Manifold and very real though they were.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Caxton.” Her tone was cold, a shivery coolness, the most her soft brogue would allow. “I’ll inform my aunt that she’ll have to live with her questions unanswered.”

“I’m sorry to have to disappoint an old lady, however…” He shrugged lightly. “Rules are rules, and there for a good reason.”

He watched for her reaction, for some sign, however slight, of comprehension, but she merely raised her brows in patent disbelief and, with every indication of miffed disappointment, turned away.

“I’ll see you to the front door.” He went with her to the door of his room, opened it.

“No need.” Briefly, she met his eyes as she swept past him. “I’m sure I can find my way.”

“Nevertheless.” He followed her into the corridor.

The rigidity of her spine declared she was offended he hadn’t trusted her to go straight back to the front foyer if left to herself. But they both knew she wouldn’t have, that if he’d set her free she’d have roamed, trusting her beauty to extract her from any difficulty should she be caught where she shouldn’t be.

She didn’t look back when she reached the foyer and sailed on toward the front doors. “Good-bye, Mr. Caxton.”

The cool words drifted over her shoulder. Halting in the mouth of the corridor, he watched the doorman, still bedazzled, leap to swing open the door. She stepped through, disappearing into the bright sunshine; the doors swung shut, and he could see her no more.

He returned to his office to find Barnaby peering out of the corner window.

“Sweeping away in a regal snit.” Turning from the window, Barnaby took the chair she’d vacated. “What did you make of that?”

Dillon resumed his seat. “A very interesting performance. Or rather, a performance of great interest to me.”

“Indeed. But how did you read it? Do you think the Irishman sent her?”