When Miss Potter arrived at his home two days later, Devon could scarcely contain his excitement. Which was why he chose to let Rowena greet her, while he secluded himself in the library. Honestly, he had to get himself under control. The fact he’d asked her to stay beneath his roof proved his weak resolve to do the right thing. Instead, he was allowing his lust for her to guide him–to bring her closer, into a bedroom where he would be able to visit if he chose to do so.

He would not be quite such a scoundrel, of course. But the possibility of it alone stirred his blood. Christ, it had taken every bit of restraint he possessed not to climb across the table in her parlor the other day and take her into his arms. Or in the kitchen earlier, when he’d been the cause of her anger. He’d stepped close enough to smell the perfume of roses upon her skin and had barely resisted the urge to push her up against the door and kiss her until she grew breathless.

Bloody hell!

He’d wanted to do a lot more than kissing. Especially when he'd allowed himself a moment of wicked imagining. Desire had washed over her face as if their minds had been linked, and she’d seen the pictures he’d painted of her, of her head thrown pack while he pushed up her skirts and tore open her bodice. And then, God help him, she’d groaned, as if he’d actually done it, as if he’d actually placed his mouth against her breasts and allowed his hand to slide over her thigh.

Frustrated, Devon went to refill the empty glass of brandy sitting before him. He’d gone to visit Madame Lizette as planned, but after selecting a girl who shared Miss Potter’s appearance as much as possible, he’d been too disgusted with himself to do anything with her. Especially since the girl in question had been sultrier than Miss Potter and lacked the feistiness he found so incredibly arousing in her.

But now she was here, invited to stay until her youngest sister returned. Devon took a long sip of his brandy. His sister had been appalled by the idea, because she’d seen right through him. His dissembling excuses and explanations had not been able to convince her of anything but an ulterior motive.

“You never want to have guests,” she’d said. “So what is this really about, Devon?”

He’d muttered something about Priorsbridge, while walking away and shutting a door in Rowena’s face. When they’d crossed paths later, she’d wagged a disapproving finger at him. “If you seduce this woman, I’ll never speak to you again. Do you hear? You’ll be just as awful as all the other reprobates out there.”

He’d hated the word, hated the fact his sister knew of the weakness he felt when faced with Miss Potter. So he’d locked himself away, plagued by guilt and need and something so desperate, he feared it might easily consume him. He decided to only come out for meals. And to escort Miss Potter over to the Park View. His sister would chaperone, so there was no risk of him behaving as anything other than the perfect gentleman.

But in his heart he wanted, more fervently than he’d ever wanted before. Which had made him consider all manner of solutions. He could, for instance, return to the country and send a letter to Priorsbridge informing him he’d done his duty, and Miss Potter was well. Which she would be, now she’d agreed to the stipend.

He could also try to convince her to be his mistress. Now there was a satisfying option, though he had to admit such a position would be rather demeaning for her. She was, after all, a gentlewoman, even if she had fallen on hard times, and her father had sullied their name. To actually ask her to be one step above a whore would likely lead to a tongue lashing the likes of which humanity had never seen.

Which left one final possibility.

He hardly dared contemplate it. Because the more he did, the more sense it made. Which only led to him wanting it more and, consequently, to the fear of failure. After all, their mutual attraction aside, he knew he and Miss Potter had had their differences. Also, their acquaintance was fairly new. They’d met no more than four days ago. Which meant they did not know each other particularly well. Except he felt like he knew her, as though he was able to predict her response to any situation with certain accuracy.

She was stubborn and proud, unwilling to bend to any man’s will, and by God, he wanted her by his side and in his bed, even if that meant marrying her.

There. He’d actually allowed the entire idea to form in his head. Taking another sip of his drink, he savored the calm settling deep in his bones now he’d found the right path. Whether she would agree to be his wife or not had yet to be determined. But he was a duke, damn it, and he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Surely he’d manage to convince her of the benefits to their union.

With this in mind, he set his glass down and strode to the door, determined to begin his courtship as promptly as possible—before he did something foolish like toss her over his shoulder and carry her off to be ravished. Which was definitely the most tempting course of action, even if it wasn’t the wisest.

* * *

Seated at the long dining room table that evening, Josephine wondered at Snowdon’s attentiveness. Not that he hadn’t been kind before when he’d made the fire in her parlor, brought her food, and prepared her tea, but it seemed like he was going out of his way to prove himself tonight. In a way, she found it endearing, but it did not diminish her suspicions. He was obviously up to something, the only question was what?

“So tell me, Miss Potter,” Lady Rowena began, “what prompted you to seek a position as an accountant?”

Josephine glanced across at Snowdon, who promptly stuck a piece of meat in his mouth and shrugged. She couldn’t decide if she liked the idea of him discussing her with his sister or not, especially since this was an aspect of her he did not approve of.

Returning her attention to Lady Rowena, she said, “I have always been fond of mathematics.”

The duke suddenly coughed. “Really?”

“Why do people find such a thing so surprising?” It had always confounded her, ever since she’d been a girl and she’d favored equations over embroidery.

“I suppose it is rare, that is all,” the duke muttered, following his statement with a hasty sip of wine.

Josephine fought not to roll her eyes. “My mother always insisted on putting education first for all of her daughters. She believed knowledge would give us the power to survive even if everything else went pear-shaped. Which it did. But thanks to her determination to have us tutored in mathematics, science, literature, French, and Latin, my sister Louise and I were both able to land respectable positions.” She glanced across at the duke before adding, “Even if you disapprove of our doing so.”

“I believe my brother is of the opinion women exist so men can have something pleasing to look at,” Lady Rowena murmured. “And because it would be deuced difficult for them to produce an heir on their own.”

Stunned by the blunt sense of humor, Josephine found herself laughing more openly than she’d done in some time. It felt good. Liberating. As though she was truly keeping company with friends. Lady Rowena laughed too, then added something equally amusing about the duke having said so to a dowager countess once. But when Josephine swept her gaze toward him to gauge his reaction, she didn’t find him laughing. Not because he appeared annoyed by his sister’s jabbing, but because he watched Josephine closely, pensively even, and with more consideration than she felt comfortable with.

After dinner, he excused himself quickly, allowing Josephine to enjoy a sherry with his sister in the parlor. “Might I ask you a personal question, Miss Potter?” Lady Rowena asked, when they’d said all there was to say about their favorite books and their fondest childhood memories.

“Of course.” Josephine wasn’t sure if she wanted Lady Rowena to do so, but it was one of those situations where saying so would have been rude.

“What do you think of my brother?”

Of all the questions in the universe, why did it have to be that one?

“I, er, I hardly know him well enough to give my opinion.”

Lady Rowena frowned with distinct dissatisfaction. “Come now, Miss Potter. He has invited you to visit with us, which he would not have done unless he considered you a friend. Please. I am curious to hear your opinion. And I promise not to be offended if you have something negative to say.”

“In that case, I must confess I found him a bit too…dukely, when first we met.”

Lady Rowena snorted. “You mean arrogant. He does tend to come across as such whenever he’s playing the highborn aristocrat.”

“I gathered as much after seeing him be less so. In fact, I preferred him when he was simply being…” She waved her hand, unable to find a better word than, “Normal.”

“When he wasn’t trying to tell you how to live your life?”

“Yes! Precisely. I rather liked him then, when no considerations had to be made about what would be proper or scandalous, or how my behavior might influence someone I’ve never even met.”

“Hmm. I suspect it must be difficult for him, however.” Lady Rowena met Josephine’s gaze. “He is, after all, a man with a title, not simply a man. Never that.”

Except when he built the fire, crouched on the floor without a care for the soot that would stain his knees after.

Josephine nodded. “Life has handed him a role, just as it has made you the lady in need of a perfect match and me the woman whose future was ruined by her father’s weakness.” She wished she could have avoided the bitterness, but the truth was, her life was as tarnished as a piece of oxidized silver. Making her chance of marrying a duke as unlikely as traveling to the stars.

Gasping in response to such an idea, Josephine bowed her head, her eyes fixed on her lap. Where on earth had such a ridiculous idea come from? She hardly knew the man, and now she was thinking of marrying him? A hysterical bit of laughter burst past her lips, prompting her to do what she could to explain it away by saying, “Fate can be such a tragic thing, my lady.”

Lady Rowena’s hand settled smoothly over hers, drawing her gaze back to hers. “Yes, it can, but I want you to know I would never judge you on anything other than your own actions. I hope we can be friends, Miss Potter, which is why I should like it a great deal if you would call me Rowena.”

“Only if you will call me Josephine.”

Rowena smiled softly and nodded. “Agreed.”

* * *

Courting a woman was no simple task. One had to determine what pleased her, or more importantly, what impressed her. Devon had been contemplating this since dinner the previous evening. He’d enjoyed their amicable conversation and had found himself enthralled by Miss Potter’s beauty when she’d laughed. Recalling the sparkle in her eyes and the joyous sound escaping her mouth, it had been as though the heavens opened and angels started singing. But he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to take his relationship with her one step further without being too obvious or seeming too eager. Neither of which were likely to encourage a tendre on her part.

Flowers and jewelry were simply too easy. Anyone with money could give a woman such things without much effort. And if there was one thing he suspected, it was that Miss Potter would greatly appreciate something suitable to her interests. Which meant he would have to get to know her better. So he’d suggested they visit the Park View for luncheon, in order to try the food there before taking a look at the rooms. If they finished up quickly, he would propose they go skating on the Serpentine and enjoy some hot chocolate afterward at one of the nearby bakeries. Spending time together was paramount. The more time the better, in fact.

A knock on the door brought his sister into the room. “You look awfully serious,” she said. “Is something the matter?”

“No. Nothing at all.” He stood and pulled at his sleeves. “I am simply thinking about something.”

Rowena’s lips twitched with amusement. “And do these thoughts of yours involve a certain Miss Potter by any chance?”

“Of course not.” He deliberately frowned.

“I know her name, you know. Her given name. In case you’re interested.” She smiled at him with annoying degrees of mischief.

Devon tried to conceal his interest, but Rowena must have spotted the brief flash of curiosity he’d felt in response to her words, because she actually grinned with devious glee. “Shall I take pity on you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No need. Whatever her name is, it does not signify.” If there was one thing he would not be reduced to in all of this, it was a man dependent upon his sister’s mercy. He’d rather feign indifference.

Rowena shrugged as though dismissing the matter. “Well, in that case, I am here to tell you Miss Potter and I are ready to depart whenever you are.”

“Excellent.” He could do with a change of scenery and a bit more closeness to Miss Potter. “I’ll ask for a carriage to be brought around.” He went to the bell-pull.

Rowena remained in the doorway. Her eyes met his, and she suddenly said, “Her name is Josephine, and in case you’re wondering, she likes you. Not the duke, Devon, simply the man.”

“What the devil do you mean by that?”

The words were out before he could stop them, chasing his sister into the hallway beyond as she left his study without answering the question.

It certainly gave him something to think about during the ride over to the Park View. Josephine. The name haunted him while he watched her converse with his sister, as he helped her down from the carriage – their hands briefly touching, separated by gloves--when he led the way into his hotel, and while he guided both women about. She liked him but not as a duke, which presented him with a problem. He’d no idea how to separate one from the other or if such a thing were even possible.

It had to be, or Rowena wouldn’t have suggested as much. Which meant Josephine must have seen something in him, something apart from his title and all the restrictions it carried with it, something more him. He scarcely noticed the food they were served in the hotel restaurant, he was so deep in thought. She liked him. Not the duke, simply the man. Going over every moment they’d shared and every conversation they’d had, he tried to make sense of.

The duke had responsibilities. He was bound by social rules and etiquette and would never attend to menial tasks. Devon considered this idea more thoroughly. Had she found his ability to light a fire or make a pot of tea appealing? Those were simple chores—a servant’s chores—but perhaps the unexpectedness of a duke carrying them out, of him ensuring her comfort in such a basic way, had touched her somehow? Perhaps the lack of fanfare, the simple stripping away of social mores, had allowed her to see something in him others rarely witnessed.

She’d certainly seemed appreciative. More so than when his title had compelled him to take away something important to her, her employment. He popped a piece of something or other into his mouth. Of course she disliked the duke. The duke had demanded she bend to his will, while the man was humble and kind. Which meant in order to win her, he’d have to force the duke into the background and bring the man to the forefront.

The idea struck him at the exact same moment he realized the meat he chewed was not getting any smaller. “This is like eating a shoe,” he muttered, staring down at his plate.

“I agree,” Rowena told him. “And the vegetables are the soggiest I’ve ever had. Bland, too, in terms of flavor.”

“What is your opinion, Miss Potter?” Devon asked, deliberately forcing her to speak, not only because he valued her thoughts but also for the pleasure of hearing her voice. It was the loveliest he’d ever heard.

“The food does not live up to the standard one might expect from a restaurant this expensive. It is also bound to have a negative effect on the hotel, because even if the rooms are comfortable, no guest will want to eat here more than once.”

Devon nodded. “I agree.” It did not escape his notice that she blushed or that she hastily averted her gaze the moment their eyes met. “Let us try a few more items from the menu before inspecting the rooms, shall we?”

They did so, only to be increasingly disappointed. “This is awful,” Devon said, tossing his napkin aside after swallowing a bit of dry cake. He considered his wineglass and elected to drink some water instead.

“There is certainly room for improvement,” Josephine said sympathetically.

Wincing, Devon pushed back his chair and stood. “Let’s hope the rooms are better than the food.”

Each bedchamber appeared to be presentable at first glance, but Josephine quickly ascertained the bed sheets were not the high quality cotton Devon had asked Mr. Roth to purchase. The price had certainly been high enough, however, as evidenced by the accounting books. After leaving the bedchambers, they’d stopped by the office so she could show them to him. “It appears Mr. Roth is not the man you thought him to be,” she said, the hesitancy with which she spoke suggesting she wasn’t quite sure of how he’d react to such news.

“Letting him go was the right thing to do. He treated you abominably and took advantage of me,” Devon leafed through other pages in the book. He would have to check all the wines too, because the one he’d had with his meal was not deserving of any cost listed in the account book. “I will call on my solicitor tomorrow and ask him if legal action can be taken. Mr. Roth is about to discover I won’t accept thievery.”

“Nor should you,” Josephine murmured.

Her hand went to his arm in a gentle show of solidarity and comfort. One second and it was gone, returned to her side as she went to speak with his sister. But it had been enough, enough to expand his heart and enough to strengthen his resolve to win her. So he slammed the accounting book shut, determined to focus on a more enjoyable matter.

“I think we’re done here,” he said. “May I suggest an outing to Hyde Park? The air is crisp but at least the sun is finally shining.”

“Oh yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Rowena said. She turned toward Josephine with a cheerful smile. “Do you not agree?”

“I cannot recall the last time I visited a park, so yes, by all means, the fresh air and exercise will be most welcome.”

It was settled. Devon asked the remaining office clerk to pack up the account books so he could take them with him for further study. He then led the ladies back out to the carriage so they could set off for the park.

* * *

Try as she might, Josephine could not resist casting the occasional glance in the duke’s direction. He was as handsome as ever, his black hair slightly tousled, his eyes looking inward as if he were lost in deep contemplation. There would be a lot for him to think of too, considering what he’d discovered today with regard to Mr. Roth’s treachery. She did not envy the task the duke faced, of having to set everything to right, trying to win back the customers he’d lost, and the potential lawsuit he’d have to endure.

Unable to stop herself, she’d reached for him, hoping to offer some small piece of consolation. But it hadn’t been proper, an overstepping of bounds so personal, she’d been forced to snatch her hand away for fear he might see the truth: that she was falling for him in every impossible way. So she tried not to look, and she tried not to think of how happy she was in this moment.

Because it was destined to end.

Eventually, her sister would return, and Snowdon would realize his responsibility toward her had come to a conclusion.

“Miss Potter?”

She flinched, alerted by the deep timbre of the voice now speaking from outside the carriage. Blinking, she realized they must have arrived at the park. The duke peered at her, and his hand reached toward her, ready to help her alight. Drawn by the light in his eyes, her gaze locked with his, narrowing space and time to a fine little point in which only the two of them remained. Catching her breath, she allowed her hand to settle firmly against his palm, allowed herself to revel in the feel of his fingers tightening over hers. And then she climbed out, descending onto the pavement and dreading the moment when he would release her.

He assisted her slowly, so slowly she felt his reluctance to let her go in the unhurried slide of his hand— palm against palm, fingers against fingers, then subtlety followed by nothing. Or perhaps she simply imagined it. Perhaps he wasn’t as affected by her as she was by him, and she only saw and felt what she wished to. After all, he was a duke, a powerful man who could have any woman of his choosing. So what would he possibly want with her? Was it not more likely she lived in a fantasy of her own creation, a fantasy built on longing and broken dreams?

They set out along a wide path on which a few riders steered their horses along at a moderate pace and other pedestrians walked. “The snow is so pretty here,” she found herself saying. “It looks like frosting on a cake, completely undisturbed by carriage wheels.”

“There are the occasional prints from squirrels and birds. Some from children too,” Snowdon said. “Like the ones over there. Looks like they’re building a snowman.”

Rowena chuckled. “Remember when we used to do that? We’d always come back inside with frozen fingers and toes.”

“And Cook would have scones with clotted cream and jam waiting for us by the fire.” Snowdon’s manner of speech conveyed his fondness for the memory. “We’d eat while Mama played the piano and Papa smoked his pipe.”

“She’s not the best pianist in the world,” Rowena said, “but the pleasure she finds in her music has always been palpable. It is a joy to watch her play.”

Josephine hadn’t known the woman still lived. The duke had made no mention of her before, which she found rather odd, all things considered. “Why didn’t she come to Town with you?” she asked. “Surely she does not wish to spend Christmas alone in the country.”

Snowdon dropped a look in her direction. “Mama has gone to Scotland for the holidays to visit her sister, who’s married to the Laird of Glenmoore.”

“She asked me to go with her,” Rowena said, “but I chose to remain at Bevelstoke. Whenever our mother and Aunt Rose get together, they’re like two young debutants, gossiping and giggling, sharing confidences. Frankly, I find it hard to stomach. And it turns out I made the right decision since I got to meet you instead.”

“I am grateful to you for coming to London on such short notice, Rowena,” Josephine said. “I realize it isn’t much fun this time of year.”

“It is hardly less entertaining than Bevelstoke. At least here I have the two of you to keep me company. I must say I have no complaints.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Snowdown said as they came up over a small rise below which the Serpentine could be seen in full view. It snaked its way across the snowy landscape, providing skaters with a smooth surface on which to glide. “I’ve asked the servants to put up some pine and ribbons so the house can be more festive. We’ll have a goose on Christmas Eve, with a chocolate and caramel tart for dessert. I hope that agrees with both of you. If not, you’re welcome to make alterations.”

Josephine liked his agreeability, but since she had no issue with his suggestions, she said, “I think it sounds wonderful. I haven’t had goose in years.”

“Then you must eat to your heart’s content,” he told her with sparkling eyes.

She wasn’t entirely sure why it pleased him to know she approved of the menu he’d chosen, but it was obvious it did. In fact, there was something softer about him right now, something less serious, as though he was letting himself forget the responsibilities clinging to him at every moment of every day. She’d resented the duty because it made him insist she give up her employment, the strict adherence to protocol preventing her from continuing her work. Even now, after discovering she’d lost her job because of one of his employees, Snowdon refused to let her resume it. Indeed, she ought to be furious with him. More than anything, she ought to resist the ever-present attraction developing between them.

But she couldn’t. Because the more she considered the situation as a whole, the more she understood him. And if there was one thing she could say with certainty, it was that understanding him undermined any wish she might have to disapprove of his actions. He was, after all, a duke, a principled gentleman who’d made a promise to a friend. If he broke that promise for her, he would no longer be the man she’d come to admire. So although she disliked the effect his promise had on her life, she appreciated his insistence to honor Priorsbridge’s wishes.