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successful duke.” Jane stood back to admire him in his entirety. “He is certainly tall.”
    “Hmm. I wonder why Arabella did not wish to speak with Constable Robbins.”
    They exchanged a look, and Jane heaved a mournful sigh. “Something is amiss and I suspect it has to do with our guest here.”
    “I was thinking the same thing.” Emma looked at the duke with a regretful shake of her head. “A pity, too, for a duke would have been just the thing.”
    Jane could see it all now—the wedding would have been lovely. The gentleman, so tall and well proportioned, and Arabella, beautiful in the pink frock Jane and Emma had prepared almost six years ago. Every year, they added something to the bodice of the dress—a lace collar, a flounce, handcrafted beadwork, a silk bow. This year they had outdone themselves, adding ten rows of hand-sewn rosettes.
    Emma cleared her throat. “It is a bad habit for a duke, to wander around at night and startle servants. Still . . . there are so few qualified men available.”
    “True,” Jane said slowly, looking down at the glittering emerald on the duke’s hand.
    “And no man is perfect,” her sister continued. “In fact, you could almost hold that no man is perfect until he meets the right woman.”
    Jane beamed. “All our duke needs is a good woman who will break him of galloping around at night and scar- ing people’s servants to death.”
    Emma turned to the portrait over the fireplace. “Like the Lady Meaghan broke the Captain of his insatiable bloodlust.”
    “Exactly!” They both stared at the smiling portrait. Somehow, the blue eyes seemed to twinkle merrily, as if the Captain could discern their bold thoughts and heartily approved. A gust of wind arose outside the manor and rat- tled the shutters with satisfying vigor.
    Emma gave a delicious shiver. “Oh, my! It seems the Captain agrees with us.”
    Jane strongly believed in signs. “Of course he does. A duke is not so very different from a pirate, after all.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “His wounds will keep him abed a week, but no more. We must induce him to stay longer.”
    “Fortunately, it won’t take long for him to fall in love with Arabella, and—” Emma stared down at Arabella’s future husband, her brows lowered over the bridge of her upturned nose. “He is very handsome, but I wonder . . .”
    Jane didn’t like the frown on Emma’s face. “What?” “What if . . .” Emma had to swallow twice before she
    could continue. “What if he’s not . . .” She blushed, then whispered loudly, “Adequate.”
    Jane looked down at the duke’s face and noted the thick lashes and the strong line of his jaw. He seemed too hand- some to be anything other than adequate. But one could never tell. “Perhaps we should look, just to make certain.” Emma’s mouth rounded into a perfect O. “Look? Us? ” Jane smoothed her hands over her neatly starched skirt and nodded sternly. “Think, Emma. What if he is
    deformed? Or worse?”
    Seeing Emma’s mouth firm into a stubborn line, Jane added, “You wouldn’t buy a melon without thumping it, would you?”
    No one was more devoted to selecting quality fare for the table than Emma. She blinked down at the duke. “No, I wouldn’t.”
    “Would you choose Arabella’s husband with less care than you choose a melon?”
    Emma looked positively dazed. “I hadn’t thought of it quite that way. I . . . I suppose you are right, sister.”
    “Furthermore, who is better to judge if the man is fit to be wed? After all, we were both married for over thirty years. Here, I’ll even go first,” Jane said bravely. She took a calming breath, and then folded the sheet back until the edge of one muscular leg showed. Bronze against the white linen sheet, it would ripple as he walked.
    “Oh, my,” breathed Emma. She pressed a plump hand to the lace at her even plumper bosom. “Oh, my, oh, my!”
    Jane gestured toward the bed. “Your turn.”
    Face furrowed with