It called to him. Whispered seductively.

He woke in the morning with the summons still fresh in his mind.

He didn’t believe in portents.

Rising, donning a velvet robe over trousers and shirt, he went downstairs. Making major decisions on an empty stomach was never wise.

He’d barely made a start on ham and eggs when a rat-a-tat-tat knock fell on the front door. Recognizing the signal, he reached for the coffeepot and filled his cup-before the Honorable Barnaby Adair could drain the pot dry.

The parlor door flew open. “My heavens!” Barnaby, a tall, elegant, golden-haired figure sporting a dramatically hunted look, swept in. “May the saints preserve me from all doting mamas!” His gaze fell on the coffeepot. “Any left?”

Smiling, Gerrard waved at both pot and platters as Compton hurried in with an additional place setting. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you-you’re a savior.” Barnaby sank into the chair beside Gerrard.

Gerrard eyed him with affectionate amusement. “And good morning to you. What’s put you out? Did Lady Harrington’s ball prove too exercising?”

“Not Harrington.” Barnaby closed his eyes, savoring the coffee. “She’s a decent enough sort.” Opening his eyes, he considered the platters. “It was Lady Oglethorpe and her daughter Melissa.”

“Ah!” Gerrard recalled the connection. “The old friend of your dear mama’s who was hoping you’d oblige and escort her darling about town?”

“The same.” Barnaby took a bite of toast. “You remember the story of the ugly duckling? Well, Melissa is that in reverse.”

Gerrard laughed.

Barnaby and he were much of an age, of similar temperament and background, had similar likes and dislikes, and both favored an eccentric pastime. He couldn’t remember how they’d first come to knock around town together, but over the last five years, they’d seen each other through various adventures, growing ever more comfortable in each other’s company, and now unhesitatingly called on the other for any and all support.