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He downed the headache remedy in two swallows and returned the glass to the valet. “Ask the cook to send up two soft boiled eggs and dry toast, if you would.”
“Yes, my lord. Since I’m off to the kitchen, what would you have her do with the goose?”
“The goose? What goose?”
“A young lady called this morning. She was bearing a Christmas goose. A gift from her family, I understand.”
A young lady, appearing out of nowhere on Christmas morning? He could only think of one person it might be. Chloe.
“When did this happen?” he demanded.
“Not long ago. A quarter hour, perhaps.”
He cursed. “Why am I only hearing of it now?”
“I’m certain the butler meant to tell you as soon as you’d risen for the day.”
“He should have roused me, damn it.” He stormed to his dressing room and began yanking garments from the shelves. A shirt. Trousers. Socks.
Smithson set the tray aside and hastened to his aid. “Allow me to assist you, my lord.”
“What I need from you are answers. What did she look like? Fair hair, blue eyes? Tempting figure, lips meant for kissing?”
Smithson turned red as a beet. “I... I’m sure I couldn’t speak to most of that. But I believe she had fair hair, yes.”
“Did she give her name?” Justin stripped off his nightshirt and yanked a clean shirt over his head.
The valet began assembling a cravat, vest, and coat. “I imagine she did, but it was Moore who spoke with her. I didn’t hear.”
“Damn it.”
“She asked to speak with you, I believe. To pass on holiday regards from her parents. Moore told her you weren’t at home to callers.”
A certain butler would be getting coal in his Boxing Day gift tomorrow.
He shoved one leg into the trousers and hopped on the other foot, pulling them up. When he tried for the second leg, he nearly fell on his face. Once he’d buttoned enough buttons that the trousers wouldn’t fall down and leave him bare-arsed, he called it good enough. He tossed the socks aside. He took the first pair of shoes he saw and jammed his bare feet into them, then dashed from the room.
“A cravat, my lord,” Smithson called. “A vest and coat.”
“No time.”
If she’d been here and gone within the past quarter hour, he might be able to catch her.
He charged down the corridor, all but threw himself down the stairs, and ran to snag his greatcoat from a hook before flinging open the door. He stepped over the threshold and looked wildly about the streets and square.
“Chloe!” he bellowed into the bright Christmas morning. “Chloe!”
As he shrugged into his greatcoat, he heard steps behind him in the entrance hall. His worthless butler. “Damn it, Moore. Did she come by carriage or on foot? Precisely how many minutes ago did she leave?”
“I didn’t leave.”
He whirled about so violently, the tails of his greatcoat knocked over a vase on the entrance table and sent it crashing to the floor. He cursed in a very un-Christmasly fashion.
But none of it mattered. She was still here.
Chloe surveyed the shards of porcelain strewn across the floor. “I told your butler I’d wait in the parlor.” She surveyed him next. Her gaze roamed his half-dressed figure, unshaven face, and wild hair. “You look different.”
“I look like a madman, no doubt.” He tried to catch his reflection in the glass case of the clock, pushing both hands through his hair to tame it. He only made it worse.
