Sophia threw Finlay a covert glare. “We should have rested the horses and arrived at a more respectable time.”
“When a gentleman lives alone, no hour is respectable,” Sloane teased.
“There is much to explain,” Finlay said, hoping his friend would realise it was impossible to speak in front of Jessica. “But we would like to remain here for a few days.”
Sloane inclined his head. He strode over to the bell pull and yanked twice.
“Do you believe in mermaids, Miss Draper?” Sloane said in the honey-smooth voice that usually left women drooling. “Are they a creature of myth and fable, do you suppose? Or can you imagine a world like ours deep beneath the sea where one needs fins, not lower limbs?”
Jessica’s blue eyes flashed with excitement. “I believe there is much about the world we don’t know. One would be unwise to rule out the possibility.”
It was a logical reply, not that of a woman who struggled to define the past from the present, fantasy from reality.
“My grandfather claimed to have seen one once. The statues in the garden depict sea gods as mermen. There’s something about them I find captivating. Perhaps you might make a study of their form so we may discuss the matter at length.”
Jessica’s pleading gaze shot to her sister.
Being intelligent enough to know Sloane’s suggestion was a ploy for privacy, Sophia said, “If your footman directs us to the garden, we might examine its delights.”
A knock on the door brought the housekeeper, not the footman.
“Ah, Mrs Brogan, escort my guests upstairs and find suitable rooms, after which they would like a tour of the gardens.” He glanced at Jessica and offered a smile. “We shall discuss your findings over breakfast.”
The low, throaty tone of Evan Sloane’s voice stirred something primal in most women. Thankfully, his sense of honour meant he wouldn’t touch Jessica even if she straddled him naked.
Sophia stood and made to leave. “We shall see you both at breakfast.”
Something in her eyes—a hint of trepidation—forced Finlay to capture her elbow and whisper, “All will be well, I assure you.”
A faint smile touched Sophia’s lips. “Yes. I’m sure it will.” She looked at Sloane. “Thank you, Mr Sloane. We are forever in your debt.”
“Cole is in my debt, my lady, and I intend to make him pay.”
Sophia gave a light laugh before linking arms with Jessica and leading her sister out into the hall. The moment Mrs Brogan closed the door, Sloane released a curious hum.
“So, you’re still in love with Sophia Adair. It’s not shocking news, but one couldn’t help but notice your outward display of affection.”
Finlay silently groaned.
He pasted an arrogant smirk. “As a client and an old family friend, it is my duty to allay her fears.”
“Indeed. Just as it is your duty to stroke your thumb over the sensitive skin at her elbow.” Sloane slapped Finlay on the back. “Come. You look as if you need one of my famous concoctions. A good old wily whistle will soothe your tired limbs.”
“Soothe my limbs and leave me comatose.” The wily whistle consisted of whisky and rum with a dash of sugar syrup. A man could singe his throat on the fumes alone. “I need my wits if I’m to explain the complicated events that brought us here this morning.”
Sloane’s lips curled into a confident grin. “But you won’t say no.”
“No, but I’ll take more syrup than rum.”
Finlay relaxed on Sloane’s damask sofa while his friend sloshed spirits into crystal tumblers and stirred vigorously with a silver spoon.
Sloane crossed the room and handed Finlay his drink. “I’ve added a crafty splice of sherry. It enhances the aroma.”
“You mean it enhances the potency.” Finlay sipped the amber mixture, his successive pants cooling his throat. “Damn, that’s good.” One glass of wily whistle and a man might forget he’d kissed the woman he’d sworn to keep at arm’s length.
“So,” Sloane began as he settled into the sofa opposite and swallowed a mouthful of the fiery potion. “Daventry gave me the basic facts.”
“Such as?” The question was a means to save time. The members of the Order were sworn to secrecy, and Finlay trusted Sloane implicitly.