To add insult to injury, the author had not even indicated what sort of snake she’d used.

Really, he could do better.

If he wrote a book, he would set it in England. There would be no snakes.

And the hero would not be some pissy little dandy, concerned only with the cut of his waistcoat. If he wrote a book, the hero would damn well be heroic.

But with a mysterious past. Just to keep things interesting.

There would have to be a heroine, too. He liked women. He could write about one. What would he name her? Something ordinary. Joan, maybe. No, that sounded too fierce. Mary? Anne?

Yes, Anne. He liked Anne. It had a nice definite sound to it. But no one would call her Anne. If he were to write a book, his heroine would be adrift, without family. There would be no one to use her Christian name. He needed a good surname. Something easy to pronounce. Something pleasant.

Sainsbury.

He paused, testing it out in his mind. Sainsbury. For some reason it reminded him of cheese.

That was good. He liked cheese.

Anne Sainsbury. It was a good name. Anne Sainsbury. Miss Sainsbury. Miss Sainsbury and…

And what?

What about that hero? Ought he to have a career? Certainly Sebastian knew enough about the ways of nobility to paint an accurate portrait of an indolent lord.

But that was boring. If he were to write a book, it would have to be a cracking good story.

He could make the hero a military man. He certainly knew about that. A major, perhaps? Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Major?

Gad no. Enough with the alliteration. Even he found it a bit too precious.

A general? No, generals were too busy. And there really weren’t that many of them running around. If he were going to get that rarefied he might as well throw in a duke or two.