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Whatever could they have been thinking?

Breathing heavily, Milbourne grumbled from what must be directly outside the door, “Would do the arrogant whelp good to be taken down a peg. He’d be lucky to have you, my pet, he would. I can pull some strings—”

“No, Papa! That would only anger Dandridge further. He must be made to see reason. I’m confident he’ll come ’round in time. His uncles and her grace are easily enough manipulated, and they want me at his side. I shan’t be denied my duchy because of a prudish misunderstanding. I’d remain faithful to him until an heir was produced. Perhaps even a spare. Surely, he must know that.”

How very obliging.

The door handle rattled, kicking Jules’s pulse into a gallop.

An unladylike snort carried through the walnut.

“Locked. I suppose Lady Lockhart, the pretentious tabby, is afraid the guests will make off with her vulgar oddities.”

Jules drew in a prolonged, grateful breath. By discovering Miss Milbourne’s vices early on, he’d been spared a lifetime of misery.

“Papa, did you see her expression when we entered with the Wakefields tonight? Looked like she’d swallowed newly-sharpened needles.” Miss Milbourne’s scornful laugh faded as she and her father explored the rest of the passageway.

Jules remained still, listening as doors swished open and clicked close as they snooped in room after room in their search for him.

And here he cowered, like an errant child, his temper growing blacker by the minute. However, an ugly confrontation was the last thing Theo warranted at her birthday celebration. Hence her decision, no doubt, not to send the Milbournes packing when they showed up uninvited on the Wakefields’ coat strings.

Zounds, Jules loathed manipulators.

A stunning beauty—a diamond of the first water according to the haut ton’s standards— Miss Milbourne was intelligent, accomplished, versed in politics, a gracious hostess, and popular among the social set. In short, she possessed all the trivial qualifications Mother and The Uncles deemed necessary for the next Duchess of Dandridge, and of as much value and importance to Jules as a hangnail or pernicious boil on his bum.

Naturally, his mother would approve of Miss Milbourne.

She was cut from the same calculating, mercenary fabric, after all.

Plato had it right, by Jove. Like does indeed attract like.

Jules didn’t much care one way or the other who the next duchess was. Or, for that matter, if there was another while he lived. Young and smitten, he’d dared gamble on love once, and when Annabel—always petite and frail—died from influenza a mere month prior to their wedding, his ability to love must’ve been buried with her. For no sentiment stronger than warm regard or affection ever stirred him again.

Except for where Sabrina was concerned.

And long, long ago, Miss Jemmah Dament too.

Contemplating a match with Miss Milbourne had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with benefiting the dukedom. More fool he for not having listened to Theo’s blunt warnings against such a hair-brained notion.

Jules was capable of finding a diamond of his own choosing, thank you very much.

One whose multi-faceted inner beauty glowed far more brilliantly than Miss Milbourne’s exquisite outward countenance.

Shaking his head, he rubbed his brow against the slight twinge tapping there and glanced around the lavish parlor. The undrawn draperies permitted moonlight to stream through the emerald-and-gold brocade-festooned windows and cast a silvery, iridescent glow over the gilded, carved furnishings. Muted music filtered into the peaceful chamber even as the Sevres mantel clock lazily chimed ten o’clock.

He’d best hurry or Sabrina would think he’d decided to remain at the ball longer and she’d retire for the night. She’d only been permitted to stay up so late because she’d obediently taken an afternoon nap. To disappoint the child after she’d already endured so much tragedy in her short life was unthinkable.

Jules didn’t make promises he didn’t mean to keep.

Should he unlock the door before taking his leave through the other pair?

No. Theo’s servants would see to the matter.

She really ought to consider securing unused rooms when she entertained, especially with the likes of Miss Milbourne prowling about.

He’d mention the subject when next he saw his godmother.

Wending between the numerous pieces of furniture in the moon’s half-light, he smacked his shin into the settee. Pain spiraling from calf to knee, he softly cursed and bent to rub the offended limb.