Reforming a Rake: With This Ring

Lucien Balfour, the Sixth Earl of Kilcairn Abbey, leaned against one of the marble pillars at the front entry of Balfour House and watched the storm clouds gather overhead. "'By the pricking of my thumbs,'" he murmured, puffing on his cigar, "'something wicked this way comes.'"

Though an ominously darkening sky hung over the west side of London, that particular storm was not the one that concerned Lucien Balfour. A larger tempest was galloping toward him: he was about to welcome Satan's handmaiden and her mother into his house.

Behind him, the front door opened on well-oiled hinges. Lucien glanced skyward as a long boom of thunder rolled across the rooftops of Mayfair. "What is it, Wimbole "

"You asked me to inform you at the hour of three, my lord," the butler answered in his usual monotone. "The clock has just struck."

Lucien took another drag of his cheroot, letting the smoke curl from his mouth and be snatched away by the stiffening breeze. "Make certain the study windows are closed against the rain, and provide Mr. Mullins with a glass of whiskey. I imagine he'll be needing it shortly."

"Very good, my lord." The door clicked shut again.

Rain began plopping onto the shallow granite steps before him just as a coach clattered onto Grosvenor Street and turned toward the mansion. Lucien took one last, long draw on his cigar, snuffed it out against the pillar, and cast it aside with an oath. The demons had splendid timing.

The front door opened again and Wimbole, flanked by a half dozen liveried footmen, appeared at his elbow just as the great black monstrosity of a coach rocked to a halt at the foot of the steps. A second vehicle, less ostentatious than the first, stopped behind.

As Wimbole and his troops marched forward, Mr. Mullins took the butler's vacated position on the portico. "My lord, I must again commend you on your attention to familial duty."

Lucien glanced at the solicitor. "Two people signed a piece of paper before their deaths, and I am left with the results. Don't commend me for getting trapped into something I've simply been unable to avoid."

"Even so, my lord ' " The smaller man trailed off as the coach's first occupant emerged into the light drizzle. "My goodness," he choked.

"Goodness has nothing to do with it," Lucien murmured.