Despite the eager queue stretching around the block, Heath could not help shifting his weight in nervousness.

Today was the grand opening of his gallery. It had taken months to select just the right pieces and arrange them in just the right order. At least, he hoped he’d achieved the magic he wished to convey.

He had put Nora’s work in the north salon, exciting canvases from a young Welsh painter in the east salon, stunning sculptures from a Scottish talent in the west salon, and a breathtaking sequence by a Cornwall-based artist in the south salon.

He hoped the steady river of patrons found as much joy in the carefully chosen selection as Heath had experienced whilst discovering it.

Nora squeezed his hand as the next dozen patrons streamed through the door. “Already a success, I see. I knew it would be.”

“Of course you did. You engineered it,” he told her fondly.

His wife could move mountains with her pen.

Three days earlier, an anonymous caricature had appeared in all the newspapers. In it, everyone who was anyone was standing outside the Grenville Gallery of Art, which bore only a sign reading SOON in the front window. Among the spectators, every sketched lapel bore a different flower. The queue tumbled over itself like a basket of kittens as they tried to peer inside the mysterious window.

The caption beneath had read simply, “Limited engagement.”

Her stratagem had worked brilliantly.

Not only had everyone who glimpsed the caricature been compelled to be the first to know just what was so interesting on the other side of that door, wild speculation had only fueled the chatter. What was in the gallery? Was wearing a flower the key to being permitted inside?

More than half of today’s crowd had pinned fresh blooms to their person in case the accoutrement was a requirement for entry or privileged status.

“I still can’t believe you invented a fashion,” he whispered to Nora.

She grinned back at him. “That’s my job.”

Pride coursed through him as he squeezed her to his side.

Over the past few months, Nora had quickly become the most sought-after designer of fashion plates in the city. Tailors and modistes paid any price to have her sketch their creations, and Ackerman’s was trying desperately to convince her to sign a contract exclusive to them.

The north gallery salon was stocked with her latest designs, some of which had never before been presented to the public. Other pieces had already been glimpsed upon the frame of such personages as the Duchess of Ravenwood.

They were a splendid team. Nora had already been marvelous when he married her, but together they were so much more than either could be alone. Her art would help his gallery succeed, and his gallery would help artists spread their reach.

He tried to stay to the shadows in order to allow the art to speak for itself.

Many familiar faces peppered the crowd. Maxwell Gideon, Lord Hawkridge, the Fairfaxes, Lord and Lady North-Barrows. It seemed everyone Heath had ever met and a whole host of new acquaintances had come to the grand opening.

“Are you happy?” Nora whispered up to him.

Happy? It was all Heath could do not to pump his fist in the sky and bellow a victory shout.

He whispered back, “I have never been more contented.”

Joy and mischief sparkled in her eyes. “Then you’re going to have to try harder.”

He frowned. “What are you—”

She pointed toward the door. His family was just entering the gallery.

Camellia and her husband, Dahlia and hers, Bryony. Their mother. And beside her…

His heart leaped in shock. “My father is here?”

Nora squeezed his hand.

Heath stared in disbelief and hope.

His father had received the invitation. He had come.

When their eyes met through the crowd, the baron nodded his head gruffly and pointed to his lapel. A pink rose bloomed from his breast pocket. Heath’s breath caught.

Father had not been forced to attend the grand opening. He had chosen to show his support of the gallery and his pride in his son.

Heath’s head spun.

“You did this?” he whispered to his wife.

She pressed her palm to his cheek and gestured at the gallery. “You did this, my love.”

“We did this.” He swept her into his arms in elation.

“Stop that,” she giggled. “You’ll cause a scandal.”

“Let them talk,” Heath said, and lowered his head for a kiss.

What will happen when Cloven Hoof owner Maxwell Gideon discovers Bryony Grenville is his silent partner… and she refuses to sell?

Find out in Lord of Vice, the next full-length Rogues to Riches regency romance.

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