April hesitated a fraction of a second before placing her gloved hand in his. His hand was warm, strong, and when he helped her down, he did so with an ease that sent another unwelcome shiver down her spine.
For a moment, she stood close enough to see the steady rise and fall of his chest, the hard set of his jaw, and the intense glint in his eyes as he looked at her—and only her.
Oh, calm down, April! You are no foolish little girl!
He did not release her hand immediately, nor did he step aside. He also did not move to walk her to the door.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, the Duke released her hand. His posture, always so controlled, seemed to tighten as he straightened to his full height.
“I have no wish,” he said in a low voice, “to waste my time chasing after a dozen social events or enduring the endless parade of overbearing mamas.”
April lifted her chin. “A charming sentiment, Your Grace.”
Ignoring her bright tone, he offered his arm again and walked her up the steps to the door.
“You hardly know me,” she said, clutching the folds of her skirt as they ascended.
“True,” he agreed. “Which is why I propose this: five outings.”
April blinked at him. “Outings?”
“Five meetings,” he clarified. “After that, if you find me unsuitable, I will not hold you to the engagement.”
April opened her mouth, but no agreement—or refusal—came. She simply stared at him, thrown off balance by the sudden fairness of it.
The Duke reached the top step and paused. Leaning closer, his voice dropped to a near-whisper near her ear.
“I do not plan on having to look for another bride.”
Before she could react, he stepped back, descending the steps with deliberate, unhurried movements. April stood frozen, her heart thudding wildly as she watched him cross the gravel, mount his phaeton, and drive away without a backward glance.
The butler opened the door just as she raised her hand to knock. She stepped inside, her head still spinning, but before she could gather herself, two figures dashed from the drawing room, their laughter filling the foyer.
“April!” her sister, May, cried, her green eyes wide behind a curtain of loose curls. Petite and slight, May looked as if a stiff breeze might knock her over.
“Where is Lord Wexley?” her other sister, June, demanded, planting herself firmly at April’s side. June, nearly April’s height, had a sharper chin and shrewder eyes, her arms crossed as if preparing for a battle. They were triplets, yet they were unlike each other in every way.
April drew a deep breath and said, “It was not Lord Wexley who brought me home. It was the Duke of Stone.”
Both sisters gaped at her, mouths slightly open in comical unison.
“The Duke of Stone?” May whispered, eyes wide as saucers. “The Heartless Duke?”
“The very one,” April said, struggling to maintain a light tone, though her heart was still thudding.
May recovered first. She clasped her hands to her chest. “Is he terribly handsome?”
April hesitated then, against her better judgment, admitted, “Yes. Very.”
May squealed under her breath while June only narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Is he as dark and dangerously mysterious as society claims?” May asked eagerly. “Or is he secretly charming?”
April laughed, though it came out a little breathless. “Mysterious, certainly. But charming?” She shook her head. “I can hardly read him at all.”
“That’s worse,” May declared with mock solemnity.
“Far worse,” June agreed, studying April’s face like she might extract hidden secrets with a glance. “But why didhebring you home when you left with Wexley?”
