Page 63 of The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke

Drake grinned at him. “Emma and Wolf. He’s the complete opposite of our sister, the antithesis of all she holds dear.”

“Actually, he’s not,” Heath said reflectively. “He’ll be a duke one day. And with a little bit of polish, well, who knows? No one would have laid odds on any of us reforming not long ago.”

“As far as I can tell, she’s doing her best not to talk to him at all,” Devon said, folding his arms behind his head. “When is Grayson due to return, anyway?”

Heath drew aside the curtain. “By tonight if the storm doesn’t worsen.”

Jane, the Marchioness of Sedgecroft, and young matriarch to the Boscastle clan by marriage, had arrived at her London residence two hours ahead of her husband Grayson. It was dark by the time she had settled her son Rowan into the nursery with his nursemaid, Mrs. O’Brien.

She barely had time to fortify herself with a cup of brandy-laced coffee before she set back out in her own small carriage for her brother-in-law’s town house. She hoped Heath would not be home, but even if he was, it was safer to hold a ladies’ meeting there than at home where Grayson was liable to come bursting in and interrupt.

Besides, Heath’s wife Julia had called this emergency gathering. Perhaps Emma herself would attend, although Jane rather doubted it.

Julia’s message insisted upon secrecy and hinted at panic. Jane concluded there was not a moment to waste.

Indeed, Julia’s initial greeting at the door underscored her suspicions. “Thank heavens, you are here, Jane. Quickly. Quickly! Into the family drawing room.”

Jane divested herself of her cloak and gloves, following the taller woman to a private stairs at the side of the house. “Such intrigue. Would your bedchamber not offer more privacy?”

“Not from my husband,” Julia said offhandedly.

“Ah.”

“I meant—”

“No explanations are necessary, Julia. I am myself married to a Boscastle male.” And a hot-blooded breed they were, including the female members of the family, one of whom was already waiting in the candlelit drawing room.

Chloe Boscastle, Emma’s younger raven-haired sister, rose from her chair to embrace Jane. Chloe was not unknown to notoriety herself. In fact, she had married Adrian’s oldest friend, the dark-tempered Dominic Breckland, Viscount Stratfield, after a romance that had been sparked when Chloe had found him hiding half-dead in her dressing closet.

Seated comfortably on a tufted sofa behind Chloe were Emma’s cousin Charlotte; Devon’s young bride, the former Jocelyn Lydbury; and Drake’s wife, a past governess, Eloise.

Julia’s aunt, Hermia, occupied the French fauteuil that sat by the fire. While associated to the Boscastles only through her niece’s marriage to Heath, Hermia had been unofficially adopted by the entire clan. Her zest for life and penchant for trouble had earned her a place of favor. The one true love of her life, the Earl of Odham, had been unfaithful to her years ago and was still earnestly trying to win her forgiveness.

“How is that darling son of yours, Jane?” Hermia asked fondly.

“As plump and lively as ever.”

“Always getting into mischief, is he?” Hermia asked approvingly.

Jane sighed. “Especially when Grayson plays with him.”

Hermia chuckled. “I should love to paint him as young Cupid to add to our collection.”

“I assume you mean Rowan and not my husband.” Jane took the glass of port that Julia handed her. All of the women had been tippling since late afternoon, a sure indication of their concern. “It seems I have come from Kent not a minute too soon.”

“That all depends,” Julia said. “It might even be too late to thwart our male counterparts.”

Hermia set her glass upon the table. “Too late for what? It’s only ten o’clock or so. In my day, an evening’s entertainment would just be getting under way. You younger women must have been fed on milksops.”

“I am referring to the situation that has developed between Emma and Adrian Ruxley,” Julia said in annoyance. “Don’t you ever pay any attention to me, Aunt Hermia?”

Chloe, who had been playing idly with her pearl bracelet, glanced up with an incredulous expression. “Emma? And Wolf? A situation? This is too delicious.”

Eloise Boscastle, the former governess who had once hoped to work at Emma’s esteemed academy before marrying into the family, looked aghast. “Lady Lyons and that…mercenary? You must be mistaken.”

“Of course she’s mistaken,” Jocelyn said, almost choking on her sherry. “Emma and Lord Wolverton are the most unlikely match in all of London.”

“In England,” Chloe amended merrily.