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Sutton had not taken laudanum. In fact, his wound was healing wonderfully and barely hurt, so he had no need of it.

Then why did this tea, in his mother's formerly favorite blue drawing room, and now the bright terra-cotta room with golden fleur-de-lis walls, and newly upholstered furniture to match, feel like a fevered dream?

Sutton sat rigidly in his chair, his teacup held halfway to his mouth, staring at his parents in unadulterated shock, his surprise at the speed of his wife's renovative vigor quickly overshadowed by his parents' behavior.

Across from him, his father, the Duke of Hardwicke, shared a settee with his wife, his broad shoulder pressed against hers, gazing at her with what Sutton could only describe as an adoring glint.

This was a man who had spent Sutton's entire childhood maintaining a formidable, crisp, and untouchable distance. He was now holding his wife's hand, absently stroking the back of her knuckles with his thumb while she casually described a near-fatal ordeal they had survived nearly a year ago.

"—and so there we were, trapped in the secret passage, while the highwaymen roamed the mansion!" The duchess laughed, leaning her head against her husband's shoulder as if recounting a pleasant afternoon picnic.

Across from them, Temperance listened with rapt attention while deftly pouring tea and performing the duties of a hostess as if this were her house, which it was, and as if she had not been absent for most of their marriage, which she had been.

She wore a gown of yellow velvet, a color he did not think suited many people, yet on her it brought out her golden hair and the amber flecks in her eyes, and it made her lips look a brighter pink. The gown was modest enough for company and yet clung to every curve when she moved, and when she leaned across the low table to pass him his cup, her perfume reached him, soft and sweet, with a hint of spice.

"I acted as a distraction while Edward sprang out o' the passage like a devil, knocked down the thugs, and tied them up. I am lucky tae be married tae a general."

"Couldn't have done it without you, darling," the duke murmured.

Darling? Edward?

Since when did his parents use terms of endearment, and Christian names instead of their titles? They had used titles for as long as Sutton had known them.

Hell, he had been "Sutton" since the day his father inherited the dukedom, and some days he could barely remember he shared a Christian name with the man.

"It must have been frightening," Temperance exclaimed, completely enthralled by the ridiculously unbelievable tale.

"Aye, it was, at first. But tae be honest, the moment I saw Edward, all the fear disappeared. I kent we were saved."

A gentle smile touched Temperance's lips while Sutton's parents exchanged a tender glance.

What in the devil is going on here?

Sutton scrubbed his face with both hands, his beard scratching his palms.

He had spent thirty years watching his parents live in an icy, impeccably polite, and completely separate arrangement. This shameless display of affection was like watching two strangers inhabit his parents' skin.

"Are ye... are ye mad?" Sutton finally croaked. "Ye're recounting a life-or-death siege as if it were a game of charades! And ye had the audacity to admonish me this morning for omitting a minor attack by footpads, when ye were fighting off highwaymen through secret tunnels less than a year ago and never said a single word tae me?!"

The duke and duchess exchanged a light, synchronized shrug.

"We didnae want ye tae worry, Sutton, dear," his mother said breezily, waving her napkin. "Besides, we took care o' it."

"Well," Sutton gritted out, sitting back and adjusting his cuffs, "I took care of the footpads, too. Or rather, Marie did."

His mother's face lit up, her dark eyes sparkling as she sat upright. "Och! Marie? How is the lass? I missed her."

Temperance stiffened. Her smile vanished, replaced by a blank stare into her empty cup.

Sutton regretted opening his mouth.

"She is fine," he said shortly, trying to gloss over the topic.

"Och, I should have known she was the one tae save ye, and nae the other way around. She is a formidable lass, that one. We simply must go tae the opera tae hear her sing while we are in town, mustnae we, Edward?" she declared enthusiastically.

Temperance set her cup back in its saucer.

"If you will excuse me, Your Graces," she said, her voice smooth, polite, and entirely devoid of warmth. "I shall step out to see to the cakes."