Anthea's hands clenched into fists. "Beatrice has gone too far this time."
"I know, but what choice did I have?" Poppy's voice broke. "I thought perhaps I could simply speak with him for a moment, then claim we were never truly alone, but?—"
"But Beatrice would have arranged for witnesses," Anthea finished grimly. "She would have ensured you were caught together, forcing his hand."
"I am so sorry," Poppy whispered. "I know this is not what you wanted. I know you hoped to find us suitable matches, but Mama would not wait?—"
"Hush," Anthea said, pulling her stepsister into a brief embrace. "This is not your fault. And I will not allow Beatrice tomanipulate you into a marriage with a man you do not know. We shall simply explain that this was a misunderstanding and?—"
A sound from outside the door made them both freeze.
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate footsteps approaching the music room.
"Hide," Anthea hissed urgently, pushing Poppy toward the heavy curtains that framed the windows.
"But—"
"Now!"
Poppy scrambled behind the curtains just as Anthea dove behind the pianoforte, pressing herself into the shadows. Her heart hammered against her ribs as the door opened.
Please let it be a servant,she thought desperately.Please let it be anyone but?—
But of course, the universe had never been particularly inclined to grant her wishes.
The man who entered was unmistakably the Duke. Even without the gossip and speculation, Anthea would have known him by his bearing alone, the straight spine, the controlled movements, the air of command that clung to him like a second skin.
He was also, she noted with irritation, frustratingly handsome.
Tall, certainly. Broad-shouldered, undeniably. But his face was neither brutal nor beast-like. Strong features, yes, a firm jaw, a straight nose, dark brows—but there was an intelligence in his eyes that no amount of ton prejudice could disguise. And his hair, dark brown and slightly disheveled, only added to an overall impression of?—
Stop it,Anthea commanded herself furiously.This is hardly the time to be admiring the man's appearance!
The Duke moved further into the room, and Anthea realized with sinking dread that he was heading directly toward the violin that rested on a stand near the window, near where Poppy was hiding.
She had to do something. Had to distract him before he discovered her stepsister and created the very scandal Beatrice had orchestrated.
Anthea took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the pianoforte.
"Good evening, Your Grace."
The Duke spun around with a speed that spoke of military training, his hand moving instinctively toward his hip. For a moment they simply stared at each other, and she saw surpriseflash across his features before it was replaced by something harder.
Suspicion.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice a low rumble that should not have affected her in the slightest but somehow did. "And what are you doing here?"
"I might ask you the same question," Anthea replied, lifting her chin. "This is a private room."
"Which you are occupying alone," he pointed out, his eyes narrowing. "How convenient."
The implication in his tone was unmistakable, and Anthea felt her temper flare. "I beg your pardon?"
"You are the third young lady to attempt this particular scheme this week," he said coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did you draw lots to determine who would try next? Or did your mother simply send you in after the others failed?"
Third young lady?Anthea's mind raced. So others had attempted to trap him in scandal. Which meant he was already on guard, already suspicious of any woman found alone in his vicinity.
Which also meant he would never believe this was simply a misunderstanding.
