Roderick had gained entrance to Lord Torrington and Lady Edith’s betrothal ball without incident. No household in the beau monde would dare turn away a duke, invited or not. He hadn’t bothered to stop long enough to remove his jacket and hand it to the footman. His purpose and course were clear: he would find Lady Lucianna and make her admit her part in his ruination.

Then what?

The woman was not capable of setting things to rights; she could not fix his broken relationship with Lady Daphne, nor could she restore his family’s missing fortune. Lady Lucianna was not in possession of the information Roderick sought.

Nevertheless, he was certain he would find peace with this current situation once he confronted the woman responsible.

And she had to be in this very room.

Sure enough, Roderick spotted Lady Lucianna on the terrace of the Shaftesbury’s townhouse. The terror in her widened stare told him she knew exactly why he had come. He continued across the ballroom. If he cut directly through the dancing couples, he paid no mind. His sights were set on one thing…and one thing only.

Vengeance.

In the form of Lady Lucianna.

A couple reentered the ballroom and hurried past him, but he kept his narrowed glare on the object of his ire.

A wisp of pale green, followed by the face of an auburn-haired woman moved to block his path—and his sight—as she stood on her tiptoes just inside the double doors, wavering from side to side.

“Excuse me, miss.” Roderick made to step around the woman, but she stepped in the same direction, blocking him once more.

The slip of a woman giggled—giggled!—but finally stepped around Roderick with a simple word of apology. “Do beg my pardon.”

He nodded curtly to her, but she’d already flitted farther into the room.

Leaving Roderick free to pursue Lady Lucianna on the terrace.

He stalked through the open doors, his narrowed glare sweeping across the outdoor patio and back again.

His hands clenched at this sides as he inspected the two couples on the terrace. Neither included Lucianna.

“Where in the bloody hell has she made off to?” he muttered, gaining a puzzled glance from one of the couples.

There was no way to escape but back into the ballroom—or down the steps into the unlit gardens below. The collection of shrubs, hedges, rose bushes, various flower blossoms, arches, benches, and statues seem to go on forever from his vantage point, at least until the night cast everything into utter darkness.

She was down there, Roderick could sense it.

It was possible she watched him even now; getting a laugh that she’d outmaneuvered him once more. His irritation swelled to the point of boiling over at her avoidance of a situation she’d caused.

She may have had the last say earlier in the day, but they were on even ground now. She’d known who he was at Bentley’s. And now, he knew who she was.

Tonight, he was determined to have the final word.

Roderick shoved his hands into the pockets of his evening coat, thankful he hadn’t stopped to hand it over to the footman, and started down the steps into the cold, dark gardens below.

The second his Hessians hit the soft, damp grass of the nearest path, he was also glad he’d forgone his ballroom shoes. It was enough that his valet would give him hell for the disrepair his boots would surely be in by the end of his excursion to find Lady Lucianna.

Nevertheless, he pushed onward. The dew from a blue blossom clung to his sleeve, and he brushed it away.

Each path he ventured down was empty.

Each hidden seating area was vacant.

Finally, the narrow path he’d selected opened into a large, circular area with a statue depicting rounded, naked cherubs, spouting water into the fountain below. The moon above lit the open space and reflected off the pool of water.

Serene. Quiet. Peaceful.

Roderick could not enjoy any of what the picturesque garden landscape had to offer.

Not when his entire body tensed in anticipation of locating Lady Lucianna.

The only sound was his footfalls as he stalked farther into the night and away from the ball at his back. A rose thorn caught his trousers at his knee, digging into his skin and sending pain shooting down his leg as he pulled free.

The music from the betrothal ball had receded, as had any light given off by the terrace torches. The full moon afforded him little help as he passed under a topiary arch into yet another courtyard with benches and several statues—this time featuring animals.

Scanning the open area, Roderick looked for any movement, listened intently for any sound that would betray Lucianna’s whereabouts.

Nothing.

No movement.

No sound.

How had she disappeared so quickly without a trace?

Roderick refused to allow a sense of disheartening hopelessness to fill him once more. He’d lived too long with that weight upon him.

He’d seen no marked path leading to the townhouse drive and around to the street in front of the row of Mayfair homes, but there must be. Perhaps Lucianna had found it and fled the ball entirely.

It was time he returned, gave his good tidings to the betrothed pair, and departed.

There was time to find her on the morrow. He’d send his man to keep watch on her, and Roderick would approach her then.

He turned back toward the well-lit house set high above the gardens below, wishing it were possible to slip out of the party without notice; however, the growing crowd on the terrace told him his entrance had gained much attention.

Sighing, he started back, taking the same paths he’d taken when entering the gardens.

A wisp of midnight blue caught his eye as he passed by the cherub fountain.

Roderick didn’t think, didn’t pause. He took off after the figure as it fled back in the direction of the house. Catching her was not an option. He pushed faster, but she was more familiar with the paths as she turned and crisscrossed across the garden, her skirts gathered high to avoid tripping.

Triumph flooded him at the same time his irritation flared at having to chase the woman.

Roderick was knocked in the side of the head when he failed to duck under a low-hanging branch. He only allowed it to slow him for a mere second before pushing on.

Lady Lucianna was a few paces ahead of him now, her strides as long as his.

Not much farther, and the glow from the townhouse would light his way once more and he could increase his pace without threat of injury.

Exiting the garden path, Lady Lucianna veered sharply to the left and onto a walkway he hadn’t noticed when he stepped from the terrace.

He lunged forward and grabbed her arm, halting her.

A quick tug brought her round to face him, and Roderick took her in his arms to keep her from breaking away.

Damn it, but she fit perfectly in his embrace. Lucianna’s height nearly matched his, though she kept her eyes trained on his chest. Her silky, black hair was piled high atop her head, but Roderick longed to see it flow down her back.

He loosened his hold enough to bring his hand to her chin, nudging it upward, coaxing her to meet his glare.

She tried to pull her face from his hand.

“Look at me,” Roderick sighed. The fight drained from him when a shiver went down her spine. Was she afraid—of him? “Lucianna?”

Reluctantly, she lifted her narrowed, moss-green eyes to him. They fairly glowed in the darkness.

“Why did you run?” he asked.

“I am not one to linger in the path of an angry man.” She scowled up at him before turning to gaze at the terrace with disinterest.

She’d seen him, knew he was angry and looking for her, and so she’d run as opposed to facing the consequences of her actions. If she’d been a man, Roderick would have suggested they meet at dawn on the expansive lawns of Hyde Park to settle the matter between them. He would not have had to resort to chasing a female down during the middle of a social gathering.

His temper rose once more at her deception from that morning.

And her part in his ruinous fall from grace.

Not that his position as a duke was in jeopardy; however, there was a certain stigma that clung to a man who had been accused of unbecoming behavior with a woman not his wife or betrothed. It was easy, less complicated, to look the other way when a gentleman visited his mistress in private, but it was another thing entirely for the couple to be seen in public together.

Roderick had made the mistake of meeting his informant in a very public place.

He had caused the gossip; however, no one had thought to ask whom the woman was he consorted with, or what his relationship with her entailed. They would have learned that she was the wife of his father’s dear friend—not a common harlot, nor his mistress.

The ill-advised meeting, and the gossip it had caused, would have lessened with time; talk of it replaced as another scandal occurred. But Lady Lucianna had decided to post it in the London Daily Gazette under the ludicrous guise of the Mayfair Confidential.

In one fell swoop, she’d stolen his chance to find out who was responsible for stealing his family fortune…and caused the end of his betrothal.

Roderick would not allow Lucianna to continue unscathed.

Glancing over his shoulder, he noted their proximity to the terrace. Happy to see that a few more people had joined the crowd watching them. From this distance, he and Lady Lucianna likely appeared in a loving embrace—a couple in the midst of a tender moment. However, they did not feel Lucianna’s tense posture in his arms. They could not see the frown she turned on him. There was no way they saw the sparks of anger shooting from her glare.

“May I go, Your Grace?” she seethed, attempting to take a step back.

The woman was beautiful—an exotic, midnight rose.

But her hoyden ways and senseless destruction of his life were not acceptable.

Roderick pulled her close, causing her glare to snap back to his, her mouth opening in an O of surprise.

Yes, a lesson could prove very beneficial for Lady Lucianna in tamping her wayward tendencies.

And Roderick may be the best gentleman to do it.

He leaned down and took her mouth, his lips settling against hers.

Gauging her reaction, she did not pull away nor did her compressed lips soften under his. Roderick waited. If she jerked away, he would not stop her—he was not a brute. To his delight, she melted into him after only a brief moment, and he parted his lips, their mouths joining in a rhythmic dance of push and pull, give and take, exploration and conquest.

Everything around him faded away.

His entire body heated with the sensual movement of their caress.

When he ran his tongue across her bottom lip, her mouth blessedly parted, allowing him to explore further. He would show her how it felt to be trifled with, to have one’s weakness discovered and exposed.

Tentatively at first, Roderick slid his tongue between her lips to taste her.

Honeysuckle and fruit berry. She was pure sweetness.

Everything about the night surrounding them faded to a distant memory.

He pulled her closer as his tongue set a rhythm with hers, much as their lips had, their bodies pressed tightly from knees to chest.

Lucianna fit perfectly against him—not too short, not too willowy.

His arm loosened, falling to cup her bottom as his other left her chin to rest on her neck, her skin soft as the finest cotton to his touch. In the moment, Roderick didn’t long to have her—as had been the case at Bentley’s—he needed her close to survive. Better yet, he craved to have every soft inch of her pressed against every hard line of his body.

His body was not only warm, it was on fire.

Lucianna pushed closer to him, demanding more, and Roderick gave it.

His entire body throbbed with need. Need for her.

The intensity grew to the height of severe pain.

Suddenly, his eyes sprang open as his tongue throbbed.

The blasted woman had bitten him—drew his tongue deep into her mouth and clamped her jaw shut.

His arms were suddenly empty, and the night breeze cast cool air upon his heated face. He stood alone, watching Lucianna flee down a path that ran parallel to the back of the house.

She paused several yards away. The woman would return. She would beg his forgiveness, and the entire wretched situation would resolve itself. Though he sensed his pride had taken the biggest hit.

Instead of making her way back to him, she settled her hands on her hips, her anger evident even from this far away despite the dim night and the barest illumination the moon cast on her.

“Your rakehell ways and heavy-handed manners will not prove my downfall, you scoundrel!” Her shout echoed across the space between them and rose up into the night as if the stars above sought to memorize her accusation and rain it down upon any woman who gained a familiarity with the Duke of Montrose.

She flipped back around, her black hair having come loose from its pins and cascading down her back as she lifted her skirts and ran.

Finally, she disappeared.

A loud cheer of celebration sounded from the terrace as the guests laughed at the scene he and Lucianna had unwittingly created.

He felt his mouth as she disappeared around the corner—thankful the hellion hadn’t drawn blood.

Bloody hell. He hadn’t meant to cause a scandal, only teach Lucianna the damage that could be caused by meddling in others’ lives.

Taking in the sight of the terrace once more, Roderick set off at a leisurely pace down the same path she’d fled. He had no intention of catching her, only departing the party without attracting more attention. The entire walk, he pondered her accusation. A high-handed scoundrel and rakehell?

Roderick was nothing of the sort.

However, every person present with decent eyesight knew it had been the Duke of Montrose who’d stalked from the garden. He only hoped it was not too much to wish for that Lady Lucianna’s identity remained a mystery, for if the ton recognized the woman he’d held in his embrace and kissed, there would be no chance of preventing the scandal to follow.