That evening after her bath, Emma collapsed on her bed. For one of the rare times in her life, she was too tired to do anything. As if sensing her exhaustion, Tabitha came to curl up against her side. Emma stroked the cat’s soft, striped grey fur as she stared up at the pink canopy, her thoughts as swirling as the damask.

Accompanied by Ambrose, she’d given her testimony to the magistrates that afternoon.

She’d had a moral duty to make that report. Her chest tightened as she thought of poor Lady Osgood. There was nothing more that Emma could do, yet her nerves were as tightly strung as a clothesline.

If Strathaven thinks he can intimidate me into silence just because he is a duke, then he is in for a rude awakening, she thought fiercely.

As far as she was concerned, justice knew no class distinctions. A murderer was a murderer, whether he was a duke or a crossing sweep. And the nerve of the cad, telling her she needed to be kept under rein! Her life had plenty of purpose, and she didn’t need any man—least of all him—telling her what to do. Never had a person angered her so much—or affected her so strangely.

Just the thought of him sent a buzzing awareness through her. In his presence, all her senses were heightened. She recalled the crackling hostility between them in the drawing room. As he’d towered over her, his lean, muscular frame had radiated leashed power. Silver had flashed in his pale eyes, illuminating for an instant the tempest of emotions he’d held in check. Barely.

What would happen if he lost control?

A rapping on the door jerked Emma back to the present. Her breath was puffing from her lips, her skin misted with perspiration. As she sat up, her breasts brushed against her nightclothes, the tips oddly sensitive and tingling.

“Emma, are you awake?” Her sister Dorothea’s gentle voice drifted through the door.

“I—I’ll be right there,” she said.

She took a moment to compose herself; she had no wish to worry her sisters. When she went to unlock the door, Thea, Violet, Polly, and Primrose filed in like a troop of cheerful ghosts in their voluminous lawn night rails.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Emma said to the two youngest.

While Polly looked abashed, Rosie’s emerald eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Yes,” the latter said merrily. “So hurry and close the door before Mama catches us!”

With her flaxen hair and flawless face and form, Rosie Kent was a stunning miniature of Marianne. At sixteen, the spirited girl was already beginning to turn heads, and Ambrose joked that he dreaded the day of Rosie’s coming out for surely he’d have to start carrying a shotgun to fend off her suitors.

As Emma closed the door, her middle sister Violet declared, “Last one to the bed is the rotten egg!” and, amidst muffled squeals and giggles, the four girls made a mad dash for the destination.

Relieved for the return to normalcy, Emma dragged a chair to the side of the bed. She sat and found herself under the scrutiny of four pairs of bright, inquisitive eyes. Her sisters had arranged themselves along the length of the bed, with Violet at the foot, Polly and Rosie in the middle, and Thea at the head.

As usual, Violet spoke first. She sat cross-legged, her chestnut hair tumbling down her back. Agile and energetic, she gave the impression of constant motion.

“Start at the beginning, Em,” she said, “and don’t leave anything out.”

“The beginning of what?”

Vi rolled her caramel-colored eyes. “Your visit to the magistrates’ office today, of course.”

For the time being, Ambrose and Emma had both agreed to keep mum on the subject of Lady Osgood’s murder. They’d thought it best to protect their younger siblings from the gruesome details for as long as possible. Protecting a Kent from her own curiosity was never an easy task, however.

“How did you find out?” Emma said with a sigh.

“We didn’t mean to snoop.” Thea’s hazel eyes were soft with apology. She rested against the headboard, her hands gracefully stroking Tabitha who lay belly-up and purring in her lap. “We found out by accident.”

A year younger than Emma, Dorothea was the gentlest of the Kents. Emma attributed it to Thea’s constitution, which had been frail since childhood. Although her health had grown more robust, Thea continued to favor more sedate pursuits, and Emma thought proudly that her sister’s performance at the pianoforte could compare with that of any fine London lady.

“Thea found out by accident. I snooped,” Vi said with aplomb. “I asked Millie the chambermaid to ask John the groom where you and Ambrose had gone all day. Since John has eyes for Millie, he told her straightaway. Thea overheard me telling Polly and Primrose about it.”

“You’re not supposed to encourage gossip amongst the servants, Violet,” Emma chided.

“Pish posh. Stop trying to change the subject,” her incorrigible sister replied.

“Yes, do tell.” Rosie’s smile could charm a bird from a tree, and her tone was just short of wheedling. “You wouldn’t want us to perish from curiosity, would you?”

“You should tell us, Emma, for your sake if not ours,” Polly put in.

Emma’s youngest sister sat with her arms hugging her knees. The womanhood which had begun to blossom so radiantly in Rosie hadn’t yet unfurled in Polly. At sixteen, she was still a small, thin girl with wavy hair that was neither blond nor brown but a range of shades in between. To Emma, her baby sister possessed a unique beauty: Polly’s solemn features exuded quiet dignity, a blend of wisdom and innocence in her aquamarine eyes.

At times, those remarkable eyes seemed to see too deeply. Back in Chudleigh Crest, there’d been whispers about Polly being “odd,” which had made the sensitive girl retreat into shyness. As a result, Emma and the rest of the siblings were particularly protective of her.

Family always stood together.

“Why for my sake, dear?” she asked.

“Because something’s bothering you,” Polly said with her quiet perceptiveness. “You’ve always said that we could come to you with anything. So you should feel free to talk to us in return.”

“You haven’t been yourself, Em. Even I can see that,” Vi added.

“We just want to help,” Rosie chimed in.

“But only if you wish us to,” Thea said.

“For heaven’s sake, you win.” Amused and touched at the same time, Emma shook her head. “What was I thinking? Trying to refuse a band of Kents?”

“And Harry’s not even here.” The gruff wistfulness in Violet’s voice gave away how much she missed their brother, her favorite sibling rival. “He would have added a barrage of logic to the mix.”

“What happened, Emma?” Rosie prompted.

Emma debated what to tell them. She wouldn’t lie—that wasn’t the Kent way—but she didn’t want to spoil the girls’ innocence, either. In the end, she compromised, acknowledging that she had witnessed an altercation between Strathaven and Lady Osgood and carefully omitting the explicit details of what she’d seen.

“What a blackguard!” Vi exclaimed nonetheless. “I’m glad you walloped him with your reticule. If I’d been there, I would have planted a facer to finish him off!” Her fist swung to mimic the motion.

“Why hasn’t Mr. McLeod mentioned having a duke for a brother?” Thea asked, her brow pleating.

“I don’t think Mr. McLeod and Strathaven are close.” Considering the animosity Emma had witnessed between the two, that might be the understatement of the year. What had driven a wedge between the brothers? she wondered. “According to Ambrose, Mr. McLeod wants to find success on his own merits and doesn’t want it bandied about that he’s heir presumptive to a duke.”

“And Strathaven’s not just any duke, he’s the Devil Duke.” This came from Rosie, the resident Society expert. “According to the gossip rags, he’s as wicked as they come. As I recall from Debrett’s, he wasn’t even the next in line for the duchy—he only got the title after two distant relatives ahead of him in the succession mysteriously died.”

“Gadzooks,” Violet breathed.

“There’s more.” Rosie’s voice lowered to a dramatic timbre. “There were whispers of cruelty during his first marriage. To this day, some say the duchess was fleeing from him when the ship she was on went under.”

Gasps went up in the room.

Emma’s nape tingled. “Why is a man like that still welcomed in Society?”

“He’s more than welcomed—the ton panders to him,” Rosie said. “People might say things behind his back, but they don’t dare give him the cut direct. He’s too rich and powerful. Now he’s looking to secure his dynasty with an heir, and according to the on dit, his requirements for a wife are rather peculiar.”

Emma frowned. “In what way?”

“He’s made it clear he expects complete obedience from his wife. An heir and no trouble. Some say that the marriage contract spells out specific consequences,”—Rosie’s green eyes were very wide—“for any violation of his rules.”

“Consequences?” Violet said in puzzled tones. “Does he plan to send her to bed without supper? Take away her riding privileges?”

“I have no idea. They don’t tell the really good details to girls,” Rosie said with a sigh.

Emma scowled. “And what about him? Is he proposing to be a model of husbandly propriety in return?”

“The Devil Duke?” Rosie rolled her eyes. “I think not. He’s notorious for his paramours.”

Emma shook her head. “Why would any woman in her right mind accept such terms?”

To her, marriage ought to be a meeting of equals. A coming together of minds and hearts. She’d seen the strength of the bond between her parents and between Ambrose and Marianne. Although she’d never known such a connection with a man, she’d settle for no less if she ever married.

“Um, jewels? Untold wealth and privilege?” Rosie’s moon-bright tresses rippled over her shoulders as she shrugged. “Prior to the Osgood scandal, ladies were lining up in droves.”

“At least the duke is frank about his expectations.” Thea, bless her heart, always thought the best of everyone. “One cannot fault a man for being honest.”

“Only for being a murderer,” Vi said with a snort.

“If the duke is a dangerous man and you’ve crossed him,” Polly said anxiously, “do you have anything to worry about, Emma?”

Emma gave her youngest sister a reassuring smile. “There’s no need to fret, dearest. I’ve already given my testimony, and the matter is in the hands of the magistrates now. In all likelihood, Strathaven and I will never cross paths again.”

Quelling a sudden shiver, she prayed she was right.