The color momentarily drained from her face, but even as she drew in a fortifying breath her gaze turned chill. “A pity it’s such a small world,” she said coolly.

“More like my good fortune it’s such a small world.”

“Allow me to disagree.”

“As usual.” His smile was impudent. “What are you doing here?”

With her initial shock receding, she managed to speak in as degage a tone as he. “Taking refuge from the storm like you.”

“I meant where are you bound?”

“None of your business.”

He tipped his head in amused deference. “Have you missed me?”

“Not in the least.”

“I, on the other hand, have missed you terribly.”

“I’d hardly think that possible with your busy schedule. Do you still receive twenty billets-doux a day? Or has the number risen since you’ve become an eligible duke?”

“Who says I’m eligible?”

“Are you married then?”

“No.”

Her immediate sense of relief annoyed her. Then you’re eligible regardless of your disreputable life,“ she noted tardy, correcting her brief lapse in judgment.

“Don’t snap at me, darling. You were the one who ran off and married.”

“I’m not your darling and I didn’t run off. I simply considered it foolish to wait around until you were ready to give up your profligate ways.”

His nostrils flared for a moment, but his voice was bland when he spoke. “Has married life suited you?”

“I’m divorced.”

His eyes widened; divorce was rare-and expensive. He knew her financial status and as he recalled, her émigré husband had lost his fortune in the Revolution. “I’m sorry.” When he wasn’t. When he felt an elation he hadn’t felt in years.

“You needn’t be. I’m quite content.”

“You disappeared five years ago. No one knew where.”

“I left for the Continent.”

“Do you live in Yorkshire now?”