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He stopped speaking as Cassandra made her way down the stairs.

Garbed in a Grecian gown of blue-green satin that matched her eyes perfectly, she looked like a goddess descending from Olympus to bestow a rare blessing. Her upswept auburn hair gleamed like burnished copper with silken tendrils framing the sculpted perfection of her face and brushing her smooth bared shoulders.

The breath fled from his body. Surely he was unworthy of touching such a miraculous creature.

“Rafe?” She frowned.

He dragged his gaze from the curves of her breasts. “Yes?”

Her frown deepened and she gave him a strange look. He realized she must have asked him a question.

“I am sorry. What was that, Querida?”

Vincent guffawed behind him, but fell silent as Lydia appeared in a matching gown of gold-spangled ivory. “God, Lydia…” He breathed.

“You look quite smart as well, my lord,” she drawled sweetly. “Albeit a trifle overdressed for my taste.”

The Lord of Cornwall eyed his wife. “I could say the same of you.”

Rafe looked down at his feet and sighed. The sight of those two mooning over each other used to make his stomach roil. Now a twinge of envy gnawed at his heart. If only Cassandra would look at him with such adoration. If only they could share such suggestive, silly banter.

“The carriage awaits.” Vincent interrupted Rafe’s thoughts, bending down comically low to kiss his wife’s hand.

Cassandra’s eyes widened with a curious blend of excitement and trepidation. Rafe bowed before her and held out his arm as her escort, not daring to place his lips on her gloved hand.

As he led her to the carriage, he cursed himself for such ridiculous cowardice. He’d savored and tasted every inch of her naked body. Why was he now so reluctant to touch her through a thin barrier of shimmering fabric?

She looked up at him and gave him a tremulous smile that made the world seem lighter. Rafe decided to put his worries aside for the time being. Paradoxes and mysteries were more her area of expertise anyway.

Cassandra was quiet throughout the ride. Signs of strain were showing around her eyes. Had she not slept well? Seeing that she was preoccupied, Rafe felt a twinge of concern. Was she ashamed to be seen in Society with him? Was she repulsed at the prospect of becoming his bride? Though she obviously enjoyed their sojourns between the sheets, matrimony could be a far different matter. Especially for his kind, when it could mean eternity.

His scars burned as he remembered her offhand rejection of his mocking proposal after her former mother-in-law had accused her of becoming Rafe’s mistress. Perhaps she still felt the same.

But when they stepped down from the carriage, Cassandra seized his hand and moved closer to him. Her face paled and she began to tremble. When the butler took their cards and announced their names to the glittering throng, her grip tightened so fiercely that it would have hurt a mortal man.

She’s afraid of crowds, he realized with humbling astonishment. That is why she was so indifferent to being scorned by the ton and, in fact, appeared to welcome them shunning her. Rafe had at first thought she’d possessed the same spirit of blind rebellion that characterized the Duchess of Burnrath.

Now he realized he’d been a fool. Every time her kind had rejected her, Cassandra had felt a sense of blissful reprieve at not having to endure another large gathering, rather than the impish glee that would have been typical of Angelica.

A brief wave of joyous relief warmed his heart. Her rigid tension wasn’t because of him. She wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with him. Now as she shivered at his side, Rafe was immediately overwhelmed by an all-encompassing need to protect her.

He opened his mouth to tell her they could turn back, could order his carriage to return and take them back home. A fleeting vision teased his will…of carrying Cassandra upstairs and then locking her in their bedchamber with him, of holding her and shielding them both from the worries of their worlds.

Vincent gave Rafe a sharp look, as if reading his thoughts. Either way, it didn’t matter. Rafe gritted his teeth. Deveril’s plan was their best hope of ensuring Cassandra’s safety when the Elders found out that he’d failed to kill her. They could not go back now.

Thankfully, the gathering was half the size of a typical fete. How, Rafe wondered, had Cassandra handled grand-scale balls during the official Season?

As they took their place in the receiving line, several people raked Cassandra with contemptuous gazes, while many of the men openly leered at her lush curves and exquisite beauty.

Rafe didn’t know who he wanted to pummel first. Many stares were directed toward him as well. He ignored the familiar morbid curiosity and whispers laced with mockery and disgust. His usual annoyance paled in the face of their snobbish scrutiny of Cassandra.

His only consolation was that Vincent and Lydia were drawing a significant amount of attention of their own. Their scandalous marriage and subsequent disappearance had set tongues wagging for more than a year. From the ton’s reaction, the Deverils’ return was seen as a treat to dine on with relish.

Rafe lifted his gaze heavenward. The four of them seemed to be a banquet of scandal, packaged and delivered for the ton’s enjoyment.

The Duchess of Wentworth greeted them with a cheerful smile and genuine warmth. The scorn on many of the faces in the room changed to surprise and curiosity at such amiability from their hostess. As Rafe kissed her gloved hand, he wondered why she was so welcoming. He knew she had a tendency to associate with eccentrics as well as those who were less than paragons. That was why she and the Duchess of Burnrath had become such fast friends. Still, welcoming a disfigured foreigner and his mistress would be seen by many as far beyond the pale.

As she kissed Cassandra’s cheek, the duchess looked at a group of disapproving matrons and gave them a triumphant grin. Ah, so she enjoyed flouting custom and causing a stir.