“Marvelous!” Chev’s smile spread with wicked glee. “You transcribe, Ash.”
Ash arranged the paper on the small table beside his chair and poised the graphite holder as if ready to write.
Chev cleared his throat. “Whereas the Duke of Hurtheven requires an heir, and to procure said heir, he requires a wife?—"
“Whereas,” Ash scribbled as he spoke, “all women cannot be Alicia or Pen...”
“Whereas,” Chev added, “Hurtheven scares debutantes...”
Hurtheven sighed roughly.
“...The membership of Eta, Rho, Zeta commits to setting down a list of qualities required to obtain Zeus’s desired result of a harmonious household.”
Ash and Chev shared a chuckle. Hurtheven considered thrashing them both...but better this sort of ribbing than Ash’s ire.
“I’vesomany required attributes,” he drawled. “I am at a loss where to begin.”
“Height?” Chev suggested. “Some people hold proportionfundamentalto harmony.”
“He’s uncommonly tall, so...” Ash scrawledTallonto the top sheet.
In his mind’s eye, Hurtheven pictured sparring with the nursemaid in the garden.
Her shoulders had been back, her gaze fierce...and very nearly level with his own. In fact, if he had taken one step closer, she would only have needed to slightly turn up her face for him to?—
Lust born of fatigue.
He halted the progression of his thoughts. Once he’d rested, he’d be cured. And once he’d uncovered whatever the nursemaid was hiding—whatever had made her afraid—his curiosity would be satisfied, and he could let the matter go, knowing his godchildren were safe.
“Scratch tall.” He kicked off his shoes and then propped his feet atop Ash’s table. “I’ve always preferred petite...”
* * *
Hera stared down at the handle of the duchess’s door, not yet willing to make her presence known. The Duke of Hurtheven had disturbed her peace. Her early morning excursion to the village, on the other hand, had left her in possession of information heralding an even greater disaster. A Bow Street Runner had been in town.
A Bow Street Runner seeking a Miss Hera Bythesea.
BytheseanotMontrose. She could think of only one person who would pay someone to hunt her down—and even the possibility made her stomach churn.
She did not wish to further burden her kind employer, but where else was she to turn? She couldn’t help but feel she’d already imposed too much.
On the other hand, the longer she waited, the more likely she’d be found, placing herself and—she closed her eyes—her sweet, innocent Annis, in grave danger.
Thatshe could not allow.
She had to go inside. Time was of the essence in deciding what she should do next. Why should she hesitate? Her Grace’s maid had told Hera the duchess was ready to receive her.
Feminine laughter—distinctly at odds with Hera’s agitated state—sounded from beyond the closed door to the sitting room.
“She must be mild-mannered!” The Duchess of Ithwick’s voice was muted, but clear.
“Andgracious,” the Duchess of Ashbey added.
“Educated, but without the pretention to become a bluestocking.”
“Pleasing to the eye.”
“Blond!” The Duchess of Ithwick exclaimed. “Appalling! He’s always been eccentric, but this...thisismad.”
