Page 23

“Yes, what precisely are we doing?” Sheffield inquired, reaching for his wine and sending San Sebastian and Waycross inquisitive looks.

Knife and fork midair, San Sebastian shrugged. “The devil if I ken.”

“I dinna ken either.” A vexed expression was stamped upon Waycross’s craggy features. But the brusque Scot was annoyed most of the time, so that was nothing new.

It seemed all of the dukes had decided to eschew etiquette.

The image of the dukes swaggering into Gravenstones’ ball, each with a swath of brightly colored feather attached to their heads and backsides, nearly sent Fletcher into another fit of guffaws.

Before Miss Breckensole turned and responded to Asherford, she flicked a meaningful glance between Fletcher and Rayne.

His jollity promptly evaporated.

This was no empty-headed miss with stars in her eyes. No, indeed. Miss Breckensole was too astute by far. Leveling him a cool stare, she murmured a stern warning beneath her breath. “Do not do anything to hurt her. You do not know what she has been through.”

Fletcher blinked rather owlishly.

What the devil did she mean by that?

What had Rayne gone through?

He slid her a sideways glance before giving the slightest nod.

Giving him a tightlipped smile, Miss Breckensole quite unenthusiastically attended Asherford, whose eyes lit up with masculine possessiveness.

Och, what goes on here?

Fletcher’s curiosity was short-lived because the Duchess of Dandridge said as she adeptly cut a bite of partridge, “I had the pleasure of having tea with your mother at Lady St. Lavelle’s yesterday. I understand felicitations are in order, Your Grace.”

He puzzled his brow. “Felicitations?”

For what?

Letting the house at 19 Belford Square?

Was that truly something worth congratulating?

Mayhap Her Grace mistakenly believed he’d purchased the place. Which, in truth, he had decided was a good investment and had already asked Leith MacKettrick, his man of affairs, to send an inquiry to the owners to see if they were interested in selling the property.

“I beg your pardon.” Her face fell, and she sent an anxious glance around the table as if she’d committed a faux pas. “I was unaware your betrothal hadn’t been announced.”