“How many times must I warn you about your fidgeting?” Christopher admonished. “It betrays a weakness that begs to be exploited.”

“My apologies.” The youth adjusted his spectacles and coughed.

“No need to apologize. Simply correct it. Stand straight, no slouching, and look me in the eye like an equal.”

“But I am not your equal!” Philip protested, pausing midstride, looking for a moment very much like the five-year-old child who had appeared on Christopher’s doorstep orphaned, beaten, and destitute.

“No, you are not,” Christopher agreed, moving as required to facilitate his disrobing, “but you must attempt to face me as one. Respect is earned here and in the world at large. No one will give it to you simply because you are pleasant and thorough. In fact, many an idiot has obtained success merely by acting as if it were his right.”

“Yes, sir.” Philip squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

Christopher smiled. The boy would become a man yet. One who could stand firmly on his own two feet and survive the worst life could throw at him. “Excellent. Now speak.”

“Lady Winter is six and twenty, twice widowed, with neither husband surviving more than two years in her bed.”

Shaking his head, Christopher said, “Can you begin with something I do not know and then continue in that vein?”

Philip flushed.

“Do not become flustered. Simply remember that time is valuable and you want others to consider yours to be of some worth. You should always lead off with the kernel of information most likely to pique interest. Then proceed from there.”

Taking a deep breath, Philip blurted, “She has a resident paramour.”

“Well…” Christopher stilled, awash in visions of a softer Lady Winter, a woman flushed and sated from passionate play. It was his valet’s sharp tug to his waistband that pulled him out of his surprise. Freeing the placket of his breeches, he cleared his throat and said, “That’s more like it.”