Another scandal broke in the early hours of the morning.

The Marquess of Sedgecroft announced the engagement of his cousin Lady Ravenna to the Duke of Rochecliffe at fourteen minutes before two. Grayson spoke from the gallery above the ballroom to an enthralled gathering. To judge by his well-modulated voice, one would assume he’d had the speech prepared for days. However, by this hour there wasn’t a soul on the estate, from chambermaid to countess, who hadn’t guessed that wicked deeds had transpired in the garden. It was the best party in ages.

Rumors swirled like snowflakes. One theory circulated that the duke had arranged a rendezvous with Lady Ravenna. It was speculated that they had been passing messages during the dance. Witnesses had observed the duke’s subtle disappearance during a quadrille. The young lady had fled at almost the same moment.

It could not be coincidence that her former fiancé had also gone missing. Had a duel been fought under the walnut tree in Lady Ravenna’s honor? Three guests on the terrace insisted they had heard gunfire. Had the fellow been grievously injured and carted off into the night?

Sir David … what was his surname? Who remembered? Compared to the Duke of Rochecliffe, who would a woman choose?

“It was fireworks,” the marquess and his coterie reassured anyone gauche enough to ask about the loud bang in the gardens. “That is how one celebrates the union of a duke to a lady in the family. Such an illustrious match does not occur every day.”

The guests had to simply forget that Lady R had been promised to another gentleman only hours ago. The announcement guaranteed the ton would be entertained by yet another aristocratic couple who, to judge by their conduct tonight, would provide some delightful shocks, indeed.

As to the newly betrothed? Despite their affectionate faux pas neither the duke nor his lady displayed much emotion during the announcement. Then again, little appeared to ruffle Rochecliffe’s indifferent demeanor. He was known to be a powerful and private man. But wasn’t it the quiet ones whose passions ran the deepest?

Simon realized this assessment was not wholly removed from the truth. He was less concerned about Society than he was about how he would break the news to his brother, Geoffrey, whose parting words to him in Austria had been, “Settle down, for the love of God, and find a wife when you return to England. It is past time. Mourning won’t bring Susannah back.”

“I feel as if we’re on display at the museum,” Ravenna said, half-sheltered in Simon’s shadow. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing. Public opinion is weighted on your side. You are a novelty in the polite world. Young, beautiful, with a marvelous bosom. And I have stolen you from another man’s arms.”

“You are quite wrong. And what does my bosom have to do with anything?”

“It’s an asset. Gentlemen are praised for the width of their shoulders.”

“Assets aside, I have broken the rules tonight. Which is nothing compared to what I would have done had I witnessed your murder. My nerves are not yet mended.”

“No one has to know that. Your sharp reflexes prevented my death.”

His large hand enclosed hers as if he would never release her. The tenacity of his hold, derived more from concern then possessiveness, was rather touching, albeit slightly uncomfortable. Her knuckles began to tingle. He seemed unaware he was virtually twice her size. Her back still throbbed from his protective tackle against the tree.

“Simon,” she said, shaking her wrist to no effect. “Your grace.”

He didn’t appear to hear her. If anything, he squeezed her fingers even harder. He was staring down raptly at the galaxy of guests who had applauded at the end of Grayson’s speech. Ravenna noticed a lady with a fan positioned at a hostile angle on her forearm. Her fluffy headdress topped a miserable face. She was studying Simon as if she knew him, or wanted to.

Ravenna peered over the balcony, no longer resisting Simon’s hold. “Are you looking for a particular guest?”

He turned to her. “The man in the gardens, of course. I don’t want to spoil what is meant to be a moment of celebration, circumstances notwithstanding. Do you recognize anyone in the crowd?”

“Not as an enemy,” she mused. “You were supposed to meet a woman outside. She might not have had anything to do with your attack, but could that be her, below to your right?”

“No.” He grimaced. “Not her. I doubt my admirer even exists.”

“It’s common knowledge women are attracted to you.”

His mouth flattened. “That is common nonsense. I have the prettiest fiancée in the realm and I care only that she finds me attractive.”

“You don’t think the man in the tree will attack you again?”

“It would be foolish to ignore the possibility.”

“How audacious he would be to return to the party as a guest.”

“Unless he is a guest.” He lifted their joined hands to acknowledge a chorus of cheers from the ballroom. It was as they were champions celebrating something more than an engagement. “For the moment we have to smile.”

“Why should we?” Ravenna wondered aloud. “Who will believe that you and I have hidden a secret affection for each other until tonight?”

“For all the world knows, Ravenna, we’re hopelessly in love and could no longer control our longing for each other. It’s preferable to the truth.”

“It’s bad timing, isn’t it?”

“Love is unpredictable. Do attempt to look happy.”

She forced a pained grin. “Is that better?”

He laughed softly. “That’s a grimace, not a smile.”

“It’s the best I can do,” she said, her facial muscles aching. “How much longer do we have to maintain this pretense?”

“For the rest of our lives?”

“Blessings on your union!” shouted a tipsy gentleman who wobbled in the glow of a chandelier. “An excellent act to end the act!”

“And a surprising one,” rejoined the sourpuss in the sparkling headdress. “How long has your grace been keeping his love for Lady Ravenna a secret?”

“For years,” he called back in such a forthright voice that Ravenna wondered if she could ever believe a word he spoke again.

Was this what one called destiny? Or was it a dilemma of her own making? She stared up impassively at his stark profile. There was far more to this man than a bad reputation. “Have you become as decadent as everyone says?”

He laughed again. “You’ll have to wait until after the wedding to find out.”

“That has an ominous ring to it,” she said, sliding toward the balcony.

He drew her back to his side without a blink. It was pleasant to lean up against Simon. “Promising,” he said. “That’s a nicer word. It hints of a happy life together.”

They were to be married. That life would consist of moments, weeks, months, and decades. She did not want think of an ominous future. She wanted love. Whether she would find it as a duchess she could not foretell.

The party blazed on. Gossip and gambling continued beyond dawn. A light operetta provided a burst of energy for those whose flagging spirits needed restoration. Rain fell intermittently, but no one noticed the rising humidity in the heat of hundreds of beeswax candles. The sun appeared behind the salon windows on droopy if expectant faces. Jane surprised her sleepy son and daughter with an acrobatic display that featured a family of poodles.

Would another scandal break?

Yes, please.

Assisted by his cane and a stone-faced footman, Viscount Frampton limped indignantly from the house as breakfast was brought to the gardens. His wife begged forgiveness at his heels. Some sneak had evidently informed the long-suffering gentleman that the viscountess had cuckholded him during the party. Would he seek a divorce? Would she survive the shame?

The one man who had witnessed the adulterous tryst was busy signing a marriage contract in Grayson’s study. By now the names on the guest list had been reviewed, as had their servants. The gardens had been scoured a third time, a search rendered futile by rain and inquisitive partygoers tiptoeing about for a souvenir of Rochecliffe’s romance.

Someone claimed to have found a pearl from Lady R’s circlet. It turned out to be a piece of cockle-shell.

Grayson said, “I’ve decided that Ravenna should remain with Julia and Heath at their St. James Street townhouse until the ceremony. Heath is trained to recognize menace.”

“Julia will enjoy the company,” Heath said. “When Griff arrives, he might wish to intercede.”

Simon drew on a gray morning coat unpacked by his valet, refraining from further comment as the men prepared to separate. When Ravenna’s older brother returned, he might do more than assume control of his sister’s affairs. Griff might decide that for all his noble benefits, Simon was still not good enough for Ravenna.

He hesitated at the door. “I have a confession to make.”

“Dear God,” Grayson said. “Here it comes.”

“Can it wait until after the breakfast?” Rhys inquired. “Bad news doesn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

Simon told them his secret, that he had asked Ravenna's older brothers for her hand and had been turned down twice.

Heath smiled and offered no advice.

Grayson reflected for only a minute and said, “It doesn’t change anything. At least you are marrying a woman you once desired. Sir David is still a snail. Your opinion, Rhys?”

“My only concern is Ravenna,” he said. “I assume you you’ll be the one to tell her, Simon.”

“Yes.” But he didn’t know when.