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“Because he is coming towards us at this very moment.”

Emily jolted, staring at her sister with round eyes.

Daphne’s gaze was fixed on the arched doorway. Emily followed her gaze, and there he was.

The wretched, infuriating, undeniably handsome idiot. There he was.

The Duke of Clapton had paused in the doorway—for dramatic effect, no doubt—and grinned when Emily met his eyes. He began to stride towards them.

“Miss Belmont!” he greeted, holding out his arms. “And the Duchess of Thornbridge! What a treat.”

A man scurried along beside him, a slim youth of about twenty-five, with a pair of truly marvelous mustachios and a thick mop of glossy dark hair. He would have been handsome had his face not been twisted in a perpetual expression of contempt. His sneering gaze darted over Emily and then away again, clearly deeming her of no interest.

Ordinarily, that would have rankled, but Emily found that she was entirely too distracted by the swaggering Adonis that was the Duke of Clapton.

It would be much easier to dislike him if he were ugly, I think.

“Your Grace,” she said icily. “Here to admire the art? My sister and I will leave you to your tour.”

He only smiled, glancing over atWoman In The Window.

“To be truthful, I don’t much care for paintings. This one, however, is taking London by storm.Anonis quite a refreshing voice in the art world, I’ve been told.”

“Indeed,” she murmured, glancing at Daphne for support.

Daphne was eyeing the duke with narrowed eyes, lost in thought.

“Oh, but I have not introduced my friend,” the duke added, gesturing to the man beside him. “This is Mr. Titus Greaves, an aspiring artist himself. But you see, Miss Belmont, I have a rather thrilling secret to share with you. Can you guess it?”

Emily stared up at him. He met her gaze squarely, that irritating smile playing on his lips. Her attention was then drawntohis lips—which, of course, was not good at all. His lips were a little lopsided, giving him that wry, twisted smile that suited him so well.

“I am not fond of guessing games,” she responded tartly.

The duke only chuckled. “Of course, of course. Well then, I’ll just tell you. Mr. Greaves here has his work on display in this very gallery.”

Emily bit back a sigh. “Oh?”

“Yes,” the duke said, his smile widening. He never glanced away from her, clearly eager to gauge her reaction to whatever he said next. “In fact, Mr. Greaves is none other thanAnonhimself.”

CHAPTER5

Emily stared up at the duke for a long moment, a flush creeping up her neck. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream, throw something, stamp on the duke’s shiny Hessians, or just turn and flee.

Maybe she could do all of those things in that order. Yes, that would be nice.

The duke looked straight back at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. Waiting. Waiting for her reaction.

In the end, Daphne was the one who spoke first. She never could stay quiet for very long.

“Whoever this man is,” she interjected evenly, “he isnotAnon.”

“I could be!” Titus Greaves argued. “I made paintings before. It doesn’t look particularly difficult. I mean, look at this one—it’s just a chit standing in a garden.”

Daphne shot him a withering glare. “Spoken like a true artist.”

The duke rolled his eyes and flapped his hand in the air. “Oh, Titus, you disappoint me. That’ll be all. Go on, off you go.”

Titus looked offended. “Well, what am I meant to do?”