Ravenwood was in the east wing listening to his wife explain the provenance of various artifacts she’d used to decorate what had once been an ordinary sitting room into a Greek dayroom when the unmistakable sound of carriage wheels rolled up toward the house.

“Just a moment.” He bit back a sigh. He wasn’t expecting company or deliveries of any kind, which was why he’d picked this moment to accept Katherine’s invitation to view the changes she’d made to her section of the manor. He should’ve known he would never even have a quarter of an hour free. “Let me see who or what has just arrived.”

To his surprise, Katherine pulled a pocket watch from the folds of her skirt. His eyebrows rose. He hadn’t known she possessed a watch of any kind. Or pockets.

“It’s your cousins,” she said once she’d consulted the hour. “Early, I’m afraid.”

“My cousins?” He reared back. Now the day was shot completely. He had ledgers to tally… A committee meeting to prepare for…

“Never fear,” she assured him. “It’s just tea. They’re in town for other purposes and will be gone within two hours.”

His spirits fell. “I don’t have time for tea.”

She nodded. “That’s why I told them you had meetings scheduled all day and must send your deepest regrets about being unable to join us.”

He stared at her. “I don’t even have to greet them?”

“Never again, if that’s your desire,” she agreed cheerfully. “You hate entertaining people. I love it. This way we both get what we want.”

“You want to take tea with my cousins?” he repeated, unable to hide his skepticism. The Blaylocks meant well. Some of them, anyway. But even five minutes in their company made him feel like he was drowning.

“I like taking tea with pretty much anyone,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. “It will be fun for Aunt Havens, too. We haven’t left the house in a fortnight, so it’s past time to be a little social.”

He frowned. Was that true? He vaguely recalled mention of some Grenville rout a while back, but his nights had been too busy with the House of Lords for him to pay attention to anyone else’s schedule.

Parliament was to adjourn in less than a week, which would free up his evenings to spend more time with his wife.

The impending end of the Season also meant far fewer entertainments were to be had… which was why Kate had picked the final week for her opening gala.

His shoulders tightened. He couldn’t believe he was just remembering.

“Your event is this week, is it not?” he asked, as if it hadn’t just occurred to him. He’d been so busy lately, the best he could do was take each day as it came. He did have the date highlighted in his diary, however. If Katherine believed the success of the evening hinged on his presence at the event, then he would ignore his hatred of crowds and sit there with a smile. He just hoped he didn’t have to share a box with his cousins. “Will you be inviting the Blaylocks?”

“Only in town until tomorrow, I’m afraid.” The knowing smile that accompanied her words indicated she’d seen right through the question.

Ravenwood couldn’t be disappointed. Once his cousins left, perhaps Katherine could resume the story she’d been telling him about Argonauts and the Golden Fleece. A smile played at his lips. The enthusiasm in her voice indicated she felt as at home among antiquities as he did amongst his flowers. He hoped there would be many more such shared moments in their future.

The butler appeared in the doorway. “Pardon the interruption, your graces. The Blaylock family is in the front parlor.”

“Thank you, Simmons. I’ll be right there.” Katherine waited until the butler left, then touched the tip of her fingers to the back of Ravenwood’s hand. “I’ll keep them to the front of the house in case you need to visit your garden.”

Before he could think of an appropriate response, she swept out into the corridor to go take tea with his family.

He stared after her, stunned.

She wasn’t doing him a favor because she—rightly—believed him to be overwhelmed with all his concurrent duties to Parliament and his estate. She was letting him know that it was perfectly fine for him to spend this time doing whatever he wished. Even if that meant nothing more critical than a walk to his garden.

She understood him, he realized in surprise. No. More than that. She understood and accepted him precisely how he was.

In a state of some bemusement, he found himself heading not toward his garden, but to his office. He retrieved a key from his inner waistcoat pocket and unlocked the top drawer of his desk.

Once his book of poetry was open before him, he leafed slowly through its pages. He didn’t often reread what he had written. The themes were always the same. Hope. Family. Love.

Something had changed over the last few weeks, however. He was no longer writing poetry about a vague hope for a future love, but rather writing poems about someone specific.

His poems were no longer about old dreams. They were about Katherine.

Initially, he hadn’t been able to see past her exuberance and chaotic life. But just because it was chaos to him didn’t mean it was chaos to her. His heart warmed just thinking about her.

Over the past weeks he’d discovered how surprisingly organized she was. What he’d always assumed was the capricious whim of an idle socialite was actually strategic appearances to boost the success of this event or that.

She was far from the selfish debutante he’d once believed her to be. She opened museums, pioneered support for an artistic community, facilitated fundraising for other people’s charities, treated her aunt with more love and caring than he’d ever witnessed anyone display in his life.

Katherine was responsible and driven. Yet she never failed to put family first.

He jerked his head up and stared at his empty office. She never failed to put family first.

Family.

Him.

There were a thousand other things she would surely rather be doing than entertain his well-meaning cousins while he took refuge in his office.

He stared at his poetry. All this time, he’d been yearning for a family, yearning for the day when Katherine would want a family—and he already had one. He’d just had to open his eyes.

He shoved his journal back into its drawer and yanked a blank sheet of parchment from a fresh stack.

What Katherine could do that he could not was entertain anyone and everyone with a smile on her face.

What he could do that she could not was pen personal invitations to summon every influential member of the ton to Katherine’s upcoming gala with the irresistible promise that the reclusive Duke of Ravenwood himself would be present in the front row.

Bring your pocketbook, he underlined in each letter. I shall match the highest contribution.

He wrote until his fingers cramped, and then kept going until he had exhausted both his supply of sealing wax and his brain’s ability to come up with more names.

Only then did he lean back against his chair and allow his aching hands to relax at his sides.

Even before the feeling had fully returned to his fingers, they were already itching to write something new. Something better. Something for Katherine.

He pulled his journal out of the drawer and opened it to the first blank page.

With trembling hands, he wrote A Poem For My Wife across the top.

The words alone sent shivers of fear and excitement along his skin. He had never set out to write a poem about a specific person before. And yet he felt like all his other poems had been practice for this very moment.

He was so focused on choosing every word, on massaging the rhythm, on making every nuance perfect, that at first he didn’t even recognize the sound of carriage wheels leaving the property.

His cousins were gone. He could return to Katherine now.

He waited only long enough for the ink to dry before locking his journal away and striding out of his office to find her.

He would ask her to continue showing him the antiques she was so passionate about. And then he would ask her to an early dinner. Even if neither of them were hungry, sharing a glass of wine with her by candlelight would fortify him through the rest of the night with the House of Lords.

Laughter filled the air as he neared the front of the house. He shook his head. What the devil was his wife up to now?

As he entered the main salon, a tiny puff of fur no larger than his fist skidded across the waxed hardwood floor and tumbled head over tail across the tip of his Hessian.

He froze in surprise.

Katherine burst into giggles. “You’ve met the newest member of our family!”

“Family?” he repeated as the ball of fur attacked his boot as if it had been sent by Napoleon. “What is this?”

“A puppy,” she said, all but gurgling with laughter. “Your cousins ended up with more than they could handle, so they were kind enough to leave one here with us.”

Kind enough.

He scowled at the creature. Ravenwood House had never had a puppy. He didn’t want a puppy. If something was going to disrupt their lives, he preferred it to be a child. Someone he could speak with. Read to. Tuck in at night.

“Come here, puppy, puppy,” Katherine cooed, dropping to the floor on her knees before his butler, housekeeper, footmen, and an army of maids. She drummed her fingernails against the wood floor. “Puppy, puppy, come over here…”

He stared at her in disbelief. To call this conduct unbefitting a duchess would be the greatest understatement of his life. Any moment now, the beast would piddle on Ravenwood’s floor, then run right through it, dirtying the entire parlor.

“Aunt Havens, you try,” she called out. “You’ve always been clever at this. Maybe he’ll come to you.”

To Ravenwood’s utter stupefaction, the elderly Mrs. Havens dropped to all fours with the agility of a ten-year-old boy and wriggled her derrière in the air.

Much like the puppy itself was doing.

With a joyful bark, the creature leapt over Ravenwood’s boot and launched itself directly at Mrs. Havens.

The servants were nearly weeping with laughter as they watched the little beast yip and leap and sink its teeth into the exposed hem of Mrs. Havens’ petticoat.

“Join us,” Katherine called up to him, patting the floor beside her as if Ravenwood, too, was a brainless puppy that would come when called.

To their credit, the staff’s laughter dried up into choked horror as they realized not only would the Duke of Ravenwood not be rolling about the floor with a scrap of fluff, but soon neither would his duchess.

“Aunt Havens, you’re the best.” Katherine clapped her hands, her husband—and their entire watching staff—once again forgotten. “How do I make him come to me?” She glanced up at Ravenwood, her eyes sparkling. “Can you do it?”

He stared at her as coldly as he could, hoping she would understand without the need for public chastisement that as Duke and Duchess of Ravenwood, their duty was to uphold propriety at all times. Not to scamper on floors with puppies.

She gazed back at him with happy, unwavering exuberance, obviously certain that at any moment he, too, would throw himself to his knees and begin cooing like a lunatic.

The worst part of it was…he rather wanted to.

Not only was the puppy adorable, Katherine was almost irresistible. She enjoyed everything she did so thoroughly, loved everyone and everything so unconditionally, smiled at him with so much wholehearted joy…

But he was duke.

No matter how much he might wish he could join her, his conduct and bearing affected more than just his reputation. His every action reflected back onto the dukedom itself. Yet he realized that wasn’t what she wanted.

If he allowed her to chip away at his armor so that he became closer to her, he could lose respect in the eyes of everyone else.

Both paths risked something he dared not lose. But only one path was the right one. The proper one.

“I’ve decided to name him Francis,” she said hesitantly, her smile finally starting to wobble. “M-may we keep him?”

“No,” he said flatly. He leaned over and scooped the little beast up into his hands. “He looks more like a Jasper.”

He threw himself to the floor between his wife and Mrs. Havens and let the puppy gnaw a hole in his waistcoat.