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anyone discovers you were in my bedchamber this morning, your name and your character will be damaged beyond repair. Society would naturally assume we are lovers.”
    Heat infused her cheeks. Lovers. Two days ago, she would have dismissed the thought entirely. But Arlington had awoken feelings within her that she’d never known existed, except in novels. Indeed, just moments ago, she’d nearly begged him to take her. Even now, she longed to feel his strong hands gripping her as his lips glided across her bare skin…
    Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she forced the image away.
    “It’s not true,” she said. 
    “Whether it’s true or not means very little in my world, love. The gossip rags would print it as sure as if it were gospel.”
    She blinked up at him. Now that she’d been thrust into the duke’s sphere, every step she took, every word she spoke would be bait for gossip. But coming here this morning was a risk she’d been willing to take.
    “They will not speak against you, Pippa, you have my solemn vow.”
    Her given name rolled off his tongue, soft and seductive. She had a mind to admonish him for using it, but couldn’t bring herself to. She liked the way it sounded on his lips.
    Pippa swallowed. “But your servants will surely—”
    He shook his head. “They will say nothing. I will make sure of it.”
    There was a charged silence until at last he stepped forward and hooked a finger under her chin. He tilted her head up, forcing her to look into his blue, crystalline eyes. His lips were close, so close she could almost feel them skimming across her own. And heaven help her, she wanted to feel them, as desperately as she wanted her next breath.
    Her eyes drifted shut as she held her breath, waiting…
    Nothing happened. 
    Her eyes snapped open and he was staring at her. “I will pick you up for the theater tomorrow evening.” He brushed his thumb across her lower lip, his gaze hungry, intent. “Be ready.”
     
     

 

Chapter Five
     
    The next morning, Lucas sat at his desk, gazing down at the card that had been delivered just moments before. It was his own card, one of the many he’d instructed the florist to include with Miss Welby’s bouquets. He’d had a note written on the front and back of each card, and this card had a response from the lady herself—scrawled across his words in elegant lettering was the one word that never failed to set him on edge.
    No signature, no explanation. Just that singular word that rang like a battle cry in his head. She was throwing down the gauntlet, challenging his authority, and there was only one way to respond. He would meet her challenge.  
    A sharp knock sounded on the door.
    “Come in,” he called out.
    The door to his study opened and closed quietly. “Are you at home for Lord Stephen Crawford, Your Grace?” Benson asked. 
    Lucas didn’t glance up. “Send him in.”
    Seconds later, the door opened to reveal Crawford. Lucas had only met him on one occasion, two months ago, at one of the countless dinner parties he’d attended in Guildford.  The man was amiable, if he remembered correctly. His father was the Earl of Durham and very ill. As his only son, Crawford stood to inherit both his father’s title and his sizeable fortune.
    Lucas placed the card in his pocket and sat back in his chair, eyeing Crawford carefully. Standing at the door with his jaw clenched, the man looked rather formidable. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and large enough to fill the entire doorway.
    “Crawford.” Lucas indicated the chair directly in front of him. “Have a seat. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
    Crawford took the seat across from Lucas’s desk. “I won’t waste your time with useless preamble. My visit concerns your sister.”
    “Go on,” Lucas said, his voice slow, terse.
    Crawford cleared his throat and tugged on his cravat. “I would like to offer for her hand.”
    Christ, another one.
    Evelyn had been out in society for two