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Stella was tossing a crinkled ball of silver paper across the room so that Specs could scamper after it. Sometimes the kitten even brought it back to her, though most of the time Stella had to retrieve it.

The butler opened the door. “Madame, the Duke of Huntington has sent in his card. Are you at home? I would remind you that I shall be unable to serve tea, as I am escorting James to the dentist.”

James was their footman. Being terrified of the dentist, he had waited until his cheek was swollen, a look that Mrs. Thyme found so grotesque that she had ordered the butler to make certain that the offending tooth was pulled.

“I suppose so. I wouldn’t normally be at home to any of your suitors, Stella, not when I can scarcely raise my head, but His Grace doesn’t count.”

The butler bowed and took himself away.

“You may bring out the chessboard, if you wish. The game isn’t precisely ladylike, but the duke obviously considers himself the older brother you never had.”

Silvester strolled into the morning room while Stella was still trying to figure out if he did indeed think of her as his sister. It was a wretched thought.

He was courting Yasmin, so her aunt was probably right. Stella had lively battles with Silvester, and they liked to play games, both of which were said to happen in nurseries. As an only child, she had to rely on hearsay.

This morning Silvester was head-to-foot a nobleman. His short coat was graced with a double row of silver buttons and barely touched his breeches, flaunting a waist that appeared to be as muscled as his thighs. His cravat fell in immaculate pleats; his buttonholes were embroidered with silver thread; his boots shone like mirrors.

Combine that with rumpled curls, gray eyes, and the smile playing around his mouth as he met her gaze?

No wonder she couldn’t get him out of her head. She was a human being, after all. Even Specs raced across the room to roll on her back at his feet, demanding affection.

Stella deliberately slowed down, strolling to the door and then dipping into a curtsy. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

As the butler pulled the doors closed, Silvester scooped up Specs and popped her onto her favorite place on his shoulder. The little cat rubbed her head against his cheek and purred.

Stella was dismally aware that she would purr in the same way if given the chance.

“I recognize that gown from our riparian adventures,” Silvester said, grinning. “I’m amazed your maid managed to starch those ruffles up to your ears again.”

“I only wear it when we are not home to callers,” she confessed, striving for a careless little-sister tone.

“I am honored to be allowed through the door.”

“You are privileged for my entertainment. My aunt is irritated if I read in her presence, but she declares me too fidgety without a book,” Stella said, giving him a lopsided smile. “She has not been at home to any of my suitors today, as she has a headache, but you have slipped by her guard as the brother I never had.”

He laughed. “Brother?”

“Bow to me, you lummox,” Stella said, not sure what to make of his tone. “My aunt is watching, and even brothers must observe the proprieties.”

Silvester put a hand on Specs, fell back a step, and swept into a deep bow.

“I feel honored,” she remarked, looking at him from head to foot. “Why all this sartorial splendor so early in the day?”

“I’m escorting Yasmin to a charitable luncheon for orphaned rabbits,” Silvester replied, looking markedly unenthusiastic.

Stella laughed. “Orphaned girls, not rabbits. We had meant to attend, but the rain and my aunt’s headache will keep us at home.”

“Lucky you,” Silvester grumbled. “I am counting on beating you in a game or two of chess to put me in a properly charitable frame of mind.”

“Nonsense,” Stella said, grinning at him. “You can’t bear the fact that I had such a triumphant victory on Saturday. It’s been bothering you ever since, or you would be sitting in Yasmin’s drawing room, not ours.”

“Yasmin is not a lady who welcomes an early caller,” Silvester said. “She takes her toilette very seriously.”

“I gather she wouldn’t wear a gown that made her head resemble Holofernes’s on a platter, even at home?” Stella asked, beginning to walk back toward her aunt’s settee.

Silvester raised an eyebrow. “Your ruffles may be unflattering, but I wouldn’t consider the gown worthy of Biblical, not to mention murderous, associations.”

“Your mother suggested Holofernes,” Stella told him.