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Viv did her best to maintain her composure. She could not look at him. He was remarkably adept at making statements that were true, but far from illuminating. He was, perhaps, too good at it.

“But how can this be? How can you have met Miss Bradish when…?”

“In the most ordinary way. Over a book.”

Mrs. Stryde shook her head. “A lady’s companion may not enter into a clandestine acquaintance with a gentleman. To do so violates the rules of her employment, and indeed, of decent feminine conduct.”

“Ah, but there has been nothing clandestine about our acquaintance. As a lady, Miss Bradish knows what’s due her station and her family.” He turned to Viv again. “Will you permit me to explain how we met, my love?” he asked. One of his dark brows quirked upward.

Viv nodded. She had no idea how she managed to keep her countenance. The part he played and asked her to play grew riskier by the minute.

“Miss Bradish had been looking for a particular book for… some time. The Spanish Brothers. Do you know the novel?”

“A rubbishy novel? Full of folly and vice? Of course not. What does a novel have to do with this… intrusion into Lady Melforth’s house?”

“As the usual booksellers failed her, Miss Bradish was forced to apply to … collectors.”

“And?”

“My employer is a known collector of rare books.” He spoke as if his words perfectly explained the situation, but Viv could see the Strydes’ baffled expressions. She admired his coolness in spinning a fiction out of the merest details of their meeting. He offered crumbs of information and never a direct answer to Mrs. Stryde’s questions. He’d altered his voice to make it a bit more pompous.

“Your employer?”

“Yes, among my … other duties … I see to the cataloguing of certain collections. Naturally, it fell to my lot to deal with Miss Bradish’s inquiry. You cannot blame me for being curious about a lady whose bookish interests match my own.”

“Bookish?” Mrs. Stryde stared as if Viv had sprouted a second head. Viv managed a faint smile.

“See here, fellow,” said Mr. Stryde. “You’re giving us a bit of a runaround. Who is this employer of yours?”

The drawing room door opened again, and Newberry entered. He glanced at Viv’s hand in Mr. Larkin’s, and frowned, turning a cold stare on Mr. Larkin.

“The duke does not wish his name bandied about in conversation. However, he was happy to make Miss Bradish a present of the book she sought.” At that, Viv could not help giving her accomplice a quick reproving glance. Where did a duke fit in the story? He gave a careless shrug. “And thus, we met.”

“A duke? What duke?” demanded Mrs. Stryde. “Who are your people, young man?”

Viv felt Mr. Larkin’s hold tighten on her hand, but he merely said, “My people are old Londoners.”

“Well, Mr. whoever you are … a man without fortune or connections, how are we to believe you have ties to the peerage?”

Viv stiffened. She did not know why Mr. Larkin had brought a duke into the story, but Newberry could easily sink them. He might not know the full details of how Mr. Larkin had come to be in Lady Melforth’s red-and-green drawing room, but he knew enough to cast doubt on any pretensions the gentleman might have to such lofty connections.

Newberry turned a skeptical gaze on Mr. Larkin, as if daring him to produce a duke.

“If you must know, it has been my privilege to spend a number of years in the Duke of Wenlocke’s household.”

Viv tried to look very much at ease with the revelation. Mrs. Stryde gave a good imitation of a landed fish gasping on the shore. Her husband took her by the arm to offer his support. Newberry shook his head. Viv had to act. It was necessary to remove Mr. Larkin from the line of fire before he said anything more outrageous and before the Strydes recovered their full faculties.

“Pray do excuse us,” she said. “We must share our happy news with Lady Melforth. Haxton will see you out.” She gave a tug on Mr. Larkin’s hand, and headed for the door.

She did not slow her steps until they reached the landing above. There, she halted, conscious of a mad jumble of feelings, gratitude for the way he’d faced the Strydes, admiration for his quick wit, and vexation for how he’d complicated her situation with the charade of a betrothal. She turned to him and released his hand. It was one thing to deceive the Strydes about the nature of their connection, but she did not want to conceal the truth from Lady Melforth, who had been her benefactor, friend, and mentor for the best part of a year.

“What?” he asked.

“I don’t want to … lie to Lady Melforth.”

“You think I lied to the Strydes?” His sharp blue gaze challenged hers.

“Not lied, but omitted … certain details. And a duke? You had to bring a duke into it? Do you really catalogue the Duke of Wenlocke’s collections?”