A different butler admitted Dex to the house on Old Burlington Street. The fellow he’d seen previously had been middle-aged; this chap looked to be in his early sixties. He was spindle-shanked and stoop-shouldered and rather doddery, with a fringe of graying ginger hair around a bald pate.
He was also oddly familiar, even though Dex was certain he’d never seen the man before.
The butler set a tottering pace to the drawing room, where he announced Dex’s arrival. There was no Russian baron tonight, just one delectable dowager viscountess and one French comtesse. Lady Fortrose was wearing spring green shot with threads of gold, like sunshine filtering through leaves. Peridots glittered at her ears and throat and nestled in her hair.
She looked bright and vivid, cool and confident, and a ti
