Page 38 of The Duke’s Defiant Love

"The point remains. A person cannot separate the mind from the body entirely. Anticipation, curiosity, trust—these alter the experience."

"Trust?" Tristan repeated.

"Yes."

"You make it sound positively respectable."

"It is respectable."

"That depends upon who you ask."

Julian laughed. "I suspect society would prefer us to pretend desire arrives without thought, grows without reason, and disappears without consequence."

Nathaniel shrugged.

"Society prefers many convenient lies."

"Which is why," Tristan said, "we have this house."

He gestured toward the rooms beyond them.

"Here," he continued, "people may admit what they want without dressing it up as something else."

Sebastian looked briefly toward the doorway. A couple passed through it, laughing softly. Then his attention returned to the glass in his hand.

Julian's invitation arrived the following afternoon.

It was not delivered by a footman in the usual manner, nor did it bear the crest of his family.

Instead, it appeared among Amelia's correspondence without explanation—a small cream envelope, her name written across the front in an unmistakably masculine hand.

She turned it over twice before opening it.

Inside was a single sheet.

Miss Hartwell,

I suspect curiosity may be getting the better of you.

If it is, there is an evening gathering at a private house on Curzon Street tonight. Ours. The Circle's, in its truer form. It is not a society event in the ordinary sense, and I would not insult you by pretending otherwise.

You may come merely to observe. I will not pretend there is no risk in coming, should your presence become known. But within the house you will be perfectly safe. If at any moment you wish to leave, you shall leave. No one will expect, request, or compel your participation in anything.

If you decide to come, I will have a carriage waiting at the end of the mews at ten. Tell your maid you require nothing further for the evening, and she need know no more than that. I shall see that you return home safely.

—Julian Hawthorne

Amelia read it twice, the second time no less incredulously than the first. Her initial instinct was to burn it. The subsequent one was to hide it.

And yet… she couldn’t help but read it again, and this was far more troublesome.

She folded the letter carefully. It was absurd. Reckless. Possibly the most improper invitation she had ever received. Even so, she could not stop thinking about it or the man whose name Julian had not mentioned once.

Sebastian.

Since their last argument, she had tried to convince herself that she was angry with him.

It would have been much easier if she were.