What the deuce are you doing here, gracing our quiet backwater?"

Honoria hesitated; there was a restlessness in the long limbs, a ripple of awareness-not of her, but of the body on the pallet behind them-that suggested conversation was his need. She lifted her chin. "I'm a finishing governess."

"A finishing governess?"

She nodded. "I prepare girls for their come-out-I only remain with the families for the year before."

He eyed her with fascinated incredulity. "What in all the heavens does old Magnus think of that?"

"I've no idea. I've never sought his opinion." He laughed briefly-that same throaty, sensuous sound; Honoria suppressed an urge to wriggle her shoulders. Then he sobered. "What happened to your family?"