Page 23 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

“For all the world knows, Ravenna, we’re hopelessly in love and could no longer control our longing for each other. It’s preferable to the truth.”

“It’s bad timing, isn’t it?”

“Love is unpredictable. Do attempt to look happy.”

She forced a pained grin. “Is that better?”

He laughed softly. “That’s a grimace, not a smile.”

“It’s the best I can do,” she said, her facial muscles aching. “How much longer do we have to maintain this pretense?”

“For the rest of our lives?”

“Blessings on your union!” shouted a tipsy gentleman who wobbled in the glow of a chandelier. “An excellent act to end the act!”

“And a surprising one,” rejoined the sourpuss in the sparkling headdress. “How long has your grace been keeping his love for Lady Ravenna a secret?”

“For years,” he called back in such a forthright voice that Ravenna wondered if she could ever believe a word he spoke again.

Was this what one called destiny? Or was it a dilemma of her own making? She stared up impassively at his stark profile. There was far more to this man than a bad reputation. “Have you become as decadent as everyone says?”

He laughed again. “You’ll have to wait until after the wedding to find out.”

“That has an ominous ring to it,” she said, sliding toward the balcony.

He drew her back to his side without a blink. It was pleasant to lean up against Simon. “Promising,” he said. “That’s a nicer word. It hints of a happy life together.”

They were to be married. That life would consist of moments, weeks, months, and decades. She did not want think of an ominous future. She wanted love. Whether she would find it as a duchess she could not foretell.

The party blazed on. Gossip and gambling continued beyond dawn. A light operetta provided a burst of energy for those whose flagging spirits needed restoration. Rain fell intermittently, but no one noticed the rising humidity in the heat of hundreds of beeswax candles. The sun appeared behind the salon windows on droopy if expectant faces. Jane surprised her sleepy son and daughter with an acrobatic display that featured a family of poodles.

Would another scandal break?

Yes, please.

Assisted by his cane and a stone-faced footman, Viscount Frampton limped indignantly from the house as breakfast was brought to the gardens. His wife begged forgiveness at his heels. Some sneak had evidently informed the long-suffering gentleman that the viscountess had cuckholded him during the party. Would he seek a divorce? Would she survive the shame?

The one man who had witnessed the adulterous tryst was busy signing a marriage contract in Grayson’s study. By now the names on the guest list had been reviewed, as had their servants. The gardens had been scoured a third time, a search rendered futile by rain and inquisitive partygoers tiptoeing about for a souvenir of Rochecliffe’s romance.

Someone claimed to have found a pearl from Lady R’s circlet. It turned out to be a piece of cockle-shell.

Grayson said, “I’ve decided that Ravenna should remain with Julia and Heath at their St. James Street townhouse until the ceremony. Heath is trained to recognize menace.”

“Julia will enjoy the company,” Heath said. “When Griff arrives, he might wish to intercede.”

Simon drew on a gray morning coat unpacked by his valet, refraining from further comment as the men prepared to separate. When Ravenna’s older brother returned, he might do more than assume control of his sister’s affairs. Griff might decide that for all his noble benefits, Simon was still not good enough for Ravenna.

He hesitated at the door. “I have a confession to make.”

“Dear God,” Grayson said. “Here it comes.”

“Can it wait until after the breakfast?” Rhys inquired. “Bad news doesn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

Simon told them his secret, that he had asked Ravenna's older brothers for her hand and had been turned down twice.

Heath smiled and offered no advice.

Grayson reflected for only a minute and said, “It doesn’t change anything. At least you are marrying a woman you once desired. Sir David is still a snail. Your opinion, Rhys?”

“My only concern is Ravenna,” he said. “I assume you you’ll be the one to tell her, Simon.”

“Yes.” But he didn’t know when.