“I’m sorry, sir. Lord Dearborne is not at home.”
Years of habit kept Julien from revealing his surprise and disappointment at the butler’s words. He nodded sharply to the man and returned to his waiting coach. “My club,” he said to his coachman before getting in.
So Leander was still angry, was he? Well, perhaps he had been somewhat dictatorial, but Leander’s immediate refusal had thrown him off balance. After following Julien’s lead with hardly a murmur of protest, Leander had inexplicably decided to dig his heels in. Over Morleigh Mayfield, of all people.
He’d definitely struck a nerve somehow. One that he hadn’t been aware existed. That much was evident from Leander’s remark about paid companions.
Unless Leander felt as though Julien was treating him as a paid companion. Julien shoo
