The household’s officious senior footman, Weed, led Ravenna to the Italian gallery. This was the room forbidden to her earlier in the night. But then also forbidden to her was the man who half-rose from the couch at her entrance. The candlelight enhanced his appeal. His enigmatic smile aroused her curiosity. He looked even more composed than when she had left him. Had his assailant been caught?

The footman slipped away.

It was late. She wasn’t the least bit fatigued. The party had resumed. The excitement in the gardens had reinvigorated the guests. Many of them had crowded into the theater to await the play, to gossip. And she’d gifted them with enough to talk about for months.

Or rather Simon had. The duke was the darling of the night.

“Join me, Ravenna,” he said, gesturing to the low chaise longue.

Her embroidered gown rustled as she obeyed, on edge but not afraid of his company. “I don’t trust this setting,” she said. “We were caught in an apparent rendezvous. Why would the family leave us alone together? Are we being put to a test? Is there a peephole in the wall?”

His eyes reflected wry concern. He had removed his tailcoat. The warmth of his well-muscled arm as he leaned into her counteracted her chill of anticipation. Simon had excelled at boxing and fencing in his youth. Once he had carried Rhys back to castle on his shoulders when her brother had fallen down a steep hill and broken his leg. It horrified her to think that her vigorous friend might have been killed before her eyes.

“Thank you for what you did tonight,” he said. “I sensed an ambush but never considered it could be fatal.”

“I’m not a heroine. I didn’t do anything except act on instinct.”

“Instincts are what define one’s character.”

“I committed an unforgivable misdeed,” she mused. “A lady should never take charge of her life.”

“You put yourself at great risk for me.”

“It was a simple cry of warning, Simon. Any person of conscience would have done the same.”

He laughed. “Your cry could have toppled mountains and opened fissures under the London sewers. I’d forgotten the wonderful power of your Welsh voice. And you are not like any person I’ve ever known.”

“You’d have learned to raise your voice if you lived in a castle with three brothers. It was the only way to make oneself heard.”

He hesitated. “Your life is never going to be the same after tonight. I’m sorry. I would not have done this on purpose.”

She searched his face. He used to tease her with harmless threats. He wasn’t teasing now. Her self-inflicted ruination was off to an unforeseen start. “What is it, then? Death by the Boscastle firing squad for you? Banishment to a far-flung colony for me?”

“Something that could be considered more drastic than exile or execution,” he said.

“What could be worse?”

His mouth thinned. “We haven’t seen each other in years. We haven’t begun to catch up on our lives. This is going to be a serious conversation. Shall we begin it again?” He took a breath. “It’s good to see you, Ravenna. You are prettier than ever. Have you enjoyed London so far?”

She stared at him in suspicion. “It’s good to see you too, Simon. You look remarkably well. I’ve adored what little I’ve seen of London. I yearn to see more. Are you between lovers or shouldn’t I ask?”

“You’re the only lady in the world who would dare,” he replied dryly. “My love affairs are irrelevant and unremarkable. How have you been?”

“I’m frazzled. In a trance. I never did have the chance to offer my personal condolences on the loss of your sister. She was very sweet during the one Christmas she spent at the castle.”

“Too sweet, yes,” he said, his eyes troubled. “But thank you. My brother and I mourn her still.” He stared past her to the Roman statues posed against the wall. “I never congratulated you on your engagement.”

“Oh.” It was rather late to celebrate her broken betrothal, but what else could he say? “Did we forget to invite you to the wedding?” she asked, as if there were the slightest chance the ceremony would take place.

The glimmer of darkness in his eyes took her off guard. “I received an invitation and had planned to attend.”

Silence engulfed them. Simon didn’t seem inclined to pursue the subject, but then she could not read his thoughts. In fact, his next comment completely startled her.

“I’ve missed you, Ravenna. And Rhys, of course.”

“Have you?” she said, taken slightly aback.

“Yes. You and I were friends before you served your first tea. I believe I was your experimental caller.”

“A victim,” she said with a laugh, realizing that she’d missed him, too.

And then everything changed. His expression, his eyes, the leaping of her pulse. She told herself to end the conversation politely, stand up, and walk from the room. Instead, she sat immobile, tantalized by not only his intense stare, but the expectation in the air.

“We’ve exchanged pleasantries,” she said. “If this were a chance reunion, we would promise to keep up on each other’s lives and go our separate ways.”

“But that isn’t what’s going to happen,” he said. “And you know it. Your relatives want us to marry.”

“They’re forcing you?” she said, aghast. “They can’t make you. Don’t agree to it, Simon. I brought this disgrace on myself. I went outside tonight to thwart an arranged marriage. I wasn’t looking for another.”

“Except that we are the ones arranging the match.”

“We haven’t as much as … had tea together in years.” Her voice caught. “Do you realize what I did? I followed my fiancé and an unfaithful woman to their tryst at the temple.”

“Yes. The couple making a meal of each other -- who fled the instant the shot was fired. Disgusting.”

“You saw them?”

“In repelling detail.” His gaze sharpened. “What’s more important to both of us is whether you saw the man who tried to murder me.”

“I don’t quite remember.”

“Don’t force yourself if it upsets you. However, when you recall even the slightest detail about his appearance, let me know immediately.”

“You are taking for granted that we shall be in close proximity in the future.”

“It’s inevitable, I fear. We can’t disentangle ourselves from each other without a scandal. And your life might be in jeopardy. You need a husband.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I won’t let you keep a dozen mistresses,” she said, convinced he wasn’t serious, that at any minute Jane would burst in to admit the family was trying to teach her a lesson. No one would force Simon’s hand. “I won’t permit you to have even one lover,” she added in desperation.

He smiled. “I’ll be challenged to keep up with you.”

“Simon, understand me. I’m not the girl you think you know. I schemed to humiliate my fiancé in public. I was aware that I would become a pariah afterward.”

“You should have schemed with a little more forethought.”

“Next time I will.”

“You’re never going to scheme again,” he said with alarming certainty. “You won’t have the inclination.”

“This sounds like a promising start to a proposal.”

“I propose to keep you safe. And hopefully engaged in other satisfying activities.”

“Why should we do this?”

“Consider the fact that someone wants me dead.” He put his hand under her elbow and urged her toward him. “Look at me. I don’t know whether your silly scheme would have worked or ended in disaster had you not been interrupted by my death attempt. But here we are.”

“Why?” she whispered again.

“I suppose I’m an honorable man.”

She lifted her brow. “Then why are you drawing me to you like a fly into a spider’s web?”

“Because with your permission I’m about to kiss the breath from your body and hopefully prove that I can be persuasive in ways you have yet to understand.”

“How do you know I don’t understand?”

“I know,” he said without an instant’s hesitation. “It isn’t a criticism. Furthermore, our embrace outside didn’t count, in case you were wondering. This one will. May I?”

“Yes,” she said with an appalling lack of reflection. Why not? She was free, socially a fallen woman. And he was more than attractive. Still, a kiss was one thing. But marriage?

He raised his hand to cradle her chin in his long fingers, and then she was dissolving, more entranced than resistant. His thumb sketched the shape of her mouth. She made a study of his face, from his dancing eyes to his aristocratic jaw. She found beauty and strength in every feature. The birthmark on his left cheek still intrigued her. She remembered that he had been mocked at school until he grew tall enough to take down his tormentors. She doubted anyone had teased him about his appearance in years.

“You are a delicious fly,” he said in amusement.

“How awful.”

His mouth brushed hers -- and her thoughts collapsed. She was enveloped in sensual enticement. “It’s all right,” he said quietly.

“No. It isn’t.”

“It’s only a gesture.”

“That’s what worries me,” she whispered. “There will be more of these gestures if we marry.”

“Count on it.”

Her heart raced against her ribs. He gathered her closer until the buttons of his waistcoat caught the silk rosettes that dipped into her white chemisette. She felt a surge of discontent, a warm throb in her belly. His mouth took hers in a presumption of intimacy that subdued any reflex but to savor the experience. Simon. Her past friend, and now?

“This is no sacrifice for me,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time.”

“Since a little before midnight?” she said tartly.

“Maybe a bit longer.”

He kissed her as if he had nothing to lose -- not his name, not the rest of his life. As if they were reunited lovers and not old friends forced into an uneasy alliance. The subtle pressure of his mouth, controlled sweetness and a beckoning to sin, beguiled her.

He curled his arm around her waist, urging her closer. “You are delectable,” he said. “And I am sunk.”

She, on the contrary, felt marked, alive, embarked on a dark adventure. His kiss seemed oddly right, a tumble into a sweet enigma set in motion years ago. Her blood sang. She leaned into his embrace. Her bodice molded to the hard contours of his chest.

He dragged his mouth from hers and kissed the arch of her throat to the border of roses above her breasts. “These little flowers are inconvenient, aren’t they?” he murmured impertinently.

“I’m sure it didn’t occur to the dressmaker that they’d hinder a seduction,” she said with a laugh.

“They wouldn’t normally.”

“Oh, Simon.”

“Your mouth is made for -- many purposes. Pleasures.”

“Battle cries?”

He walked his hand up and down the ruffles at her shoulder to the bare skin above her elbow. His fingers plucked negligently at a pearl button. “This isn’t the ideal scenario for a marriage offer, but I trust you know my intentions are sincere. I owe you my protection.”

“And your kisses? Are they sincere and owed me?”

“Yes. Don’t make it sound as if kissing you is an obligation,” he said without a vestige of embarrassment. “Passion will be part of our marriage. I wouldn’t want there to be any misunderstanding in that regard. At this moment I would love nothing better than to lavish your entire being in kisses, starting with the most sensitive places on your body. The nape of your neck. Your luscious breasts.”

She put her hand to her throat. “Is this your plan?”

“This is the part that exists only between you and me and does not require any thought.”

“You’re a refreshingly honest rogue. Few men outside my family would speak in such frank language. I suppose it’s fortunate that I’m not as innocent as I once was.”

“But you are. And self-possessed.”

She wasn’t. She was disordered inside and overcome with an urge to lean in a little closer and beg him to kiss her again. He was a man made for pleasure, too. She was already succumbing to his extravagant sexuality.

“You’re calm for a bachelor in your predicament,” she said softly.

“I’m grateful that I’m not lying dead in the gardens.” His voice deepened. “And even more so that you weren’t harmed.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised by any of this. You were a dark and brooding boy.”

“Then perhaps that’s why I was so -- ” He shook his head. “Your family wants us to wed.”

She was still too entangled in the aftermath of the evening, of his potent kiss, in particular, to raise an argument. “No one held a second gun to you to make you agree?”

He smiled fleetingly. “It’s the right decision.”

“Who would want to kill you, Simon?”

“I’ll explain everything I know in the morning. Grayson intends to announce our engagement before breakfast. The repercussions will take our combined strength to manage. Prepare yourself.”

She shook her head, feeling as if she’d dreamt the entire evening.

He smoothed his fingertip over a small abrasion on her cheek. “I trust I didn’t do this. Did you scratch yourself outside?” he asked with a frown.

“I must have. I don’t remember. It seems as if I’m in more danger now than I was at the party.”

“So am I.”

He tipped his head to hers. His mouth teased hers again, tentatively at first. She closed her eyes to hide her excitement, shivered as his tongue curled around hers. His hand brushed aside the curls on her nape. She recalled the imprint of his body melded to hers in the garden, his glorious power. She felt a hollowness inside her far stronger than hunger.

“I accept your proposal,” she whispered as they drew apart. “Don’t ask me why. It has nothing to do with your excessive charm, vast wealth, or even our friendship.”

He grinned. “Was that flattery or insult?”

“You know how appealing you are,” she said.

“I’m glad you think so.”

She bit her bottom lip. “To other women.”

“Talk about flattery.” He rested his shoulders back against the couch. “Then it’s settled.”

She nodded vaguely, looking up from his face to the statue of the vestal virgin that stood in the wall niche.

What had she thought earlier?

That it had been night made for love, betrayal, and now -- for Simon, whom she had never been able to fathom. She had best get some understanding soon if she was to be his wife. What Ravenna knew of romantic matters she had learned from her brothers, and she was afraid to speculate how that illicit knowledge would arm her against Simon after they wed.

The virgin standing against the wall understood more of love then Ravenna did.

He bent to the carpet to retrieve one of the delicate blue rosettes that had apparently come unstitched from her gown. Ravenna might want a seamstress to restore the bodice to its original condition.

Or she might tuck the flower away as a keepsake of their betrothal. Some women were like that, saving tokens, preserving memories. But then so were some men.

He slipped the silk rosette into his waistcoat pocket, smiled at the vestal virgin, and left the gallery. He was in a ridiculously fine temper for a man who had almost met his end. But then again he had seized the night. The time had come for him to not only gather rosebuds but to marry.