Page 106 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

“I’ve never even heard of it,” Ravenna said, craning her neck to peer above the line of guests waiting to enter the ballroom. “It sounds quite intriguing. Was that Simon who walked straight past us?”

“I wasn’t paying attention. Do come outside. The pavilion holds a fond memory for me. Grayson kissed me in one of the private chambers -- and uttered the famous words, ‘There is a time to be wise and a time to be wicked. Which do you suppose it is, Jane?’”

“Not to sound rude, but it’s obvious that you did not choose wisdom that day.”

Jane gave a frank laugh. “How did you guess? Still, as I look back on my life, I don’t think it was unwise to succumb to Grayson. Ours has been a happy union.”

“It’s more of a dynasty than a marriage,” Ravenna said.

“As yours will be.” Jane slowed her pace. “Shall we pay the pavilion a visit? For nostalgia’s sake?”

“Is that wise?” Ravenna asked.

“We shall ask Weed to accompany us, of course.”

Weed was not only Jane and Grayson’s senior footman, he was also a long-time family retainer and faithful servant. He accompanied Jane nearly everywhere and was indeed within hailing distance at the end of the hall.

“It shall take an hour to wend our way outside,” Ravenna said.

“There are detours,” Jane replied. “As a duchess, you must perfect the art of evasion as well as enticement.”

Simon gazedacross the garden at the isolated pavilion. The four slender white turrets of the whimsical structure seemed to touch the moon.

The replica of a fairy-tale castle was one of the ton’s most elite trysting places. Tonight, with guards at its entrance to turn away the paying public, it was more of a curiosity than a romantic destination. Any guest who had been hoping for a stolen interlude inside its upper chambers would meet disappointment.

As would the man foolish enough to issue a clandestine invitation to his wife. Simon had accompanied Rhys and Heath halfway across the chamomile slope to the pavilion before he came to a halt. His face hardened as he recognized the masked figure who had crossed the walkway. Sir David. The bastard dared to wait in the dark for Ravenna.

“There he is,” he said in a cold disgust.

Rhys studied the unfamiliar landscape. “Where?”

He gestured to the right. “He’s the strolling minstrel lurking in the rhododendrons. I should have hunted down the little grub the day we read the ballad he sent Ravenna. It had to have been him.”

Sir David turned unexpectedly in their direction. Heath dragged Simon behind one of the tables that had been set up for tomorrow’s al fresco breakfast. “He’s noticed Rhys,” he said. “Don’t let him see us yet. I believe he’s drunk. He’s weaving through the flowers like a Maypole dancer.”

Simon edged forward. “He has to be drunk if he doesn’t find it odd that Ravenna has grown several inches. Or that her hair looks the hedgerow.”

“Rhys is standing in the shadows,” Heath said.

“Was standing,” Simon corrected him, inching back around the table. “While we’ve been doddering here having a leisurely chat, my brother-in-law has arrived at the scene of the ‘rendezvous.’”

Heath shrugged in resignation. “We gave a solemn oath to behave, but a higher duty forces us to give Rhys -- Viola, Sebastian, or Ravenna, as she is, a hand.”

“I’ll give David more than that.” Simon started down the incline, his boots crushing the lawn. He was fiercely glad he had held out against a costume. He would have felt like a proper fool charging into a fight dressed as a wizard in a flowing cloak and false beard.

“There’s no chance of avoiding a physical altercation, I expect,” Heath said, fast on his shadow.

The distinctive crunch of a fist striking bone rent the tranquility of the rhododendron garden. Simon and Heath paused momentarily to take stock of the scene. Rhys, his ringlets askew, leapt up in a pugilist’s pose with his fists raised. Sir David appeared to have staggered to his knees.

“No chance at all,” Simon said with a dark smile, climbing the chamomile in huge strides.

Sir David lumbered to his feet and swung his lyre at Rhys’ head, an assault Rhys dodged and countered with a jab to David’s chin. “Conniving bastard,” he said from the side of his mouth. “You aren’t Ravenna. You aren’t even a woman.”

“I think it’s been established that you aren’t much of a man, either,” Rhys retorted, wrenching the lyre from David’s lax grip and tossing it into the greenery.

David launched at him, his fingers curved like talons. “I wanted to speak to your sister.”

Rhys unfastened the hands that closed around his throat, then butted his head against David’s nose. The wig slid off, down Rhys’ face, and momentarily blinded both men. He ripped the ringlets away and blinked to clear his vision. In a blur he saw Simon twirl David around like a top and punch him in the jaw. He held himself back to grant Simon the privilege of avenging his wife’s honor. The next thing Rhys knew, Simon was carrying the upper half of Sir David’s body into the bushes and Heath had taken a firm grip of his thrashing feet.