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Despite her dislike of the man, Ophelia couldn’t prevent the swell of feminine pride that sent another wave of heat over her body. She snapped her fan open and waved it energetically.

“There’s a small widow’s walk accessible through the turret,” he said.

How did he know that?

Did Asherford make a point of prowling about peoples’ houses without their knowledge?

“The Gravenstones are cousins of mine on my mother’s side,” he offered in explanation as if reading her thoughts once more. “I know the house well.”

Well, that explained that.

“The breeze will be unobstructed at that height,” he said unnecessarily.

Asherford tipped his firm mouth into an inviting smile and extended his elbow. Several of the dukes had coordinated their costumes and dressed as peacocks. His purple cloak shimmered and sparkled as if it had a life of its own. The sequins adorning the garment made it appear as if the color changed with his movements.

Ophelia refused to acknowledge how the purple of his cloak made his eyes appear nearly lavender. Men should not have pretty eyes—particularly men with a reputation for being merciless and without a sense of humor.

“No, thank you. Please excuse me.” She made to move around him, and he politely stepped to the side.

“You will say yes, one day, Ophelia.”

The timbre of his voice caused another shiver to scamper from her waist, up her spine, and spread over her shoulders like a woolen mantle.

Halting, she glanced behind her. “Don’t be so sure of that, Your Grace. Even you cannot always have your way.”

He didn’t even try to hide his superior grin. He flashed his straight white teeth and chuckled low and dangerous.

“I always have my way, Ophelia. Always.”

Unnerving conviction echoed in the Duke of Asherford’s tenor.

“Not this time.” Ophelia glared at him, past caring about politesse. Perhaps if she acted the shrew, he’d leave off pursuing her. “Look elsewhere for a bride. I’m not interested, nor will I ever be.”

To be married to such a domineering man would smother her. Her heart beating a syncopated staccato, Ophelia proceeded toward the retiring room at a measured pace.

You’re running away.

Yes, yes, she was.

There was a time to confront the enemy.

This was not it. Prudence was the better part of valor.

“We shall see, my frightened little rabbit.”

Ophelia gritted her teeth as she gripped the door handle. “Indeed, we shall,” she muttered to herself. “I shall not be manipulated into a marriage I do not want.”