She hadn’t, but Kitty had James backed into an alcove. “Indeed.” She struggled to infuse some degree of helplessness into her expression. “I thought I was certain, yet…” She waved vaguely.

James brushed past Kitty. “Allow me-I was just heading for the drawing room. I take it that’s where you wish to go?”

He took her hand and set it on his sleeve; she met his eyes, and saw the plea therein.

“Yes, please. I would be most grateful for your escort.” She smiled easily, then turned to Kitty.

Kitty didn’t smile back; she nodded somewhat curtly.

Portia raised her brows. “Aren’t you joining us, Mrs. Glossup?”

Beside her, James stiffened.

Kitty waved. “I’ll be along shortly. Do go on.” With that, she turned and headed for the stairs.

James relaxed. Portia turned and let him steer her toward the central wing. She glanced at his face; he was frowning, and a trifle pale. “Are you all right, Mr. Glossup?”

He glanced at her, then smiled-charmingly. “Do call me James.” With a backward nod, he added, “Thank you.”

Brows rising, she couldn’t resist asking, “Is she often like that-importuning?”

He hesitated, then said, “She seems to be getting rather worse.”

He was clearly uncomfortable; she looked ahead. “You’ll just have to cling to other ladies until she gets over it.”

He threw her a sharp glance, but didn’t know her well enough to be sure of her irony. She let him guide her through the house, hiding a smile at the bizarre twist that had a rake of James Glossup’s standing relying on her for, as it were, protection of his virtue.

She caught his eye as they entered the front hall; he was almost certain she was laughing, but wasn’t sure about what. The drawing room loomed; she faced forward. Simon would have known.

As they crossed the threshold, she saw him, standing to one side of the fireplace, conversing with Charlie and two bright young things-Lady Hammond’s daughters, Annabelle and Cecily. Lady Hammond herself, a warmhearted matron of sunny charm, was seated on the chaise beside Lady Osbaldestone.