In the far corner of the Senhora’s room, the heavy burgundy curtains twitched, then a man stepped out from behind them. While his feet would have been visible underneath the edge of the curtain, they were hidden from view of anyone sitting near the fireplace by the placement of the Senhora’s desk. “The last time I hid in a woman’s chamber was more than twenty years ago,” Sir Derrick Bayberry complained. “It was quite suffocating behind the curtain.” Ignoring his grumbling, the Senhora gestured to one of the seats in front of the fire. Sir Derrick was about to sit on the same sofa as Maner, but he frowned at the cushion. “Mr. Hanson left a stain.” The Senhora gave a huff of exasperation. “I am not so terrible, am I, that I would frighten a grown man? Englishmen are entirely too fragile.” Sir Derrick refrained from pointing out that the Senhora had certainly not made an effort to appear more ingratiating, but she knew he was thinking it. —from Lady Wynwood and the Forbidden Auction...