His shoulders stiffened as Ravenna turned, her fan closing with a quiet snap. The earl bowed before her; she responded with a politely impersonal smile. Bruxton was a year younger than Simon, wiry and well-educated, a nobleman who to all appearances possessed everything except the political power he coveted and a loving wife. He was an avid huntsman and had once hosted well-attended house parties. Now he rarely entertained. One could almost feel sorry for his lonely widowhood.

He smiled back at Ravenna with convincing warmth. “An engagement after only a week in London, Simon? Well, now that I’ve seen the lady for myself, I understand the rush. Congratulations to you both.”

This confrontation could not compare to the physical brawls she had interrupted in her youth. Still, she was determined to stand as a buffer against the tension that rose between the two men. Whereas moments before she had felt Simon harden in attraction to her, it was anger that clenched his body now. She preferred his explicit sexuality to his wounded rage.

“Guard her with your life,” the earl said unexpectedly. “I’d give everything to go back in time to save Susannah.”

Ravenna hazarded a look at Simon. By some force of will he masked the bitterness she knew tormented him. “I would do the same,” he said succinctly.

Bruxton disengaged. His manner cooled. “I’ll excuse myself to play cards. My best to you both again. I would not turn down an invitation to your wedding.”

Simon remained silent. Bruxton bowed again and took his leave. Ravenna refused to release Simon’s arm. She would have kissed him on the spot to prevent him from seeking a confrontation. They would never again be the carefree boy and girl whose greatest danger was to hide from wayward relatives.

“I want to kill him,” he said simply. “He took her life. He doesn’t deserve to draw another breath.”

Heath strolled up behind him, pausing to assess the mood. “This isn’t the place to plot,” he said. “We will build a case. I swore I would help. Count on me.”

“And on me,” she said.

He laughed ruefully. “Am I that pitiful?”

“Not from my perspective,” said a soft voice at his back. Julia had abandoned her chair to join her husband. She smothered a yawn behind her gloved hand and slipped her arm into Heath’s. “I gather it’s time to go home. We’ve had a long day. Let us end the night quietly.”

No gentleman would refuse the request of a lady carrying her first child. Heath located a servant to fetch their outer clothing, made his excuses to the host, and led the group to the hall to await the carriage.

Simon had subsided into silence. He was relieved to remove Ravenna from the party and felt at war with himself. He did not want his wife to protect him from his own anger. He only wanted to avenge his sister. Julia attempted to lift his spirits on the short ride home. Clearly he was not as adept at concealing his thoughts as he believed himself to be. But then he was among his most trusted friends.

Dear God, how good it felt to count on their support. He relied too much on his own insight.

“I can breathe now,” Julia said with a relieved sigh. “The still air in the ballroom fatigued me. Shall we play cards over a pot of hot chocolate? We ought to celebrate our good conduct. Glynnis was disappointed, I think, when Grayson’s carriage collected her a few minutes ago and she had no gossip to share with her maid.”

Heath smiled. “It’s a good thing she wasn’t wearing her glasses tonight.”

They arrived at the townhouse three minutes before the stroke of one. Heath’s personal footman and bodyguard approached the carriage, a hat in his broad hands.

“My lord,” he said to his master. “Perhaps we should retire to your study. There is a slight concern.”

“Oh, out with it, Hamm,” Julia said, handing a maidservant her gloves and mantle.

The servant answered in hesitation. “The marquess has asked the gentlemen of the family to convene tomorrow morning in regard to a family incident that occurred earlier today. I was on the way to the party to deliver the message in person. We would have missed one another in passing.”

“Is anyone dead?” Julia inquired. “Or fatally wounded?”

“No, my lady.”

“Then Ravenna and I shall take chocolate upstairs and talk about happier things.”

Grayson summoned the gentlemen of the family who were currently in London into his library after breakfast the next morning. Simon glanced around the room at the select male assembly present. Who had sinned this time? He grinned at Rhys. Then he nodded cordially to the rest of the group: Grayson’s younger brothers, Heath, Drake, and Devon. A fourth chair sat empty next to Devon. Simon understood it was reserved for the lost and youngest brother, Brandon, until recently presumed dead. To the family’s agony, he was still missing and his whereabouts remained a mystery.

Also present were three Enfield cousins, as well as a Scotsman whose name Simon didn’t catch. They would be his relatives soon enough, and one of them -- Rhys? -- had misbehaved.

“I shall be brief,” Grayson said. “I have called you here to declare a five-day moratorium on scandal. Surely that is not too great a sacrifice to ask?”

“Simon and I escorted the ladies to the museum and a supper dance yesterday,” Heath said. “It could not have been more uneventful.”

“I trust the statues in the exhibit hall sustained no damage?” Grayson said, clearly still miffed about his garden ornament.

“What did you do yesterday?” Heath asked Rhys.

“Didn’t Simon tell you?” Rhys said with an innocent air.

“No,” Grayson said, his jaw firming.

“I didn’t want the ladies to hear,” Simon added.

Grayson frowned at Rhys. “What did you do?”

“Nothing much. I helped Simon’s man Friday take out some rubbish. Then I went to the fencing academy.”

“You tossed that idiot Sir David into a cart,” Grayson said darkly. “He jumped out in the middle of the street waving bones and dirty rags as the prime minister’s carriage was passing by. His wife shrieked in her husband’s ear. He was not pleased.”

Heath covered his eyes. “Lovely.”

Grayson sighed. “I agree that the act was justified, but there have to be some limits. Therefore, I am imposing a five-day moratorium on … mischief. The family is growing. I have two children now, numerous nieces and nephews to consider. I cannot be available to put out every spark of gossip that ignites.”

“But you are so adept at it,” Heath said, sharing a sly grin with Drake and Devon.

“I am running out of excuses,” Grayson said flatly. “And Aunt Glynnis has offered Jane her alliance, which means she is temporarily staying in this house. Complaining to me. All the time. And she will reside here until Griffin’s house in Bedford Square is made ready for her. Five days, I say. Not an entire week. No dinners, dances, or even visits to your clubs. Stay home and read a damned book. My collection is at your disposal should you choose to study a classic drama instead of creating one.”

The scandal of the Caverley-Boscastle engagement would not die down. Daily reports of the betrothed couple’s appearances filled the newspapers. The moratorium Grayson had decreed did nothing to discourage the scribblings of journalists who seemed content to unearth old news when they found no fresh mud to sling.

For months now Simon had been perusing the papers and gentlemen’s magazines for news of Bruxton’s activities. He’d discovered little of note except in relation to the earl’s penchant for horseracing. He had, on a lighter note, inadvertently tucked away some domestic advice that no self-respecting duke would confess he found interesting. In the course of his journalistic research he’d learned how to impregnate a room with lavender water, where in London to attend a French waltz, and who to consult for a truss in the event of a rupture. He also ordered some nervous drops for Grayson and Aunt Glynnis, and a collection of an Italian count’s library, sight unseen, for Ravenna, as one of her wedding presents.

He was particularly vexed, though, when he came upon an account of the recent party he and Ravenna had attended. One eyewitness to the event asserted that Simon stood over seven feet tall (absurd) and rarely smiled (almost true), even at the Welsh beauty he had stolen from another man’s arms.

He shook his head at the unflattering description. There was no mention of her previous suitor’s location. Presumably Grayson had bought the rag-and-bone man’s silence and pacified the prime minister’s wife.

To Simon’s chagrin he came upon several references to his four mistresses, who professed to be infuriated over his clandestine pursuit of Lady R. One of these women planned to sue him, although for what damages the journalist did not specify.

As these mistresses existed only in sensationalist fiction, Simon saw no need to seek legal advice on his own behalf.

The real problem was that Ravenna was likely reading the same papers. She might not know it was all bollocks. Perhaps a visit to his jeweler might be in order to reassure her of his devotion. He thought a sapphire bracelet might match the deep hue of her eyes, a shackle of the costliest sort. Or would such a gift imply guilt?

He bought the bracelet and put it aside for a suitable moment. Sapphires might be useful to soothe her when he confessed he had loved her for years.

Ravenna had glanced through the papers. She was honestly too caught up in her wedding preparations to care if Simon appeared to have grown to gigantic proportions. Even the matter of his fictitious mistresses could be dealt with at a later time. A new wedding gown had been designed for her by the magic of Jane’s modistes. The heart-shaped bodice of almond tissue crisscrossed her breasts over a pearl satin fichu. The slender-line skirt spilled to the hem in rows of intricate Belgian lace. Better still, the gown bore no trace of David’s influence.

The creation was almost finished by the time Grayson’s moratorium on social activities came to an end. Simon resumed escorting her to those places in London she had longed to visit. They spent one morning at a water party on the Thames. He casually pointed out one of the mansions he owned as the regatta sailed past the riverfront property.

“It isn’t yours,” she said, hanging over the railing for a receding look at the magnificent home.

“It is,” he said with a modest smile and drew her firmly back onto the deck. “It’s leased or I would take you there. Don’t lean over like that. You’re giving me heart patters of an unpleasant sort.”

“To think I schemed for freedom only to walk into such a handsome trap.”

The wind ruffled the water and blew across the deck. His dark eyes danced. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Let the trap be fashioned of silk bindings and not claws of steel.”

She stilled. His words provoked her growing thirst for the intimacy he promised. His knuckles traced the contour of her jaw. “Silk or steel? What is the difference when one is a captive?”

“There are degrees of pleasure that border on discomfort, according to one’s preference.”

“Then you are decadent.”

He pulled her against his chest as a plume of spray doused the deck. “That depends.”

The water cooled her warm cheeks. “On?”

His smoky voice caressed her. “You. On what you enjoy.”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I have a few ideas. I’ll indulge whatever whims you entertain.” He guided her back down into a cabin crowded with their friends. At once she was assaulted by a riff of low relaxed laughter and the scent of champagne in the warm air. “As I trust you will agree to mine,” he added softly in her ear. “It’s what a wife should expect of a decent husband. Be careful when you take the last step. It’s easy to slip.”

A decent husband, she thought with a pang of longing. As if his touch did not weaken her bones. But he had behaved like a gentleman during their rushed courtship, demonstrating so much restraint that she wondered if she was more desirous of their bridal bed than Simon was. Jane had been privately advising her now and then as to what to expect on her wedding night. Ravenna sensed that nothing could prepare her for the intensity of surrendering to Simon.

Of course she was right.