If precedence had reigned at this dinner table, it would have been a most incredible sight. It took Lady Evangeline little time to realize that there were four—four!—dukes at the table with their duchesses.

A smattering of earls, marquesses, and a few of those without title graced the long table.

And much to her shock, she’d realized that the duchess had not seated them by rank. It was. . . Astounding and remarkably egalitarian.

Her father would have been horrified.

So it was that she sat beside the Duke of Aston and the Earl of Ellesmere, who’d led her in.

The glittering table with its cut crystal glasses, gold-rimmed plates, and hundreds of hot house flowers interspersed with holly gave the room the jolliest of airs. In fact, everyone seemed to be full of goodwill.

Perhaps it was the good wine already poured and being drunk with good cheer, or perhaps it was the conversation filled with ideas, not gossip, which did it. Whatever it was, the duchess was an excellent hostess. Evangeline could not recall a better gathering.

Aston laughed loudly and chatted a good deal with his wife across the table, another shocking thing.

Ellesmere, a good deal quieter, had proved most amicable during the first course. He’d regaled her with his fascination with Greece and his man of business’ trip there to purchase several antiquities to be shown at a new wing of his ancient abode. The Ellesmeres had survived the War of the Roses, turmoil of Henry VIII, and the Glorious Revolution. Not many families had claimed a title and a seat for so long without interruption. They were clearly exceptional at picking the right side.

Ellesmere himself could not be above five and thirty. His ash hair shone icy in the candlelight and his eyes were a most remarkable shade of green.

In all her years in her Seasons as a wallflower, he’d never once spoken to her. He was a man far from her league, until tonight.

Tonight, the world had opened to her and she’d decided that the only thing to do was embrace it with open arms. It had been no easy thing, eschewing her often quiet attitude. But as she parried ideas with the earl, she’d come to the stunning realization that quietness was not her nature. It had been inflicted on her by being so trodden upon by her family for so very long.

Here? Here she could be anyone she wished.

“You enjoy the hunt?” Ellesmere asked.

“Not particularly, but I do love riding,” she said, trying to hide her wariness at this particularly dangerous topic.

“I love riding myself,” he replied, “but I’m surprised to hear you say it.”

She fought a frown as she felt her first wave of dismay. “Are you?”

“Oh yes,” he said, clearly confused. “Isn’t your father an avid fox hunter?”

“He is,” she admitted, her smile freezing.

He smiled apologetically. “I’ve always thought it rather odd myself.”

Her smile softened. “Have you?”

He nodded his golden mane. “Can’t abide the idea, you know. A pack of dogs and men after one small animal. They’re vicious, foxes, but I’d not wish that fate on any creature.” He hesitated. “I hope this gives you no offense.”

“Not at all,” she rushed, delighted to find he was of like mind. “Perhaps it is unfilial but I do not approve for the reasons you mention.”

“How refreshing.”

She fought a frown. Anthony had told her men admired boldness, but she’d not really believed it. “In what way?”

“That you voice an opinion opposing your father’s,” he declared. “Ladies usually do go in line with the pater familias.”

“I suppose they must,” she ventured, knowing she’d kept silent for far too long.

“But not you?” he queried, clearly pleased.

“No,” she declared, loving the feeling of the word on her tongue.

“Bravo.” He inclined his head. “No easy thing though, going the route of rebel.”

“I am not quite that far gone,” she protested.

Ellesmere laughed.

“Damned shame,” the Duke of Aston drawled as the next course was served and it was time for her to turn and speak to him.

It was a nuisance and she’d wondered if this tradition would also be ignored but it appeared not. Ellesmere was a fine conversationalist.

Ellesmere grudgingly turned to the lady to his left.

“What’s a shame, Your Grace?” she asked, taking a swallow of the brisk red wine that went with the game fowl laid before her.

“That you’re not so far gone as a rebel,” he said. “I do like a rebel.”

His tone was so teasing but also so grand that she couldn’t stop her laugh. Laughter appeared commonplace amidst this company. How had she gone so long without it?

“No laughing matter, Lady Evangeline,” he countered with dramatic seriousness. “Not at all.”

He grinned then. A wild grin as he dared her to argue.

“You’re right, of course.”

“Always am.”

There was a clear snort from his wife. Her eyes were dancing as she glanced at him across the table.

“Now, my love,” Aston tsked. “I’m speaking with Lady Evangeline, urging her to the path of rebellion. It is noble work.”

“I’d tell you not to listen to the mon, but he speaks true.” With that, the duchess turned back to her own conversation.

“The duchess is a rebel then?” Evangeline asked with genuine surprise.

“She always has been. Couldn’t have married her if she wasn’t.”

She gaped at him but then quickly forced herself to rescind the role of codfish. “Truly?”

Aston gazed at her pointedly. “Only boring fools marry boring women.”

The statement caught her so off guard that she held her wine glass aloft.

“Drink, my dear, drink,” he urged brightly. “Only thing for my company.”

“I doubt that very much, Your Grace.”

“Kind of you to say so, but it will make your evening merry. I used to say my life was wine, women, and song.”

“And now?” she asked, doing his bidding and tasting the wine.

“I have one woman and she has me.” His eyes and gaze filled with so much love it was hardly believable. “So, we delight in wine and song together.”

She drank again, suddenly envious, the bold notes floating over her tongue. She could hardly give it credence, the kind of marriage the duke spoke of but given the way he was looking at his wife, her doubts had to be mistaken.

“Don’t look so shocked, young lady,” he waggled his brows. “We are not all fools.”

“I beg your pardon?” she queried, not quite following.

“Men,” he clarified.

“Oh.”

He grew more serious and said gently, “I’ve seen you, you know.”

She flinched.

“It’s what I do,” he informed without importance. “I notice things. Can’t help myself. I’ve seen you over the years. And tonight. . . Tonight you’re finally yourself, aren’t you?”

Her head reeled. “Do you always say such shocking things?”

“True things,” he corrected.

“Still shocking.”

He laughed again. A barrel sound. “Oh yes. I can’t help myself. It’s my nature.”

“I’ve seen you, too, of course. Everyone has.”

“It’s the curse of being a duke,” he said simply with no self-pity. “One’s watched like an exhibit.”

That was also true, but she had a strong feeling that the Duke of Aston would be watched no matter what rank he held.

“Now, I’m going to be more shocking still,” the duke informed, leaning his head slightly toward her.

She sat on the edge of her seat and took another sip of wine, feeling as though she would need it.

“Remember how you feel tonight. Whatever it is that has made you this way. Remember it and don’t let it go.”

Her gaze slipped first to the Duchess of Hunt and then, without meaning to, she looked to Anthony Basingstoke.

He was engaged in conversation with the lady to his right, a beautiful lady in emerald green, a jade stone resting between her breasts.

“It’s not him,” Aston whispered amidst the din of the conversation.

“I beg your pardon?” she gasped, horrified to be caught.

“It’s never another person that makes you act yourself,” he said firmly as if determined that she should truly understand him. “It’s something in you.”

She blinked back sudden tears and wondered how such a man could believe that she was capable of so much.

He lifted his glass in salute. “To the rebels, Lady Evangeline.”

She raised hers again. “To the rebels.”

Now if only she had the courage to see it through.

* * *

The bloody Earl of Ellesmere.

His sister had picked the bloody Earl of Ellesmere. The man was walking perfection.

Well, not perfect. No man was. But he was milk toast. Bland. Completely without an interesting thought in his head. Which wasn’t actually true, damn it. The man was intelligent, cultured, and good company.

“You’re pouting.”

“I do not pout,” he replied immediately.

His sister swept around his side. “Your lip is out. That denotes pouting, dear brother. This is what you wanted, is it not? I think she’s already made a conquest.”

“I’m delighted,” he gritted.

She nodded. “Of course. Hence your expression of joy.”

“What the devil did you say to her this afternoon?”

Dramatically, she raised a hand to her breast. “I? Nothing of note. Only that at I admired her boldness, her determination, and that if a woman wanted anything in this life, especially happiness, she couldn’t sit idly by. She has to take it.”

Lady Evangeline had listened well and he wasn’t about to be a ponce about it. She wasn’t his. She never would be and, well, he was delighted for her. Delighted. Ellesmere was a marvelous catch.

“But he’s so boring,” he said suddenly.

Her lips twitched with amusement. “Ellesmere?”

He nodded.

“Anthony, not everyone can be born in a tent deep in the Ottoman Empire.”

“That is not the point,” he bit out, realizing he was in a ridiculous humor.

“Is it not?” she returned. “All our lives, we grew up like wild ones. I’ve tamed a bit. But you? You still desire the great beyond. Anyone who doesn’t is average in your eyes. An impossible standard, don’t you think?”

“He’ll lecture her for the rest of their life,” he informed his sister, seeing it now, the two of them talking about Herodotus as he instructed her on Greek conjugations.

“I’ve heard he’s quite good with his tongue. Very clever.”

The words, though meant as a harmless jest, twisted like a knife.

“What the devil do you mean?”

Her eyes flared with amusement. “Only that to the contrary of your reports, I’ve heard he’s quite a good conversationalist. Whatever did you think I meant?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “I think I shall take a bit of air.”

“Don’t,” she warned suddenly.

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony asked, stunned by her directness.

“Don’t go off on your own. It’s Christmas.”

“Not yet,” he said softly as he headed away and towards the hall.

* * *

The entire evening had sent Evangeline into such a state of happiness and complete disbelief that she’d felt compelled to find a moment to herself. Stepping out into the hall and hoping to find the library, books being her sanctuary, she failed to notice the man exiting the salon at the same moment.

She charged straight into Anthony Basingstoke.

Stumbling ever so slightly, he caught her in his strong embrace.

The wise man and lady would immediately have stepped apart.

They did not.

The scent of leather, soap, and some unknown spice surrounded her.

The scent of him.

She tilted her head back and he held her. Held her carefully, his strong hands wrapped about her arms.

In that moment, she could have sworn she could count the beats of her heart. As she gazed up into his eyes, the silence between them filled. Filled with unspoken hunger.

Before either of them could speak, he pulled her against him and crushed his mouth over hers.

She tasted red wine and desire.

In all her life, she’d never been so possessed. Their mouths met, danced, gave and took.

The riot of it nearly threatened to undo her but, just as she was tempted to yield to the madness, to pray he’d take her into another room, she forced herself back.

Panting, she whispered, “You must let go, sir.”

Out of breath, as if he’d run to London and back, his usually devilish face hardened, not with anger but with pain and he whispered, “Yes, I must.”

And then he did exactly what she asked.

He let her go, heading off down the dark corridor, an angel fallen.

It was, she understood, one of the most painful moments of her life. For though she’d known she could not give in, she felt more alive with him than she ever had in her life and that was something she never wanted to let go of. Not ever again.