Ravenwood released Miss Ross from his arms, his heart pounding in trepidation.

It was already too late.

An older woman stood in the open doorway, blinking owlishly at them from a pale, angular face.

“Oh, thank heavens.” Miss Ross all but sagged back into his arms in obvious relief. “It’s just Aunt Havens.”

Ravenwood stiffened. From what he had always gathered, aunts happening across an unchaperoned niece in the arms of a duke generally put one at distinct risk for a leg shackle.

He couldn’t risk Miss Ross becoming his duchess, for God’s sake.

She was intriguing and beautiful, but tempting curves and kissable lips were not the traits he most desired. No matter what his traitorous body might have thought when he’d given into temptation and pulled her into his arms.

He knew precisely what sort of woman would make the perfect wife and a wonderful duchess, and Miss Ross unquestionably did not fit his requirements.

When he married, it would be for his dukedom…and for love.

Or at least, that had been his plan until a few moments ago.

However, Mrs. Havens had yet to sound the alarm. Or do much of anything besides stare at them, with her back to the noise from the gala and Ravenwood’s freedom in the palm of her hand.

“She’s frowning because she can be slightly addled at times, not because she intends to compromise us,” Miss Ross whispered. “It’s going to be all right.”

Relief coursed through him.

His moment of weakness, of madness, was nothing more than that. A flight of fancy. It wasn’t like he had actually kissed her.

Mrs. Havens had done them a favor by interrupting.

He tried to calm his racing heart. Miss Ross’s ability to drive him mad with both distaste and desire did not deserve to be dwelled upon any longer.

Thank God they wouldn’t be compromised. If they could not be in each other’s company without arguing—or kissing—then they would simply take care to avoid each other’s company.

Indeed, it was past time for Ravenwood to select a proper duchess. If he had already taken a wife, he would never have made the terrible mistake of a horrifically incompatible woman like Miss Ross.

He required someone of moral restraint, of unimpeachable reputation, of soft words and a gentle heart. A duchess who would command the unflagging respect of the entire ton. Once he took a wife, he would no longer be tempted by the likes of Miss Ross.

He forced himself to drag his gaze away from the pretty flush on Miss Ross’s cheeks…and the sight of her tongue as she licked her lower lip.

No matter how badly he’d longed to escape the crowded salon, he should never have followed her into the storage area. Her goading was far less dangerous than the temptation of her kisses.

But then, who would imagine he could ever be tempted?

“There’s no trouble here, Aunt.” Miss Ross grabbed one of the dusty cloths covering the many crates and placed it atop the puddle on the floor. “We’re just attending to a slight mishap.”

“Why was a pail of water perched at the edge of a shelf to begin with?” he growled beneath his breath.

Miss Ross’s blue eyes sparked up at him from beneath dusky lashes. “’Tis my museum, not yours. I’ll store my possessions wherever I please.”

“Did I leave my bucket on the floor?” came a querulous voice from the doorway.

Addled sometimes. He swallowed in sudden understanding. Miss Ross wasn’t the beautiful, shallow creature he’d believed her to be. Her fiery glare hadn’t been because she was cross with Ravenwood, but because she wished to protect her aunt from censure. He appreciated such a noble streak.

“Go back to the others,” Miss Ross called over her shoulder. “I’ll find you in a moment.”

Ravenwood’s entire body tensed as he waited to see whether Mrs. Havens would follow such a directive without asking what her niece was doing alone with a strange man in the first place.

To his relief, Mrs. Havens nodded as if this were a perfectly normal request. “Make haste if you could, please. Daphne has questions about the pink vases and Lambley says we’re running out of champagne.”

Ravenwood blinked at the mundane query.

Miss Ross had been correct. Everything was going to be all right. All they had to do was slip back into the salon before anyone else noticed them missing and then life would continue as planned.

The hardest part would be explaining why his cravat looked like he’d dropped it in bathwater.

As Mrs. Havens turned to close the door, her voice floated back to them. “No, you’ll have to wait for the champagne. Kate needs a private moment with a young man before she can join us.”

Miss Ross flushed pink and sucked in a breath.

Ravenwood covered his face with his hand.

The storage door swung back open with enough force to rattle its hinges.

“Ravenwood?” spluttered the Duke of Lambley in disbelief. “Why are you skulking about with my cousin?”

“A fine accusation, coming from the likes of you,” Ravenwood returned icily.

Lambley’s more illicit parties were legendary for their hedonism. They were also precisely the wrong comparison to make whilst explaining why Ravenwood was alone with Miss Ross.

Mrs. Havens clasped her hands to her chest and fixed her nephew with a worried gaze. “Is something wrong, dear?”

“Ravenwood is about to ask my cousin for her hand in marriage right this very moment, that’s what’s wrong.” Lambley stalked forward with his hands clenched into fists.

Miss Ross rushed forward. “Cousin, wait. It’s not what you think!”

Lambley drew up short, his posture relaxing. “Please tell me there’s a reasonable explanation.”

For a moment—a brief, glorious moment—Ravenwood let himself believe that he would be able to exit this museum the same way he had entered it: a bachelor.

Then dozens of familiar faces swarmed the open doorway in shock and delight.

“What is it?”

“Lambley nearly engaged in fisticuffs with the Duke of Ravenwood!”

“A brawl? In a museum?”

“The Duke of Ravenwood has compromised Miss Ross!”

“Can you imagine her as a duchess?”

“Can you imagine Ravenwood compromising someone? His blood isn’t made of ice after all!”

“A tryst, at a charity gala! Can there be anything more vulgar?”

“Must not have wanted him, though. Looks like she tossed her drink right in his face.”

“Not want a duchy? Are you mad? That’s a lover’s quarrel, that is. She wanted to be more than a mistress, but he had his sainted image to uphold.”

Ravenwood was clenching his jaw so tight he feared his teeth would grind to dust. His “sainted” image had been one of his prized possessions. An achievement of which he’d had every right to be proud.

In eight-and-twenty years, he’d never once given Society a reason to view his manners and his bearing with anything less than absolute respect.

In less than a quarter hour, he’d managed to tarnish two reputations. All because he’d ducked into a quiet room for a much needed respite from this very crowd.

He slowly turned toward Miss Ross, expecting to find her prostrate with mortification. Or perhaps smug with satisfaction, if the gossips were right about every woman’s innate desire to become a duchess.

Miss Ross didn’t look delighted at her unexpected new fortune. She looked like she was going to cry.

Devil take it.

Ravenwood’s spine snapped into its habitual commanding posture. A sudden betrothal was the last thing either of them had planned, but becoming the new Duchess of Ravenwood was hardly the end of the world. For someone like her, ’twould be a giant step forward.

“Miss Ross.” He forced himself to voice the dreaded words that had now become inevitable. “Would you do me the great honor—”

“It’s no honor,” she muttered back, glaring at his wet shoes. “This is a nightmare for both of us.”

Well. At least she acknowledged the truth. Ravenwood grabbed her hand and turned toward the jostling spectators. “She said yes!”

She dug her fingernails into his skin. “I didn’t say yes. You didn’t finish your sentence.”

“Do you want this to become even more of a farce than it already is?” he asked through clenched teeth, forcing himself not to grab her. “If that bucket hadn’t been there—”

“If you hadn’t followed me somewhere you certainly didn’t belong—”

“If you hadn’t forced me into attending this ridiculous gala—”

“If you didn’t have such a large stick up your arse—”

“If you could act like a lady for just once in your flighty, spoiled little life—”

“Congratulations,” Lambley boomed. He yanked Miss Ross to safety before Ravenwood could throttle her for making a horrible situation even worse. “You may call upon us tomorrow to work out the details.”

Ravenwood allowed his mask of ducal impenetrability to engulf him, cloaking his frustration behind an emotionless façade.

He inclined his head toward Lambley. The bounder was right. Duty before all else. He would not lower himself to arguing again. Not now, not tomorrow, not even when that pretty termagant became his wife.

Duty first. Nothing else mattered.

Not even his own happiness.