“Sir,” Colby said, shaking.
“I believe I’ve told you to go, William.”
Colby took a step back, and another. Fumbled for the door handle. Wrenched it open.
Ryan, as Thomas, stood on the other side; he melted out of footman’s poise and into concern. “Will—my lord—”
“Don’t,” Colby said, standing very still in the wide stone hallway with the eyes of oil portraits upon him, “don’t say anything, Thomas. Please. Only help me upstairs and help me find something decent to wear. And don’t ask me about duchesses and their daughters.”
“Wouldn’t know what to ask,” Ryan agreed, and put a hand under Colby’s arm. “I’m thinking you could use a warm bath and some brandy, first, sir. And something to eat. Keeping up your strength.”
“For the ball.” Colby shut his eyes; everything ached, his head down to
