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determination, Emma stepped for- ward and folded the sheet back farther, revealing the trim line of his hip and the lean edge of his stomach. The two women studied the exposed area in silence. Finally, Emma turned to Jane. “Are you ready?”
    Unable to do more than nod, Jane grabbed the sheet and lifted.
    There was a moment of reverent silence.
    Then Emma closed her mouth, reached out and took the sheet from Jane’s still fingers, and carefully lowered it back into place.
    Without looking at one another, she and Jane tucked the sheet in, replaced the blanket, and returned to their respective seats by the fire.
    A strained silence filled the once-peaceful room. Emma pretended to embroider, though it was painfully clear her mind was elsewhere, since her needle had no thread.
    Jane didn’t even attempt to knit. She just sat, staring ahead.
    After a prolonged stillness, she let out her breath. “He is definitely a real duke.”
    Emma sank against her chair in relief and fanned her- self with a weak hand. “Arabella must marry him.”
    Jane looked up at the picture over the fireplace. The Captain’s blue eyes met hers, and suddenly she knew what was destined to happen as clearly as if she were a seeress. “Oh, yes, Emma. Our Arabella must marry her duke. And the sooner, the better.”

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    Chapter 4

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    ucien awoke slowly, pulled from deep sleep by a pounding headache that surged against his eyelids
    and forced them open. Squinting against the sunlight, he surveyed his surroundings.
    The room had the unmistakable look of a feminine retreat. Lace frills hung from the curtains and covers, and embroidered roses adorned every conceivable surface. The cacophony of color made his head spin. Lucien raked a hand through his hair and winced as his fingertips brushed a lump that felt the size of a cricket ball.
    From across the room, bright blue eyes surveyed him with interest. Gray, plump and bespectacled, his observer tugged her companion’s cuff. “Jane, look! He’s awake.”
    Jane turned and regarded him with blue eyes that were an exact replica of her companion’s. “So he is, Emma. I thought he’d sleep the rest of the day away.”
    Emma scurried to his side and beamed at him like a
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    cordial fairy. “My, you have the most beautiful eyes!” She called over her shoulder, “Jane, come and see!”
    Small and neat as a wren, Jane advanced and peered down her arched nose. She stared intently, assessing him as thoroughly as if he’d been a stallion on the block at Tat- tersall’s. It was damned irritating, but before he could protest, she straightened. “I once had a cat with green eyes. Best cat I ever had.”
    It was too much for his clouded mind to decipher. Lucien turned away. As he did so, the soft rub of crisp cot- ton brushed across his knee and caused him to start. Bloody hell, he was completely naked. “Where the devil are my clothes?”
    Emma retucked the edges of his blanket as if he were no more than ten years of age, the distinctive scent of cognac swelling as she leaned near. “We sent them to be cleaned.”
    Lucien crumpled the edge of the sheet between his fists. The papers from the Home Office were still con- cealed in his greatcoat. If they were discovered—
    He caught sight of his coat slung casually over a small chair in the corner, the telltale outline of the packet clearly visible. He relaxed against the pillows.
    Unaware of his turmoil, Jane returned to the table by the fire, saying over her shoulder, “Your shirt was ruined, you know.”
    “As was your cravat,” Emma said. “You lost lots of blood.” She beamed pleasantly and added in a singsong voice, “Lots and lots and lots of blood.”
    Somehow Arabella had forgotten to mention that her aunts were completely, unequivocally mad.
    “Fortunately for you,” Emma continued, unabashed by his lack of response, “Jane had some of her tonic already
    in the making. It is wine-based, you know. Very tasty.” Emma’s cupid’s bow mouth