Page 105 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

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Rhys was dancing with a debutante, contriving an excuse, any excuse, to break free. She fluttered her gauze-draped arms repeatedly and asked him to guess her costume.

“A moth? No. A windmill?”

Her smile collapsed. “A butterfly. Oh, I told Mama that yellow was a horrid color on me.”

“It’s quite appealing,” he lied. How he missed his nubile ballerina, who always had something clever to say and never demanded flattery. He also missed his normal gentleman’s attire. He kept tripping on his gown and detested the black ringlets that dangled from his wig.

“I’m lucky to have won you before another lady did,” the debutante said, stepping on his skirts.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t you know? You’re one of the raffle prizes.”

“Am I? No one said a word.”

She giggled as he fluffed his curls beneath the pearl circlet that cut the flow of blood to his brain. “Who are you supposed to be? The duchess?”

“Actually, the character Viola from Twelfth Night.”

“Who? Oh. It’s remarkable how closely you and your sister resemble each other.”

“Isn’t it?” he mumbled. “I’ve heard that twins tend to look alike. When does this dance end? I probably should turn myself in for the raffle.”

The dance didn’t end. The band launched immediately into another set. The vigorous music of a pianoforte and trio of violoncellos throbbed in his head. He could have shouted with relief when the clock struck ten and silence fell as the majordomo arrived to announce the winner of the hour.

He hastily excused himself from his dancing partner only to bump into a footman. “Do excuse my clumsiness,” the servant said with a bow. Then, “I’ve been instructed to bring you this.” He pressed a folded note into Rhys’ hand.

“Thank you,” Rhys said uncertainly.

“Your grace is welcome.” It was dark where Rhys stood, and he had to battle his way to a standing candelabrum against the wall to read the missive. It said: Meet me outside the Pavilion of Love and all will be forgiven.

“What in heaven’s name?” he muttered, wondering who he had offended and why he needed forgiveness for a sin he couldn’t even remember he’d committed. It struck him how faintly sinister this invitation sounded. Was it similar to the one that Simon had received at Grayson’s party?

Answering that enigmatic invite had not been the best idea. It also occurred to him that he might not have been the note’s intended recipient. The ballroom was packed like a minnow pond and not well-lit. Rhys could have been mistaken for Ravenna from a distance. The footman had assumed he was “her grace.”

Damnation. Was a guest trying to lure his married sister into a tryst? This was an insult he could not ignore, although Simon might prefer to do the honor and confront the offender himself. On deeper reflection Rhys decided his brother-in-law deserved a spell of peace. He could do Simon a favor.

“Dear me,” a familiar male voice said archly from the other side of the candelabrum. “Rhys? Is that you under that waterfall of hair?”

He looked up blankly from the note into Heath’s sardonic face. “Where is Simon?”

“I spoke with him not long ago in the hall,” Heath said. “Fetching costume. I adore the curls. You misled me for a moment.”

“Have you seen Ravenna?”

“The last time I saw her, you were at the bottom of the stairs together. I take it the pair of you are switching places for the night?”

“You’re sure she hasn’t gone out into the garden?”

“Not by herself, surely. I wouldn’t think she’d repeat that mistake.” Heath’s gaze dropped to the note that Rhys held. “That’s not another portentous message?”

“Would you care to investigate?”

“Do you need to ask? Oh, good. Simon has entered the room. Shall we join forces?”

“Haveyou ever visited the Pavilion of Love?” Jane asked Ravenna as they strolled arm-in-arm toward the ballroom.