Free Barbara Metzger by The Duel Page B

time for levity, Lord Marden. I am, of course, speaking of Miss Renslow. Your house is singularly unsuitable for a young, unmarried female. She ought to have realized that, of course, and not troubled your lordship.”
    “I assure you, the lady was no trouble at all.” Ian was going to hell, anyway; one more lie would not matter.
    “Of course not. Miss Renslow is the sister of a viscount, you know. Of course she is well-mannered. She does, however, have a lamentable tendency toward unthinking impetuosity. Especially where the lad is concerned.”
    “She is certainly devoted to him,” Ian agreed.
    “But at what cost, I ask? She should never have entered the portals of a bachelor’s lodgings, much less stayed the night. Forgive me, my lord, but that is especially true of your house, as pleasant as it might be. Your reputation is not fit for innocent maidens.”
    “My reputation or my company? They are not the same, I assure you.”
    “Tut.” Wiggs actually said tut. Ian had never heard anyonesay it aloud before. “Tut, tut. Either way, Miss Renslow will be ruined.”
    “Surely not, when no one has to know of her presence here.”
    “Tut, tut.” One more tut and he’d find himself tossed out the door. “I might have expected such a response from Miss Renslow, who is a heedless green girl, but you have to know better, my lord. Nothing can be kept secret for long in London, and her presence here, without a chaperone, will be on everyone’s lips by nightfall.” Wiggs’s own lips turned down even farther, until he looked like an anemic bulldog with a bellyache.
    “Miss Renslow shall have a chaperone by nightfall.” If Ian had to go to Richmond and drag his sister by her hair, he would have a duenna in the domicile.
    “Tut, tut. Too late, with your reputation. Not that you are known as a rake leading innocent damsels to their downfall.”
    Ian sarcastically thanked Wiggs for acknowledging that saving grace.
    “Think nothing of it.”
    Ian did not.
    The tutor went on, oblivious to Ian’s growing anger. “I do not know what that uncle was thinking, to let his niece leave the protection of his household for that of a known philanderer.”
    Ah, so Miss Renslow had not confessed about the absent uncle yet. Ian would not peach on her, not to this sanctimonious sprig. “The captain was undoubtedly thinking of his nephew’s welfare, as were Miss Renslow and I. The lad is somewhat better this morning after a frightening night, although you have not asked.”
    That brought a hint of embarrassed color to the reverend’s cheeks. “I was so wrought over Miss Renslow’s condition, you see.”
    Ian saw that the prig did not care about the injured boy, although Athena’s reputation seemed of paramount importance for some reason that Ian intended to discover. “The young lady is resting. She and I have been at Troy’s bedside throughout the night.”
    Wiggs sucked in a breath of air. “That is entirely unseemly.”
    “But effective. I believe we might have saved the lad’s life.”
    “But you say he is recovering now? Then Miss Renslow can return to her own lodgings.”
    “Aside from Troy’s continued need for her, and Miss Renslow’s dedication to him, I do not believe there is a respectable older female at the Cameron Street residence, either.”
    “Tut.”
    Ian did not like that affectation and he did not like the man, especially when Wiggs said, “But no ill can be spoken of her there as long as she does not go out and about by herself. Who could find fault with a female visiting her beloved uncle, a decorated military officer, versus…”
    “Yes? You were saying?” Ian’s raised eyebrow dared Wiggs to accuse him of being a rakehell, a here-and-thereian, a despoiler of virgins. Any of them might be true, but they were not for mushrooms like Wiggs to say.
    The man had enough sense—or self-preservation—to keep his downturned lips closed. They were pursed as tight as a miser’s purse strings, but he