She looked up and smiled when he released her. “Thank you.” Her smile deepened; her eyes held his. “You were right. My foot is in an unquestionably better state than it otherwise would have been.”

Her expression one of ineffable sweetness, she inclined her head and turned away. Her eyes were so dark he hadn’t been able to tell if the twinkle he’d thought he’d seen in them was real, or merely a trick of the light.

He stood in the forecourt, grooms and footmen darting around him, and watched as she glided into the house. Without a single glance back, she disappeared into the shadows beyond the open front door.

The sound of gravel crunching as his curricle and pair were led away jerked him out of his abstraction. Outwardly impassive, inwardly a trifle grim, he strode to the door of Glossup Hall. And followed her in.

“Simon! Capital.” Smiling broadly, James Glossup shut the library door and came forward.

Leaving his greatcoat in the butler’s hands, Simon turned to greet James.

Relief shone in James’s eyes as he shook his hand. “You’ve arrived just in time to stand shoulder to shoulder with Charlie and me.” With a nod, he indicated the drawing room; through the closed doors, the unmistakable hubbub of male and female voices engaged in social discourse reached them. “Charlie went in to reconnoiter.”

Blenkinsop, the butler, paused at James’s elbow. “I’ll have Mr. Cynster’s bags put in his usual room, sir.”

James nodded. “Thank you, Blenkinsop. We’ll join the others-no need to announce us.”

An ex-sergeant major, tall, tending toward portly but with a rigidly upright stance, Blenkinsop bowed and departed. James glanced at Simon, then waved to the drawing room. “Come-let’s have at them!”

They entered together, pausing to close one door each. Simon met James’s gaze as the lock clicked; watching from across the room, Portia suspected both were well aware of the image they presented, strolling in side by side.