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    She’d been hearing for weeks how Leverton was the key to solving Gillian’s little problem, as her family called it. According to them, he was perfectly suited to guide her into society’s good graces, and perfectly capable of managing away even the most troublesome elements of her background.
    He must be a bloody perfect miracle worker, if that was the case.
    As she cautiously eyed him, she couldn’t help concluding that he did seem rather perfect in some respects. He was certainly prettier than she was, with thick, tawny-colored hair, striking blue eyes, and a face straight off a Greek statue. And he was certainly a good deal more stylish than she was, although that was true of almost anyone. But even she could appreciate the way his beautifully tailored coat showcased his broad shoulders, and how his breeches clung to his muscled legs with nary a wrinkle. As for his cravat, it was practically a work of art.
    In fact, he was so damn perfect it made her stomach hurt. She’d been drawn in by perfection before, and it had almost ruined her.
    â€œStop trying to shock us, Gillian,” her grandmother said. “You know quite well it won’t work.”
    â€œ Au contraire, Lady Marbury,” Griffin said. “I find myself quite riven with horror.”
    He flashed Gillian the conspiratorial smile that always made her feel someone truly did understand her. And, more important, Griffin didn’t find her wanting, unlike apparently everyone else in London. She couldn’t wait to shake the dirt of England from her boots and return to Sicily—the sooner, the better.
    â€œMiss Dryden is quite right,” Leverton said.
    Gillian frowned. “I am? About what, exactly?”
    He slowly crossed the room to her. He didn’t prowl, precisely, but something in the way he moved made her think of . . . a wolf, perhaps. Slipping silently through the night as he hunted in silence.
    An exceedingly clever wolf, she guessed. One with very sharp teeth well suited for ripping apart a person’s carefully ordered life.
    Leverton’s height forced her to tilt back her head to meet his gaze, and she found herself staring into eyes a beautiful shade of cobalt. She had to admit they were really quite amazing.
    â€œPlease believe me, Miss Dryden, when I say I meant no insult. I was merely surprised by a few details regarding your situation. It caused me to forget my manners.” A glint of amusement lurked in his gaze.
    Her stomach twisted at the notion that he might be laughing at her. But when he smiled, her stomach seemed to untwist and start dancing with butterflies.
    â€œCome, my dear girl,” he said in his beautifully cultured voice. “I beg you to forgive me before I’m compelled to do something drastic—like throw myself at your feet. That would be embarrassing for both of us.”
    â€œBloody coxcomb,” Griffin muttered.
    Leverton ignored the aside, keeping his attention on Gillian. Her heart began to thump and heat crawled up her neck. “Oh, very well,” she grumbled. “I forgive you.”
    â€œYou are most gracious,” Leverton said. “Now, perhaps we can start over and leave all this awkwardness behind.”
    â€œWhat a splendid idea,” Grandmamma said. “Your Grace, my granddaughter, Miss Gillian Dryden.”
    The duke bowed as if she hadn’t just tumbled through the door, and as if they hadn’t just spent the last few minutes insulting each other.
    â€œGillian, I have the pleasure of introducing you to the Duke of Leverton,” Grandmamma added.
    â€œGood Lord. I know who he is,” Gillian replied, not hiding her exasperation.
    â€œThen make him a curtsey, my dear. A proper one.”
    Repressing the urge to roll her eyes—one curtsey was as good as another, as far as she was concerned—Gillian dipped down and quickly came up.
    Leverton’s eyebrows ticked up. On him, she rather