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of both her and her husband.
    “The duty might fall upon you yet, Seb.”
    Bloody hell. Still, Sebastian wouldn’t dwell too much on the ghastly matter. Penelope was not yet thirty, while Sebastian was already thirty-six and too jaded to even contemplate marriage. There was still plenty of time for the young woman to produce an heir. He needn’t fret about the dreadful responsibility. Not yet anyway.
    From across the table, Penelope offered him a warm smile. “Tell us, Ravenswood, has the fashion in Paris changed much since the spring?”
    “Most assuredly,” he said with a flirtatious wink. “But I must admit, I paid little attention to the vogue.”
    “Oh lud!” from the other sister, Roselyn. “Why couldn’t you have been more of a dandy, Ravenswood, and heeded the trends?”
    Sebastian bowed his head. “It was dreadful of me, I know.”
    Next Cordelia chimed, “Did you happen to notice the more fashionable colors, Ravenswood?”
    “Pink, I believe.”
    “Pink?” Tertia, the last of the sisters, wrinkled her brow. “Surely not, Ravenswood. Pink was last season’s color. You must be mistaken.”
    But before Sebastian could offer another opinion, Henrietta appeared.
    Sebastian bristled.
    The chit paused in the doorway, her head held high, her shoulders set back. A charming smile touched her lips; a playfulness winked in her eyes. After a brief delay, she entered the room with uncanny confidence, her rich, auburn locks in a whimsical twist, tendrils bouncing by her ears.
    What had happened to the girl?
    A few cordial greetings drifted from the table, but otherwise the gathered party made no particular gesture or remark to reflect upon Henrietta’s baffling transformation. Was the family so distracted by hunger? How could they just sit there in perfect harmony and not gape at the little hoyden skirting across the room?
    Skirting? No, she wasn’t skirting. She was…swaying. Artfully so. The soft and rhythmic rustle of her petticoats tickled his ears as she swished this way and that. Good God, the girl had hips!
    “Henry, my boy,” the baron shouted in jovial salutation. “How good of you to join us.”
    Henrietta pressed her lips to her father’s brow—her round rump arched ever so slightly. “Good evening, Papa.”
    A peculiar spasm gripped Sebastian’s heart. What the devil was the matter with the girl’s voice? So deep, husky even, the inflection steady. Did she have a cold?
    Sebastian watched, transfixed, as an attending footman helped Henrietta into her seat. With a flick of the wrist, she unfurled her white linen napkin and set it across her lap. A meal was placed before her, and she set to work on gracefully devouring the fare—without so much as glancing his way.
    “Well, Ravenswood?”
    Sebastian snapped his gaze back to Tertia. What were they talking about again? Paris? Clothes? Colors? That’s it! “Blue, I believe.”
    Peter choked.
    Tertia lifted a delicate brow. “I should purchase a blue mare, Ravenswood?”
    Sebastian frowned. “We’re not talking about the Parisian vogue?”
    “No, Ravenswood,” said Tertia. “Ponies. For my Edward’s fifth birthday. We were talking about the best breeds.”
    “My apologies, sister.”
    Sebastian was back to glaring at Henrietta. GoodGod, the girl was huge! Two dress sizes bigger, he was sure. What’s more, the astute cut of her rust brown frock made sure to highlight those striking curves. And damned if she hadn’t sprouted a figure worthy of notice.
    “What do you think, Ravenswood?”
    Blast it! Not again. What was it this time? Birthdays? No, breeds! “I believe a Shetland is the best choice.”
    Tertia coughed. “I most certainly will not serve horseflesh at my Eddie’s birthday dinner!”
    Sebastian stifled an oath.
    “Devil take it, Seb,” his brother leaned in to whisper, “whatever is the matter with your ears?”
    His ears might be faulty, but there was nothing the matter with his eyes. “Look at her,