of pure white gossamer. Her skin glowed like the finest alabaster and felt as soft as the most expensive silk the Orient spun. She tasted of honey. He was kissing her. Madly. Until the harsh light of reality intruded.
No, it had been only a dream. He had left her at Lady Beatrice’s door.
He kept his eyes closed and rolled over. The sheets were cool to his back. The pillow fit snugly under his head. He didn’t want to wake from the sweet dream, but had no choice. Even though he hadn’t seen his valet, Chandler knew the servant was moving about the room, quietly opening the draperies, laying out his razor, pouring warm water into the washbowl.
Chandler’s lashes fluttered again.
“Good morning, my lord.”
Chandler remained quiet. He wasn’t ready to move or speak. His lower body wasn’t prepared to admit that Millicent was not in the bed with him. After a moment or two, reluctantly, he raised his head and looked around. Winston stood at the one window where the draperies were still closed.
“That’s quite enough light, Winston,” he managed to say and laid his head back down.
“Very well, sir.” He left the draperies alone and walked over to the wardrobe. “Lord Dugdale is below stairs wanting to speak to you.”
That woke Chandler. He sat up in the bed, “Andrew? At this time of day? That’s odd. Did he happen to say what he wanted?”
“No, sir. Only that it was urgent, and he was prepared to wait until you were available to see him.”
Something had to be wrong for his friend to pay a call midday. Millicent crossed his mind. He wondered if anyone had seen him with her last night at Lady Beatrice’s and had written about it? He grunted a laugh. No, if anyone wrote about them the information would have come from her and he felt sure she wouldn’t report on them again. So what was wrong?
“Tell him I’ll be down as soon as I dress.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Take him some tea and scones. That should occupy him until I get down.”
As soon as Winston closed the door behind him, Chandler rose. He washed his face and shaved with the warm water the valet left for him and wet his hair before combing it away from his face.
He stepped into the fawn-colored trousers Winston had laid out and pulled the white shirt over his head. He didn’t take the time to don a collar and neckcloth, he could do that later in the day. It wouldn’t matter to Andrew that he wasn’t properly garbed; however, Chandler took the time to stuff the tail of his shirt into his waistband as he headed down the stairs.
He rounded the doorway into the sitting room and saw a splendidly dressed Andrew pacing in front of the unlit fireplace. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his damp hair before entering the room.
“What has you up and out so early?” he asked as he walked into the parlor.
“It’s about time you decided to rise from your slumber. Where the devil were you last night, anyway? I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
“Fines managed to locate me, and we had a drink together. Sorry you missed us.”
“After the third club, I called it a night. The weather was brutish. Where the devil did he find you?”
Chandler looked at the tray of tea and tarts and could see Andrew hadn’t touched it. It was unusual for anyone to ignore his cook’s apricot tarts. He knew everyone always enjoyed them, but he’d never realized that he always took them when he called on a lady until Millicent had mentioned it. Now he realized she was right. Since she was a writer of gossip he wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she knew more about him than he knew himself.
“Well?” Andrew asked.
“That’s not important, but you being here at this hour is. What’s the reason?”
“This.” Andrew held out a sheet of newspaper. “Have you seen it?”
Chandler tensed, but he hoped it didn’t show. Maybe Millicent had told one of the gossip columnists about their clandestine meeting last night after all.
Instead of taking the paper, Chandler picked up the teapot and calmly poured himself a cup. “My eyes have been open all of five minutes, Andrew. What do you think the odds are I’ve seen that paper?”
“This is no time to be so damned sarcastic, Dunraven, and I’m in no mood for it, besides.”
Chandler returned the pot to the silver tray and asked, “Would you like a