Page 80 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

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Simon burnedthe midnight oil with Rhys and Heath long after Ravenna had gone to bed. The gentleman had moved their investigation into the billiards room. Everything recently sent to the house had been gathered in this room from bills, cards, letters, and newspapers. It was here that Aunt Glynnis and Isolde had stored wedding presents yet to be graciously acknowledged or duplicates to be donated to a charity.

Heath examined letter after letter under a magnifying glass until his eyes crossed. Numerous servants had come and gone to relight the lamps that illuminated their quest. The search to discover a single correspondence that matched the one received today proved futile, as did a go-through of the wedding gifts.

“How many silver trophies and Etruscan vases does a duke’s household require?” Rhys asked, poking his hand deep into one vessel.

Simon cast him a bleary glance. “What are you looking for? Loose change?”

“A message, perhaps. I don’t know. You tell me. I’m stiff as a plank,” he added. He raked a hand through his hair. “Isolde and Aunt Glynnis will not appreciate the disarrangement of their carefully arranged presents.”

“Why don’t the both of you stop complaining?” Heath paged through a vellum-bound volume of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra. “This is a gift to be treasured. It’s inscribed by the Duchess of Wellington. I do not think she’s our suspect. Anything left to examine? What is that under your seat, Rhys? No. Back another inch.”

Rhys reached under his chair for a rectangular pink-and-white striped box that had apparently been missed. The package was decidedly feminine and looked expensive. “It’s not a trophy.”

Simon stood up again. “It looks like one of the boxes that my wife bought today,” he said, his fatigue lifting. “How would it have gotten under the chair?”

Rhys held the package to his ear and gingerly shook it. “I hear a slight rattle.”

“What on earth are you doing?” Heath asked.

“I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a snake inside,” Rhys said. “You’re the one who brought up Cleopatra. How do we know that someone has not sent an asp in a box?”

“For pity’s sake,” Heath said. “Shall I open the damned thing? We can’t sit here forever shaking a box. We don’t have asps in England. We have adders and they don’t rattle.”

“It isn’t our box to open,” Rhys pointed out. “Shouldn’t Ravenna have the privilege?”

Heath rubbed his face. “Not if its contents upset her.”

“So then opening it could be considered an act of valor?” Rhys said.

“After my brother Devon,” Heath muttered, “you are the most aggravating person I know. It must have something to do with being a younger sibling.”

Rhys looked wounded. “You open the blasted box, then.”

In the end Simon dismantled the package, unburying layers of tissue and dried lavender buds before the contents were revealed. He could not believe his eyes. Behind him Heath erupted in laughter.

“It’s as fragrant as a courtesan’s dressing closet,” Rhys said. “But am I seeing things? That appears to be a corset.”

“We cannot both be imagining corsets.” Simon peered down at the ivory silk undergarment that he had exposed.

“Would you like me to take it out for you?” Heath asked in amusement. “I have steady hands.”

Simon shot him a look. “I have no trouble removing a corset.”

“It is a rather impertinent wedding present,” Rhys said as Simon lifted the busk from the box, the laces dangling. “I might be tempted to confront the sender. Is there a message enclosed? Who would dare gift such a personal item to a duchess?”

Heath removed the perfumed card from the tightly boned bodice. “I should have known,” he said with a grin. “It’s from my sister.”

Simon settled back down on the semi-circular couch. “Not the sister renowned for her manners? The one who started the ladies’ academy in London?”

“No. That would be Emma, otherwise known as Mrs. Killjoy, the Dainty Dictator. Chloe is my youngest sister and has been causing mischief since the day she was born.”

Simon raised his brow. “I’ve met her.”

“Marriage has done wonders to subdue her vitality,” Heath continued, “but she will never be a fainthearted woman. This must be a personal joke among the ladies. Chloe discovered her husband half-dead and buried in her closet in a trunk of undergarments. I take it that a corset played a part in their love affair. Honestly, I do not wish to know.” He tucked the card back into the box. “I shall not read this aloud.”

Simon regarded the corset with a smile, not only relieved that the gift posed no threat to his wife, but also that he would have the privilege of seeing her laced into it. “Perhaps we should seek our beds.”