“I am obviously lacking something in my diet that can only be satisfied with currants,” Tobias said.

“I’ll bring the tray into the library,” Mrs. Chilton said quickly.

She hurried off down the hall toward the kitchen.

Lavinia reluctantly decided to abandon the subject of currants for the moment. There were other, more-pressing matters.

She led the way into her study. Tossing the notebook that she had removed from her reticule onto a little table, she went straight to the sherry cabinet.

“We shall tell you the whole story,” she assured Anthony and Emeline. “But first, I believe that Tobias and I are both in need of a tonic.”

“I will not quarrel with that,” Tobias said. He lowered himself into the largest of the chairs and propped his left foot on a stool, making himself at home, as had become his habit of late.

Lavinia was still not certain how she felt about the ease with which he had begun to embed himself into her daily life. It had happened gradually over the past few months, she realized. Tobias owned a perfectly pleasant house of his own a few blocks away in Slate Street, but he seemed to be spending less and less time in it.

Instead, he had got into the habit of showing up on her doorstep whenever the notion took him.

She grumbled frequently to Emeline and Mrs. Chilton about how often he managed to arrive just as breakfast was served. He did not hesitate to take a seat at the table and help himself to coffee and eggs. He also had an uncanny knack for appearing when she was alone in the house. His timing on those occasions was really quite remarkable, she reflected. He seemed to know when Mrs. Chilton and Emeline would be absent, and he frequently took advantage of the privacy to make passionate, if somewhat hurried, love to her.

She declared loudly to anyone who would listen that it was exasperating to have Tobias constantly underfoot, but the truth was, she was growing accustomed to his presence in the household.

The knowledge that, deep down, she rather liked having him about was unsettling.

A decade ago, when she had wed John, she had not experienced any of these qualms. She had been in love with her gentle poet of a husband, and marriage had seemed the logical culmination of that romantic attachment.

But the union had ended after only eighteen months, when John had succumbed to a fever of the lungs. For four years she had been obliged to make her own way in the world and then Emeline had come to live with her. She was well aware that the responsibility of taking care of herself and her niece had changed her in some ways.

She was not the same woman she had been all those years ago.

Not only was she older and more worldly now, she thought, but she had come to value the freedom and independence that her status as a widow bestowed upon her. Unlike Emeline, she was no longer subject to the strict rules of decorum that governed younger, unwed ladies. She was free to indulge in the occasional passionate affair if she chose. All that was required of her these days was that she be reasonably discreet. Widows enjoyed the best of both worlds, she told herself. They could savor the pleasures of passion and still retain the control and independence allowed by their single state.

Somewhere along the line, she thought, she had reached the conclusion that she would remain unmarried for the rest of her life.

She had been quite content with that prospect.

Until recently.

Matters were no longer so clear to her. In point of fact, she thought, her future appeared quite murky at the moment.

Falling in love with Tobias had caught her off guard and was also proving to be a decidedly disturbing experience. It had taken her some time to even comprehend what had happened. She had not immediately identified her feelings for Tobias as the bonds of love, because the emotions were so markedly different from the tender, innocent sentiments she had known in her marriage.

Granted, ten years had passed since John’s death, but to the best of her recollection the two of them had never disagreed, let alone quarreled in the course of their marriage. Of course, she reflected in a sudden burst of insight, there had been very little to quarrel about. The truth was, John had been only too happy to turn over all of the decision-making to her.

John had been dedicated to his poetry. He had yearned for nothing more than to be freed from dealing with all the pesky details of daily life, including the necessity of making a living.

She had taken charge from the outset of the marriage. Not only had she managed their household but, because John’s brilliance as a poet had gone unrecognized and he had therefore been unable to secure an income from his writing, she had supported them both with her skills in mesmerism.

The arrangement had actually worked quite well over the short course of the marriage. She had been content. She told herself that John had loved her and she was certain that was true. But looking back, she knew now that he had reserved his deepest passions for his writing.

Perhaps that was the real reason why they had never quarreled, she reflected. John simply had not cared enough about anything except his writing to be bothered to argue.

Her relationship with Tobias was altogether different. The emotions that flared so easily between them were far more intense than those she had experienced with John, but those heated discussions resulted more often than not in heated lovemaking.

She was obliged to admit to herself that she could not manage Tobias the way she had managed John. She was not certain how she felt about that.

An affair was the perfect solution, she assured herself. It was a familiar litany, one she repeated quite often late at night when she found herself lying awake and alone in her bed.

She pushed the disquieting thoughts aside and poured the sherry.

When she turned around to hand one of the glasses to Tobias, she saw that he was absently massaging his left leg. She frowned.

“Is your wound bothering you?” she said.

“Do not concern yourself.” He took the glass from her. “The long carriage ride stiffened my leg somewhat. A glass of sherry will soon fix the problem.” He swallowed half the contents of the glass and eyed the small amount that remained. “On second thought make that two or three.”

She refilled his glass, sat down, and propped her heels on the hassock.

“I cannot tell you how good it is to be home,” she said to Emeline and Anthony.

Emeline took a chair near the globe. Her pretty face filled with concern. “What happened at Beaumont Castle?”

“The entire affair was a complete disaster,” Lavinia announced.

Tobias drank more sherry and looked thoughtful. “I would not say that. The house party had its moments.”

She saw the glint in his eyes and knew that he was recalling the passionate interlude they had shared late last night in her bed chamber. She gave him a quelling look, which he did not appear to notice.

“Out with it.” Anthony lounged on the corner of the desk, arms folded. “Emeline and I cannot tolerate the suspense. What occurred to bring you both back to London in such a great hurry?”

“Where to start?” Tobias turned the nearly empty sherry glass between his palms. “I suppose one could say that the murder of Lord Fullerton was something of a turning point.”

“Murder! Emeline’s lips parted in astonishment. Then her expression brightened with interest. “Well, that certainly explains a few things.”

“It does, indeed: Anthony’s enthusiasm was plain. “Can I conclude that we have a new case?”

“You may.” Lavinia flicked a quick glance at Tobias. “Always assuming our new client can afford us? As I recall, there was no discussion of our fees.”

Tobias finished his sherry and lowered the glass. “Mrs. Gray can well afford us.”