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“Thank you.”

My butler leaves with a bow.

Twenty minutes later, Damasus returns.

“Now there is a Lord Regas at the door.”

“I’m still out of the house.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

In another hour, Damasus is back again.

“You’re kidding,” I say.

“I know very well you have no wish to see any callers today, or ever, really, but I’m afraid the duke admitted Lord Moros into the manor before I could inform him you were not at home. The duke is requesting your presence in the parlor.”

Of course he did. After last night’s conversation, I’m sure the fake duke intends to invite all manner of gentlemen to come see me, hoping to entice me with marriage once again.

The damnable nitwit.

I mark my place in the lovely romance novel about two gentlemen who must bridge the gap between their social classes to be together, and march into the parlor.

Eryx is laughing at something the baron has just said, and it is a rareand highly unusual sight. It draws me up short, makes me angry, even. How dare he get some joy out of my misery? But we have company, so I paste on a wan smile.

Moros notices me before Eryx does, and rises as I enter the room. Eryx is a full second behind him as he remembers his etiquette lessons.

“There she is,” Eryx says. “I knew the duchess would be eager to chat with you today. Chrysantha, Moros has the most delightful stories to tell about fishing mishaps.”

“I’m certain the duchess has no desire to discuss fishing mishaps, but I’m sure we’ll find some common ground,” the handsome man responds. He must be in his late thirties, but he’s aged quite well. A bold mustache sits beneath his nose, and he has a full head of hair, straight teeth, and bedroom eyes.

“Perhaps I should leave you two to it, then,” Eryx says, walking around the tea table centered in front of the sofa the two men had been sitting at.

“You will do no such thing,” I state.

“Duchess,” Eryx says, embarrassed as he tries to block me from sight of the baron. As though my whole self must be offensive, rather than just my words and tone. “He really seems quite lovely. Just give him a chance,” he whispers in a lower tone.

“That is the Baron of Moros,” I state in the same tone.

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“Eryx, he’smarried.”

That has Eryx spinning to look at the man. “No,” he whispers to himself. “Moros, are you already wed?”

“Ten years and counting,” the man answers. “It’s been so lonely. I am in the market for a new mistress. I thought the duchess and I might come to an arrangement.”

Eryx swirls back around to me, eyes wide.

“Unless you intend to start whoring me out,” I say to him, “I’m goingback to my garden. Next time, perhaps talk to me before you go on inviting gentlemen into the manor on my behalf.”

I stride out of the room, book still under my arm.

I try to get back into my novel, I really do, but I’m so terribly furious. I had been interrupted during the first kissing scene of all places, and now I can’t properly enjoy it while I’m distracted by thoughts of clawing Eryx’s eyes from his skull.

I’m unsure how long I sit there feeling sorry for myself when I’m interrupted yet again. I swear if Damasus has news of another caller—

“I’m sorry, Chrysantha.” Of course it’s Eryx.