Even though Simon had promised Aunt Glynnis that he would attempt a courtship to respect her view of tradition, he was not a man to whom artifice came naturally. He was blunt. He brooded. He thought most of Society’s diversions too silly for words. He enjoyed sex, but there was only one woman he wanted to bed, and he would have to suffer until she was his wife. Therefore, he might not be an ideal suitor. Nevertheless, he would strive to be an accommodating one.

His good intentions faced a test during Julia’s tea. He was mildly amused when within the hour over twenty-seven missives arrived at the house. But he was aghast when Julia revealed that the bulk of the post was primarily comprised of invitations to various social functions and that these requests had been extended to include Lord Rhys, Lady Ravenna and, if he would deign to accept, the aloof Duke of Rochecliffe.

“Aunt Glynnis will be in heaven,” Ravenna said, her winsome smile making Simon conscious of his propensity to scowl.

“I don’t think this is the time to spread your wings,” he said, holding his coffee in one hand and the unfolded letter Julia had passed him in another. “A boat race on the Thames? No, thank you.”

“I adore boating,” Ravenna said.

“I have a flotilla of boats,” he said. “We can race each another. Isn’t that right, Heath?”

Heath was at his desk, studying an almanac and calendar. Presumably he was more interested in forecasting the weather on his heir’s approximate natal day than in Simon’s river fleet. He did not answer.

“I can’t turn down a supper with the Earl and Countess of Avonbrook,” Ravenna said as she scanned another invitation over Julia’s shoulder.

“Never heard of them,” he said.

“And a dance at Grosvenor Square? You can’t swaddle me in wool, Simon, nor keep me in a box. I rarely had a chance to dance at the castle, except with my brothers for practice. I refuse to let a coward in a walnut tree intimidate me.”

“There will be other parties.”

“There won’t be another chance to woo me. What of my wedding trousseau? Does a duchess not need decent clothes? Won’t it offend you if I wear the bridal gown that David chose for me?”

“You can stand at the altar in a coat of armor for all I care.” From the looks she and Julia gave him, he might have said Ravenna could stand beside him in the buff. He hastened to add, “But if a new wardrobe is that important to you, I’ll employ as many seamstresses as you will need to work at the house. I did promise to spoil you.”

Julia’s cheerful voice intervened. “Should I ring for some fresh poppy cakes? They’re awfully good, but mind you the seeds lodge between your teeth. Simon, are you visiting the museum with me and Heath?”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen the museum a dozen times.”

“I haven’t,” Ravenna said. “It isn’t a dangerous place, is it? Give me your unbiased opinion, Julia. Your life was threatened in the past. Is it reckless of me to want to see an exhibition? To attend a dance?”

“It could be,” Simon interrupted. “A person could easily sneak up on you when you’re engrossed in a work of art. Look what happened to me and Achilles.”

“Please don’t involve me in this,” Julia said, and then proceeded to involve herself. “I can’t see the harm in it, to be truthful.”

Simon caught himself in mid-scowl. “Am I outnumbered, Heath?”

Heath glanced up, his soft chuckle proof that despite his seeming inattention, he hadn’t missed a word of the conversation. “My wife counts as two, and it would seem you are. Sorry about that.”

“It isn’t as if I’ll be able to dress in my sheer silks and waddle to the museum for long,” Julia said happily over her tea cup. “I shall be confined soon enough.”

Simon surrendered, accepting that this was the first of many battles he would lose to his bride-to-be. He hid a grin at the prospect of the pleasant conflicts to come.

Within the hour they had bundled into Heath’s black carriage and traveled to the museum on Great Russell Street under clearing skies.

Heath took Julia and Ravenna off to ooh and aah at the antiquities. As Simon passed in the shadow of a nude Roman statue, he thought of Grayson’s damaged Achilles and vowed he would not let down his guard.

This was not the easy duty he’d expected. At this hour scores of visitants packed the popular museum. He followed Ravenna closely, studying a bronze burial sculpture with less enthusiasm than he did her voluptuous figure. She was curvy and alluring and filled him with delicious longing. She had trembled in his arms today when he kissed her. The heat of wanting her still gnawed deep in his belly.

It struck him that Heath was at once cognizant of his surroundings and attentive to his expectant wife. He claimed Julia’s elbow as they descended the sunlit stairs. Simon envied their long-time intimacy and anticipated escorting Ravenna with a similar familiarity. In his mind she was the only treasure he could appreciate. He knew her history. He fully intended to be her future.

“I so enjoyed myself,” Ravenna said upon their return to Heath’s carriage. “Thank you, all. That wasn’t bad, was it, Simon?”

“It was more than tolerable.”

She adjusted her beribboned silk hat so that she could peer out the window. “The best part of it was that we kept our vow to my aunt. We did not cause a scandal.”

That, Simon thought, was because he had kept his instincts under lock and key. He was tempted to remind her that he had been on his best behavior and what he was thinking was scandalous enough. Then she raised her hand to the window and gave an audible gasp, pushing seduction to the back of his mind.

“What is it?” he asked, sitting upright. “You’ve seen someone. Something. Shall we stop the carriage?”

She closed the curtain, her eyes as dark as midnight. “It was nothing. No one.”

Simon leaned over her and stared outside. “It was more than nothing. Did you recognize someone in the street?”

Heath tapped on the roof with his walking stick. The vehicle lurched to a halt.

Ravenna shook her head. “It looked like David turning the corner in a curricle. But I’m not sure.”

“Didn’t Simon and Rhys persuade him to leave the city?” Julia asked.

“Yes,” Simon said tersely.

“I was undoubtedly mistaken,” Ravenna said in a small voice.

Simon felt a scowl tighten his face. “For his sake, I hope you were. Perhaps I should pay a visit to his residence tonight. I should find it empty.”

“Promise me there will be no bloodshed,” Ravenna said.

“Fine.”

“Or violence.”

“I shall promise nothing of the sort,” he replied indignantly.

“Please, Simon.”

His mouth hardened. “Don’t ask me to make a promise I cannot keep. If the cabbage-head is fool enough to seek you out, I will intervene.”

“That sounds fair to me,” Heath said after a silence. “After all, he gave our family offense and has been ordered to leave London.”

Simon should have known that any man who was stupid enough to gamble with a lady’s heart would not be wise enough to heed a warning.

He left Ravenna in Heath and Julia’s care. Then he returned to his North Audley Street home to discover his estate steward and man Friday, Niles Timpkins, pacing in the entry hall.

“Your grace,” Timpkins said in agitation. “There is a brash gentleman in the drawing room who claims to be Lady Ravenna’s fiancé. He insists on an audience with you. Shall I dispose of him?”

Simon continued past the manservant with a grim smile of appreciation. Timpkins was a bit on the brazen side himself. He was also indispensable and loyal to a fault. His handsome countenance drew the ladies, but he had yet to find one who had tempted him from service. He believed that he belonged to the dukedom.

“Let me deal with this,” Simon muttered. He was unsure whether Ravenna felt any affection for this embarrassment to the male sex.

Not astonishingly Sir David stared him straight in the eye when he entered the room -- as if to blame Simon for their reversal of roles. “Your grace,” he said with a reluctant nod of respect. “It is an honor.”

“Not for me,” Simon returned with a condescending smile.

“I should have guessed Ravenna would not be discreet about the incident at the party.”

“Why would she? You showed all the discretion of a goat at Grayson’s affair.”

“That was a misunderstanding. The other lady and I were merely involved in a heated discussion.”

“Heated is the word. And I understood completely. I was there at the party with a pair of opera glasses.”

“Spying on your peers is not polite.”

“You’re in no position to lecture anyone on manners. And you are not my peer.”

“What were you doing there alone at night?” Sir David asked suspiciously. “Anticipating a duel with a rival? I wasn’t the only guest who heard a gun go off in the garden. Did you kill someone? Was his body spirited away by the benevolent Society of Boscastle?”

“Funnily enough I heard a similar theory espoused last night. You played the corpse.”

“Good gracious.”

Simon had promised Ravenna he would not resort to bloodshed. That did not rule out other means of elimination. “If I had a gun,” he said, “I would have widened the crease between the blindingly white cheeks of your arse.”

“My -- my what?”

“You know the place. It’s where your head is evidently lodged. Any man who can’t keep his tadge in his trousers when he can be seen by all and sundry -- any man who would betray the lady he professed to love, with another’s wife -- well, you are a waste of skin.”

Sir David backed away, his mouth agape like a fish drowning in the scum of his own pond. “But – I -- I want another chance. Christian forgiveness.”

“Go to church. First you betray an enchanting woman at her cousin’s party. Then you have the brass to confront the man who has been forced to repair the harm you inflicted.” It made Simon cringe to imagine Ravenna sharing this mutton-head’s name, his bed. She’d been brave and wise to break their engagement.

“I do not follow you,” Sir David said.

“I don’t expect you to understand. Should I simplify my speech? You. Stupid. Lost. Woman. You deserve to be thumped into oblivion. To my regret, Ravenna has requested that I don’t spill your pallid blood. You have caused her enough misery.” Simon exhaled. “Just go quietly. Leave my sight. Leave London. I want to hurt you in vile unspeakable ways. Get out. Go in peace, or, if you insist, in pieces.”

A coach horn blared in the street. Simon suppressed the impulse to physically remove Sir David from his sight. Luckily for his unwelcome caller, Timpkins appeared in the doorway, obviously eavesdropping on the confrontation.

“The rag-and-bone man is here, your grace,” Timpkins announced.

“So am I,” Lord Rhys said over the estate steward’s shoulder. “Not that one should make a connection.”

Timpkins held open the door for Rhys to enter, all the while eyeing Sir David as if he emitted a bad smell. “Have we any rubbish to give the street fellow?” he asked Simon.

“How the dickens should I know?” Simon replied. “Ask around the kitchens.”

Sir David was scrambling to collect his hat and gloves from beneath the gaming table where the objects had fallen. Simon glanced away to resist the temptation to give the nuisance a boot in the rump to hurry his progress.

When he turned around again, the room was empty. Rhys, Timpkins, and Sir David had disappeared. He heard the front door slam and covered his eyes with his hand.

At least he had kept his promise to Ravenna. And he would not bear witness to whatever roguery was about to ensue.