Rhys Galwin, the Duke of Roxborough, was no stranger to hard work. In fact, he lived for it. But the particular task before him was an odious one. Studying the list of prospective brides his mother had created was as tedious as it was unavoidable.

It was time to marry. As far as his mother was concerned, it had been time to marry for quite some time now, but the matter had grown urgent after his father passed the previous year and he had inherited the title.

No, the matter could not be put off any longer. He perused the list of handwritten names, which were neatly categorized by status, wealth, and influence. Their positive traits were clearly labeled in a separate column, followed by a column for disagreeable attributes. His mother had taken her task seriously, and now he was left with a list of candidates who were discussed in such a manner that he found it difficult to remember that he was choosing a wife and not a broodmare.

Lady Regina Phelpott, one entry read. Daughter of Albert Phelpott, Earl of Everley, and his wife, Lady Margaret Phelpott, née Humberton, daughter of the Marquess of such and such…and so on and so on. He skimmed over the remainder of the woman’s lineage, which read like a chapter from the Old Testament. And Pharez begot Hezron, and Hezron begot Aram…

He turned to the next page. There were many pages. Too many. He sighed as he flipped through them. Far, far too many. His mother had outdone herself.

Were he the sort to analyze such things, he might have noted that his mother’s new, nearly pathological interest in his choice of wife was a means of focusing her attention on something—anything—other than the fact that she had lost her husband of thirty-six years.

Were he the sort, he might discuss this fact with her.

But a conversation like that required a depth of emotion he did not possess—and neither did his mother, for that matter. His brother, Nicholas, was the emotional one, the one who broke protocol and spoke about matters like sentiment and feelings.

Perhaps Nicholas could have a word with their mother when he arrived. Yes, he would have Nicholas see to the matter.

In the meantime, his mother’s hard work was not in vain. He did indeed require an heir and for that he required a duchess. There was no time to waste, and because of that he was grateful for his mother’s list—tedious as the act of reviewing it might be.

Incessant interruptions only hindered the already monotonous task. First his butler, Hargrove, interrupted to inform him that Nicholas and his wife, Claire, had arrived, along with her younger sister, Georgie.

“Yes, yes, very good,” he’d said. And it was good that they would be staying at the family home this season. Ostensibly they were staying with him and his mother because Nicholas and Claire were looking for a London townhouse of their own, but they’d all agreed that Mother could use the company. She hadn’t been herself since Father passed, and she seemed to enjoy Claire’s company as much as Nicholas’s.

Nicholas might have been the family’s wayward son, up until he’d married Claire, at least, but he’d always been diverting. Charming. Loveable. All of the things that Rhys was not.

He heard the distant cacophony of people moving about, of luggage being brought in, of female voices. He heard it all from his study but did his very best to ignore it.

But then Hargrove was back, hovering in the doorway once more.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh. “What is it now?”

“Lord and Lady Nicholas would like to know if you will be joining them for luncheon.”

He frowned. He hardly ever ate in the afternoon, and never with company, his brother knew that. “Tell him to go ahead and eat without me. I will see them later for dinner.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

“Hargrove.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“My mother did plan the menu for this evening, did she not?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

It should have gone without question. His mother had been running this household for ages without so much as a falter in her stride. She could do it with her eyes closed, and often had when she suffered from a debilitating headache and was bedbound.

But for the past year since his father’s passing, his mother had been acting strangely. Almost as though she was not certain of her role in this household any longer. Try as he might to convince her that she was still necessary—more than ever, in fact, as he was still adjusting to his new role—she continued to make vaguely depressing comments about how she would not be around for much longer or how she was no longer the mistress of this home.

She was still the mistress, of course, though she would not be for much longer. He glared down at the tedious document his mother had put together. As long as he could finish with this research without further distraction.

Some time passed during which the chaotic sounds of his guests’ arrival died off. He assumed they were finding their rooms and getting situated. He was free to study the document and read each entry with fixed attention. A few more hours of this sort of quiet and he might make it through the first half—

Just then the thought was interrupted by the sound of laughter. High-pitched and musical, it jarred him from his reading.

What on earth?

But just as quickly, he remembered. His guests. Nicholas was a bother, but he was his brother. He didn’t mind having him here. And Claire…well, Claire was a delight. Quiet and sweet. Unassuming, even.

He was still uncertain what Claire saw in his brother.

But that was a mystery for another day. Because they’d brought a third member in their party, and he knew without having to look that it was her laughter that had distracted him. Miss Georgette Cleveland loved to laugh.

Claire had told him this after their wedding as they’d stood on the sidelines talking while her new husband whirled Georgie around the dancefloor in a waltz. Georgie loves to laugh, she’d said, as if that were a good thing. She’d said it with pride, but Rhys had accepted it as an apology. That’s quite all right, he’d said.

It was not all right. He was most decidedly not an admirer of frivolity—a fact his mother had kept in mind when creating this list, thank heavens. Though he supposed a young, pretty girl like Georgie could afford to be frivolous, particularly now that one sister had married an Earl and the other the brother of a duke. She could have her pick among the ton and find some dandy who found it diverting to have a mindless chatterbox on his arm and running his home.

Some dandy could afford to have a wife who loved to laugh. For a duke? Laughter was not high on his list of priorities.

In fact, as he was currently studying his list of preferences, he had written proof of the matter. He turned his attention to said list. Now this Lady Regina. She certainly had more decency than to laugh like a lunatic and chatter like a magpie.

How did he know that Georgie had a propensity to talk as often as she laughed? He had spent Christmas with the girl, as once more she had been brought to the family home as a guest of Claire’s.

He supposed he couldn’t blame Claire for wanting to give her impressionable younger sister a taste of gentility. It was a wonder Claire had turned out as well as she had considering their family owned land but no title. Add to that the legacy of scandal attached to the Cleveland name and it became quite clear that his brother and Claire had taken Georgie on out of a sense of charity.

There it was again. Her laughter tinkling like a bell in this vast house. He would not have been overly surprised if the maids and footmen came running.

Thrusting the matrimonial dossier to the side, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to alleviate the familiar ache that was forming just behind the bridge of his nose. It was no good. His concentration had been shot by that infernal racket.

The noise started up once more and he found himself standing to put on his jacket. He was not in a hurry to see his young guest, mind. He merely wanted to squelch the laughter before this insipid young lady disturbed his mother.

That thought carried him forward, though at some point he started to realize that it was he who had come running at the sound of the bell. Er, her laughter. He slowed his pace and then slowed it even further when he heard another noise altogether. One he hadn’t heard in months…perhaps years.

Certainly not since before his father had passed.

It was the low but unmistakable sound of his mother…laughing.

When he entered the drawing room, he found the entire family gathered—Nicholas, Claire, his mother…and, of course, the source of all the laughter.

Though now that he was here, it seemed she was also the cause of it. She stood before the empty fireplace with one hand hovering over her eyes as though she were pretending to don spectacles. She blinked a few times and screwed her mouth up into a pucker. Then the comical expression vanished and she was Georgie once more—blonde, petite, and truly the loveliest woman he had ever seen.

Objectively, of course. He might not find her personality alluring, but the fact that she was a diamond of the first water was impossible to deny. It was fact, not opinion.

She hadn’t seen him walk into the room. No one had, it seemed. All eyes were on Georgie as she finished her story. “He’d looked at me just like that. I am not exaggerating, am I, Claire? And really, I’d done nothing wrong.” She batted those big eyes with mock innocence, making the others hoot with laughter. “But he looked at me as though I’d just thrown the glass of water in his face, when really all I’d done was—”

That was when she spotted him. Her gaze met his and she froze, her lips still parted ready to speak.

The others followed her gaze to see why she had stopped her story, no doubt. His mother was the first to react. “Oh, Rhys dear. Do come in, we were hoping you could join us before dinner.”

She’d risen, as had the others, and he felt a twinge of guilt for having disrupted their amusement.

But only a very small twinge. A much larger part of him was irritated by the whole scenario. Something about finding them all laughing in his home but without him…it had not settled well. Besides, it was not proper for a young woman to be performing as if she were a common actress.

His mental lecture on propriety was cut short as his brother and sister-in-law greeted him, followed by a much more subdued, but no less amused Georgie.

“And you remember Miss Cleveland, of course,” Nicholas said.

“Of course.” He gave her a short nod in response to her pretty curtsy.

“Your Grace,” she said.

“Georgie was just recounting a rather amusing incident,” his mother said. She wore the kind of tolerant smile he’d thought was solely reserved for Nicholas but which now appeared to extend to his entire family, in-laws included.

“Indeed,” he said slowly, allowing his withering gaze to speak his true mind. “So I gathered.”

He’d used his best ducal tone, the one which made servants tremble and grown men pale.

Apparently it made Georgie laugh. He caught the way she pressed her lips together suddenly, the way her eyes danced with it, the way her body nearly shook with the effort to hold it in.

Bloody hell. She was laughing at him. Not outright, of course. She was not quite so uncouth, thank the heavens. But there was no denying the fact that she found him amusing.

In a startling moment of clarity, he could perfectly imagine her standing in front of her family and friends, sneering down at them and lowering her voice melodramatically. Indeed, she’d drawl with a sniff. So I gathered.

He straightened his spine. The sudden and absolute knowledge that she was storing this moment away for future mockery was alarming.

No one mocked a duke. It was not done.

He narrowed his gaze on the insolent little chit. Apparently no one in that godforsaken scandalous family had informed Georgie of that.

“Tell me, who were you imitating just now?” He was not certain why he’d asked, but it seemed imperative that he know what company he was in.

Georgie’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink but she never dropped her gaze as she cleared her throat. “Lord Haversham, Your Grace.”

Lord Haversham. An admittedly pompous, yet well-respected peer. He drew his brows together as he stared at Georgie but he could not quite bring himself to come to the other man’s defense. Haversham might be respected, but he was insufferable as well. Come to think of it, her impersonation had been rather spot on.

An uncomfortable feeling made it impossible to comment. He had the most ridiculous urge to…to laugh.

Oh bloody hell.

He sighed with exasperation and turned his back on the young lady who was far too pretty for her own good. Such a mischievous soul ought to have a plain face to temper it.

There was no doubt his mother and the others would not be so enchanted by her youthful antics if she were not so appealing to the eyes.

He answered his brother’s questions about the estate, happy to have a distraction from the woman who refused to be ignored. Even now he could feel her gaze on him. He was fairly certain he could feel her, her very presence, like a force of nature in the room with them.

He might as well have turned his back on a thunderstorm.

No, not thunder. Lightning. She was like lightning, silently lighting up the sky with unimaginable energy. Followed, of course, by the ensuing thunder. Then the rain.

Yes, this woman was lightning, and she brought with her all the trouble of a hurricane. He’d best prepare himself for an eventful season.

All this was running through his mind as he answered Nicholas’s questions and inquired politely after Claire’s family. That was, the members of family who had not imposed on his hospitality.

After a time, it became impossible to ignore Georgie any longer. Not without being rude, of course, and if there was one thing he was not, it was rude. He, unlike certain parties in this room, had a keen sense of decorum.

And so, after making polite conversation with Claire and his brother, he turned his attentions once more to Georgie, who was talking quietly with his mother.

Though she might be a chatterbox, she at least had the decency to control her volume.

“Miss Cleveland,” he said with as much ingratiating charm as he could muster.

It was admittedly not much. Nicholas had inherited all the charming wit in the family, along with his rakish grin and his handsome face. Rhys, meanwhile, had received their mother’s blue eyes and the rest of him was anyone’s guess. Perhaps some dearly departed relative was responsible for the severe features and the naturally furrowed brow.

The lady in question seemed unfazed by said brow. Most women cowered or simpered beneath his stare, which he had been told was brooding, at best, and terrifying at worst.

Nicholas had told him that during one of his many lectures about how he ought to relax more and worry less.

Only a man with no responsibilities would suggest such a thing. The rest knew that the moment one let down his guard others would leap to take advantage. But he let his younger brother have these fanciful notions. He could afford them.

Georgie was smiling at him. Of course she was. “Yes, Your Grace?” she prompted.

He frowned. He’d forgotten what he was going to say. Why was she smiling at him like that?

And why, for the love of God, had his mind stopped functioning?

His mother, too, was staring at him, waiting for him to continue. Miss Cleveland…what? Think, man. Comment on the weather. Ask her about her plans for the season.

Bloody hell, say something.

He said the first words that came to mind as his gaze met hers. “Your eyes are green.”

She blinked at him, that smile faltering for the first time since he’d entered the room. He was vaguely aware of his mother’s sudden scowl directed at him in his peripheral vision.

He held Georgie’s gaze as he frowned. Your eyes are green? Bloody hell, he’d sounded like a simpleton.

Those green eyes suddenly lit with laughter and he forgot to be angry with himself as he marveled at the way they sparkled in the firelight. “Indeed they are, Your Grace.” Her lips once again curved up in amusement and he experienced the oddest sensation, as though something inside of him shifted in response.

She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice as though letting him in on a secret. “How very perceptive of you.”

His lips twitched. What on earth? She was teasing him. Laughing at him. He would not encourage her with a smile.

“Yes, dear,” his mother said, her tone far less amused. “I was not aware you had such a keen eye for detail.”

When he turned to face her, he was struck by her searching look as much as the fact that for the first time in a year she appeared…present. Was that because Nicholas was here or because he’d shocked her with his idiocy?

They both seemed to be waiting for him to speak. To explain why he’d blurted out such a mundane fact, perhaps. He cleared his throat. “It’s surprising,” he said by way of explanation. Turning back to Georgie he said, “You and your sisters look so little alike.”

He watched in fascination as those beautiful glittering eyes widened in surprise. She looked shocked beyond measure.

Hurt even.

His stomach twisted in response, as though her pain had a direct effect on his person.

Then he heard Nicholas’s soft groan behind him as well as a sharp gasp from Claire. A second later he realized what he’d said. Or rather, how it must have sounded.

Hell and damnation.

He looked to his mother but even she looked surprised by his rudeness. Bloody hell, he hadn’t meant it like that.

The now deceased Mr. Cleveland’s philandering ways were one of society’s best known secrets. The nastier members of the ton liked to speculate on the illegitimacy of the Cleveland siblings, particularly the younger ones. He’d heard such rumors about their sister Anne, with her striking red hair, so different from Claire and Georgie’s fair blonde locks. But then, those whispers died off after she married the Earl of Davenport.

He hesitated now, his eyes seeking out Georgie’s once more, as he tried to think of a way to recover from this blunder. It seemed he did not have to. Georgie recovered before he did and the hurt shock was quickly replaced by laughter. More laughter. Was there no end to this woman’s amusement?

Perhaps not when he was around to provide her with such ridiculous scenes.

She gave him a brilliant smile that made it hard to breathe. Those emerald eyes glinted with mischief. “Do you know, you are not the first to notice that anomaly.”

He arched his brows in disbelief. She couldn’t be—surely she wasn’t—

But then he heard a most unladylike snort of laughter from behind him and his shock at Georgie’s lighthearted teasing over her family’s scandal was replaced by sheer astonishment at the sight of Claire clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle another laugh. Claire, a woman well known for her pious decorum.

He swiveled his head back and forth, dimly aware that he must look like a fool glancing between the two ladies with such a look of incredulity.

Nicholas stepped in, wrapping an arm around Claire as he grinned at Rhys. “Well done, big brother. I’d say this visit is off to a wonderful start, wouldn’t you?”

Rhys tugged at his cravat. He was used to being the brunt of Nicholas’s jokes, but rarely did he find himself the source of amusement for two ladies, such as the Cleveland sisters. But Nicholas’s comment gave him a chance to recover. “Of course,” he said, with what he hoped was a natural enough smile. “And what a delight it is to have you all here.”

There. Now that was a charming and welcoming statement befitting a host, was it not?

He turned to face Georgie and saw that her amusement had faded to something rather sweet. He no longer had the feeling he was being laughed at in his own home, thank heavens. If anything she was studying him with a curious look.

Something oddly similar to…tenderness.

But that couldn’t be right. He wasn’t the type to evoke those sort of simpering emotions from women. Even his mother regarded him with loyalty and admiration, rather than warmth or tenderness. He didn’t mind. He’d been raised to be admired and respected, feared even. But not coddled. Never coddled.

The fact that this little chatterbox was giving him such a soft look made him uncomfortable in the extreme.

Luckily Hargrove entered to announce that dinner would soon be served. As the others headed toward the doorway, Georgie paused and placed a hand on his arm. The weight of it held him in place, though her touch was as light as a feather.

“Thank you for letting me stay in your beautiful home, Your Grace,” she said.

He opened his mouth to say something to the effect of, you are quite welcome, but he never had the chance. She continued on before he could speak and her words shocked him into silence. “I think you and I will get on splendidly. Why, I already think of you as another brother, just like I do Nicholas.”

Her smile widened into something that could only be described as luminous before she turned to join his mother and the others by the door.

He watched her delightful form glide toward them with that easy grace he remembered from watching her dance with Nicholas.

A brother? She thought of him as a brother?

Something primal and raw and completely unexpected reared up at that thought. Like hell he was her brother, nor was he her guardian or a father figure.

He was a man, damn it. A highly eligible one, at that.

He was a duke.

“Are you coming, dear?” his mother called over, effectively silencing the unbidden and rather alarming voice that had nothing to do with reason.

The others were watching expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way. Right. Dinner. Of course.

He avoided looking in Georgie’s direction again, lest she say or do something else to throw his world off kilter.

Brother, indeed.

As they made their way to dinner he heard the others talking about the Davies’ ball this coming weekend, which would signal the start of the season.

Bloody hell. The season hadn’t even truly begun and that little chit had already stirred up trouble.

Let that be a reminder, he told himself. She was the lightning and the storm would follow.

He’d do well to prepare himself for trouble.