The next afternoon, Alaric leaned back in his chair, rolling a smooth crystal paperweight from hand to hand. Sun streamed through the tall windows, brightening his study and his already optimistic mood. The tides were finally turning in his favor. He and Emma had informed Kent of their discovery concerning Lily White; although displeased by his sister’s involvement, Kent had given his partner Mr. Lugo, a stalwart African gentleman, the portrait of Lily and tasked him with hunting down the actress.

Mr. Lugo was presently on the way to Brighton.

Progress was being made—on all fronts.

For, bit by bit, Alaric was also winning Emma over. Not only was their passion burning more fiercely with each encounter, he sensed her resistance to marriage was waning. And, despite his dominant tendencies, he had to admit that letting her take the lead at the theatre had deepened his admiration for her. With her intelligence and determination, she would make him an excellent duchess. Once the business of his murderer was settled, he’d claim her for good.

And now his present visitor had come bearing more good tidings.

“The situation with the investors has stabilized,” the Marquess of Tremont said, crossing his long legs. “It seems your scandal has already become last week’s news.”

“Gossip can’t beat out the lure of profit,” Alaric said.

“A few wags like Mercer continue to forecast doom for our venture, but they are in the minority. Thank God.” Tremont’s grey eyes were rueful. “I must confess I’m breathing easier now that our plans are once again secured. As you know, I’ve got a fair share of my personal holdings tied up in United Mining. I’m afraid I’m rather depending on it to go through.”

Quietly, Alaric said, “If you’re short on funds, I’d be happy to—”

“No, thank you,” Tremont said.

Knowing the other’s pride, Alaric did not pursue the subject further. “No matter,” he said instead. “In a fortnight, we’ll get the expansion vote passed at the General Meeting, and the value of shares will go through the roof. You’ll be a rich man.”

“That was the plan.” The lines around Tremont’s mouth eased. “Onto more important matters—how goes the search for the fiend who shot at you?”

“We’re making progress. It’s only a matter of time before we catch the bastard.”

“I am relieved to hear it, old chap. Murder puts a damper on one’s plans.” Tremont paused. “At least with our venture going smoothly, you can spend what’s left of the Season focusing on your wife hunt.”

Alaric put down the paperweight with studied nonchalance. “Indeed.”

Tremont, however, must have caught some betraying sign. “Egad, don’t tell me you’ve managed to find a duchess with all the mayhem that’s been going on?”

“Nothing’s settled yet,” he muttered.

“But you do have an iron in the fire.” A slow smile spread across Tremont’s face. It shed some of his years, made him look more like the roguish lad he’d been at Oxford. “By God, I’ve always said you’re the most efficient fellow I’ve ever met. Do I know her?”

“I doubt it.”

“A mystery woman not from our circle. Now I am intrigued.” Tremont’s tawny brows shot up. “Is she a scandalous opera singer perhaps? Or a beautiful merchant’s daughter—”

“Get intrigued over some other female,” Alaric said irritably.

Tremont’s grin deepened. “Is that the twang of Cupid’s bow I hear?”

Alaric was saved from answering when a knock sounded, and Jarvis peered in. “Please excuse the intrusion, Your Grace. You have a visitor.”

“You can see I’m busy,” Alaric said.

“I would not have disturbed you, but this, ahem, gentleman, claims you invited him to call. His name is Babcock.”

Anticipation rolled through Alaric. Some days are just better than others.

“Put him in the drawing room. I’ll be there shortly,” he said.

“Sounds important. I shan’t keep you.” Rising, Tremont said, “Before I go—don’t I get at least a hint about the object of your undying affection?”

To his consternation, Alaric felt his cheekbones heat. “Devil take you, Tremont.”

The marquess laughed.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t need my help with your undergarments, Miss Emma?” the ladies maid said anxiously from the other side of the door. “At least to tighten your corset strings—”

“I’m fine for now, thank you. I’ll ring when I’m ready to put the ball gown on,” Emma said in bright tones.

As soon as she heard the maid shuffle off, Emma released a breath. She was sitting in front of her vanity, a high-necked robe bundled around her. She’d put that on after removing the high-necked frock she’d worn all day. Undoing the belt, she parted the lapel and blushed to see that nothing had changed since she’d last looked.

The red mark still blazed at the side of her throat.

She brushed her fingertips against the evidence of Alaric’s kiss. She had no doubt that he had put it there on purpose. Recalling the branding scorch of his lips as he’d bent her over his desk, heat prickled over her insides.

At the same time, her reflection wrinkled its nose.

“Devious man,” she muttered.

It could be no coincidence that he’d placed his mark in that particular place. Given the low cut of her fashionable ball gown, she would have no choice but to cover it with the jewelry he’d given her. She gave an exasperated huff at his unnecessary high-handedness. She would have worn the necklace anyway—to uphold her end of the bargain after he’d taken her to The Cytherea.

Her irritation turned to excitement as she thought of their discoveries at the theatre, the excellent headway they’d made in the search for Lily. Moreover, Alaric had demonstrated his support of Emma’s dreams, and she had to admit that working together with him was even better than going at it on her own.

They were becoming true partners, equals capable of give and take. At The Cytherea, he’d let her take the lead with questioning the witnesses. Right before that, when they’d made love on his desk, she’d surrendered to his control. A giddy feeling swept over her. In both instances, she’d felt connected to him body and mind. She’d once wondered if she was capable of a passionate bond with another, and now she knew the answer.

I’ve fallen in love with Alaric.

Somehow, despite their disastrous first meeting and subsequent conflicts, she’d lost her heart to the duke. A dictatorial man whose icy cynicism hid a passionate nature. A man with more layers than an onion. How many would she have to peel back, she wondered, before she reached his heart?

Wistfully, she lifted the choker from its black velvet box. The triple strand of flawlessly matched pearls slid against her fingers. The centerpiece—an enormous pink diamond set in a dazzling frame of diamonds—nestled itself heavily in her palm.

It was a necklace fit for a duchess—or rather, a queen. According to Marianne, this particular piece had occupied the center display at Rundell, Bridge, and Rundell, London’s most prestigious jeweler; it was said to have once belonged to the wife of a great Maharaja.

Shaking her head at Alaric’s extravagance, she secured the diamond-studded clasp and looked in the mirror. Her heart stumbled in her chest.

Oh. My. Goodness.

She’d never been overly concerned about her appearance. Pretty is as pretty does, after all. Yet now she marveled at her reflection, the way the necklace imbued her with glowing vitality. She didn’t recognize the bright-eyed woman with skin as lustrous as the pearls and lips as vividly blushing as the rare diamond. The choker seemed to lengthen her neck, inject her carriage with grace. She didn’t look like the country spinster she was.

It’s perfect for you, Alaric had said.

Could it be that he saw her this way—as this exotic, bold, confident creature?

“Emma, may we come in?”

Her sisters’ voices broke her reverie. When she let them in, Thea’s hazel eyes widened. “The necklace looks beautiful on you, Emma.”

“That diamond is as big as the egg I had for breakfast,” Violet declared.

Touching Alaric’s gift, Emma felt her cheeks warm. “Is it too much?”

“You’re glowing,” Polly said simply.

“Thank you, dear.” Emma smiled. “Help me dress, will you?”

Closing the door behind them, her sisters clustered around her at the looking glass. With an efficiency borne of practice—growing up without the benefit of maids, they’d always dressed one another—the girls set to work. Vi helped her pull on her unmentionables, Thea worked on the corset strings, and Polly crouched to adjust the skirts of her petticoats.

“Just like the old days,” Vi said.

“Do you think about Chudleigh Crest?” Emma said.

“I do. On the count of three now.” Thea’s deft tug on the laces whooshed the air from Emma’s lungs. “As exciting as London is, I sometimes miss the simplicity of country life.”

“Not me. London is the tops,” Vi decreed. “One never knows what will happen next.”

“Are you going to marry the duke, Emma?” Polly blurted.

In the reflection, Emma saw her sisters grow still, their faces bright with curiosity.

Meeting Polly’s aquamarine eyes, she said, “Would you mind if I did?”

“No,” Polly said. “I like him.”

Her youngest sister’s approval buttressed Emma’s own feelings. If there was anyone whom she trusted as a judge of character, it was her baby sister. Gifted with an intuitive nature, Polly was wise beyond her tender years.

“The question is whether or not you like the duke, Emma,” Thea said gently.

“I do.” It was a relief to admit the truth. “He can be stubborn and overbearing, and he always thinks he’s right. Yet beneath it all he has a good heart.”

“Sounds like someone I know,” Vi said, grinning.

“Who?” Emma said.

Her sisters looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Emma rolled her eyes. “That’s different. You lot required a firm hand. I had to be managing to keep you in line.”

“We know that, dear.” Thea’s eyes sparkled. “But let’s face it, you’re no wilting violet. You need someone with a will to match yours—and His Grace certainly fits the bill.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean the duke and I are destined to a lifetime of locking horns.”

“Father always said love involved compromise,” Thea said.

“Well, Strathaven and I are learning to negotiate and work together,” Emma mused, “and he even supports my assisting in his case.”

“I think it’s smashing that you’re working with Ambrose. I wish he’d let me help, too,” Violet said.

Uh oh. What have I started?

Seeing the spark in her sister’s eyes, Emma said, “I, er, thought you were enjoying your lessons and the delights of Town.”

“I am, but what you’re doing sounds more fun.”

“It isn’t a game,” Thea chided gently. “The duke’s life is at stake. You mustn’t pester Ambrose and distract him from serious work.”

“You’re such a spoilsport.” With a good-natured sigh, Violet went to fetch Emma’s ball gown from the dressing screen.

Emma had the feeling that the conversation was not quite finished. Like the pot, however, she couldn’t very well call the kettle black. Perhaps Violet’s sudden interest would go the way of so many of the dear girl’s impulses. A while back, after seeing a performance at Astley’s, Vi had decided to become an acrobat.

Whatever the case, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Emma thought.

Thea said, “Well, I, for one, am happy that you’ve found someone who appreciates you, Em. And you’ll make a fine duchess.”

“How difficult could that be?” Vi returned with the eggshell satin cradled in her arms. “All you have to do is wear a hideous turban on your head and refer to yourself in the first person plural.” She mimicked in a nasal tone, “We do not find the dessert to our liking. We are not amused at being served plum pudding when we specifically requested a chocolate gateau.”

Polly giggled.

Even Thea’s lips twitched as she helped Emma into the gown.

“I don’t care about being a duchess. I care about ... him.” Emma tried to put into words what she knew in her heart. “I can’t explain it, but I think he needs me. From what I’ve gathered, his first marriage was rather horrid. And his mama died when he was young and then he was separated from Mr. McLeod at an early age. I don’t think he’s ever felt a part of a true family.”

“Gadzooks,” Violet said with sympathy.

“Poor man,” Thea murmured.

“He’s lonely,” Polly whispered.

If there was anything a Kent understood, it was the importance of family.

“Well, if you marry him, then he’ll become a member of our family,” Vi said stoutly. “No one’s ever lonely when we’re around.”

“Thank you, dear, but nothing is settled yet. We have a murderer to find. Moreover, I need to be certain that we truly suit and can live in the same world.”

“Turn around and look in the mirror,” Thea suggested.

Emma did—and her breath stuttered.

The ivory gown left her shoulders bare, the bodice glimmering with the subtle sheen of seed pearls embroidered in a swirling vine pattern. The waistline followed the current trend, nipping in at her waist and flaring subtly at her hips. The hem was caught up at regular intervals by ribbons fashioned to look like tiny, magenta butterflies, the bright splashes of color echoing the brilliance of the necklace.

Bemused, she said, “I do look different, don’t I?”

“Oh Emma,” Polly said, “you look like a duchess.”