There was clearly some relief in his voice. Michael had had time to develop some guilt about digging at him. He now recalled the events of that time more clearly, and although he hadn’t been spending much time in London then, he remembered that Geraint’s entanglement with the Countess, whom he’d never himself met, had seemed to hit the nobleman rather hard. It hadn’t been one of the litany of short-term affairs with glamorous, often aristocratic women that Geraint had these days. But Michael recalled that the woman was a dozen years or so older than Geraint, and despite his assuredly romantic leanings, the Welshman would have had the sense to realize that it could never have been anything more than an affaire d’amour. Didn’t he?