her boot. She turned to thank him, but the carriage rolled off swiftly.
With a sigh, she glanced furtively around the quiet street and she gave the wool a little sniff. Sandalwood. Just like him.
Chapter Four
“You’re going to be late, my lord.”
Guy glared at the butler’s head. Glaring directly at him was hard as Brown stood a good two feet shorter than he. His small stature didn’t diminish his capabilities, however.
Oh no, the butler did a fine job of ordering him about almost as well as Mrs. Bellamy, his housekeeper. Between them, Guy had a good suspicion he knew exactly what it was like to have overbearing parents. Given his own mother preferred to reside in sunnier climates and his father had been dead many years, he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.
Brown lifted his head and met his stare, his blue eyes still bright for a man of older years though surrounded by lined eyes and white, barely there eyebrows. Little tufts of white clung stubbornly to his forehead in a pattern not unlike that of an exotic animal. His hair mimicked his brows but offered up darker patches that Guy could swear made the shape of an animal if one stared at it long enough.
“My lord?” Brown offered out a scarf.
Guy blinked. “Oh yes.”
“You seem incredibly distracted at present, my lord.”
“Nonsense,” Guy scoffed.
Brown leaned in, giving him a full view of the black and white patchwork of his scalp. “Anything to do with that woman who keeps requesting an audience? Mr. Newport said she stepped in front of your carriage the other day. Nearly made him keel over in shock.”
Guy increased his glare. “It certainly isn’t, and I would warn you against gossiping with Mr. Newport, Brown.”
“Well, someone has to tell me what you are doing with your life. Goodness knows, you never tell me anything.”
“I don’t have to,” Guy protested.
“If it were not for me, you wouldn’t know if you were coming or going.”
“I am most definitely going. Right now.” He snatched the scarf and flung it around his neck, cinching it so tight he swore he’d burned himself on the fabric.
He strode out of the townhouse, down the long path between fading flowers and the evergreen bushes that protected the house from the view of the busy London street. What the devil was Brown on about? He hadn’t been distracted. Not one jot.
Wind blew a splatter of rain sideways at him. He grimaced and recalled Miss Haversham’s shaking shoulders after standing for so long in similar weather. No doubt she was out in the rain, doing whatever it was female reporters did. Most likely pestering some other poor soul about a story. The bloody woman needed to move onto a different story or go back to her inane gossip. Surely one didn’t need to stand in the pouring rain to write about the ins and outs of fashionable society?
He pressed his lips together. The woman needed a thicker coat too. Part of him had wanted to march her to the nearest seamstress and order a thick, lined coat for her so he wouldn’t ever have to see her shivering away like that again.
Damn it. He didn’t even wish to see her again. After their meeting—
He came to a stop at the end of the path and let his expression sour. Had he conjured her? “Miss Haversham.”
Standing on the other side of the gate, a black umbrella held unsteadily in one hand, she fought with the latch. “My lord,” she said, frustration inching into her voice when she pressed her legs into the gate, and it refused to budge. A flurry of wind blasted across the garden, rustling her skirts and nearly lifting her simple brown bonnet from her head. She huffed and tried again.
With a shake of his head, Guy closed the distance between them and flipped open the latch, drew the gate open, stepped aside and gestured for her to enter with a flourish.
She gave him a tight smile. “Thank you. I—” Wind caught her umbrella, turning it inside out and nearly tearing it from her arm. “Oh!”
“Turn it into the wind,” he ordered over the gust that curled around them. “Into the wind, damn it,” he repeated when she twisted the wrong way and nearly took his nose off.
“Oh.” She twisted again but the umbrella gave a wild flap back and forth before popping back the wrong way around.
Sighing, he went to snatch it from her but as he grabbed it,