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T he duke was as good as his word, which shouldn’t have surprised Kynthea, but it did.

He managed things exactly as he’d promised.

While she had a luxurious bath the morning after she became his paramour, he had a private discussion with Zoe.

Kynthea had no idea what they discussed, but by the time they were travelling back to London, the girl was back to acting like her happy, horse-mad self.

And though the girl occasionally sent knowing looks at Kynthea, she never spoke of or even seemed to remember the night’s antics.

Not so for Kynthea, who relived every second as often as possible.

When they arrived at Zoe’s home, His Grace requested and was granted a private audience with Zoe’s father.

It lasted a very long time and ended with a cordial invitation to join them at Zoe’s court presentation.

After the duke accepted, the earl casually mentioned that Kynthea would attend as well.

And when Zoe’s mother objected, the earl stopped her cold.

Kynthea would attend. Indeed, he expected that she would go to every ball, musicale, or theater evening with her cousin, and he would hear no more about it.

When Kynthea pointed out that her invitations would likely be rescinded, Zoe blithely quipped that if Kynthea was barred from the door, Zoe would not attend either.

“I think I’ve had plenty of the social round this Season anyway,” she said. Then she waved a hand and disappeared to grab the racing forms.

Kynthea’s aunt was dumbfounded. As was Kynthea. But when she tried to ask His Grace for more details, he kissed her hand and apologized for having to leave quickly as he had urgent matters to attend.

Then he was gone.

If Kynthea thought to get more information from Zoe, she was sorely mistaken.

Since the earl was visibly tired from the discussion, Zoe assisted him in returning to bed.

They could be heard discussing horse breeding for hours after that.

And no one—not even Kynthea—could discover the reason for the girl’s unabated jubilance thereafter.

Zoe was happy when she dressed for the evening’s party.

She even giggled the next day when her father announced that he would retire to the country, returning only for Zoe’s presentation at court.

And she was blissfully irreverent when Kynthea asked if something momentous had occurred to keep her in such a fine mood.

Her answer? “I’m a mature woman now. And if my father finally sees that I’m old enough to make my own choices, then why shouldn’t I be happy?”

That explained absolutely nothing, but Zoe could not be persuaded to say more.

Truthfully, Kynthea had not thought the girl capable of such secrecy, but apparently Zoe had found a solution to the challenges in her life.

And the only solution that fit, as far as Kynthea could see, was that Zoe and the duke had come to an arrangement.

As much as she didn’t want to think that the duke was arranging for a wife in the same twenty-four hours that he had taken her as a paramour, the evidence was mounting.

He spent a great deal of time with both Zoe and her father.

He found time for her, of course. They always danced at whatever ball Zoe attended.

They were walking together in Hyde Park when she learned that Mr. Pickleherring had written an entire column about how Lord Nathaniel had been beaten up by unknown persons and was now recuperating in the duke’s residence.

It was an uncharacteristically vicious column, in that it included all sorts of salacious speculation as to why the man had been attacked.

And it cast aspersions on a man who was supposed to be at death’s door.

It was a distinctly nasty turn for the column to take, and Kynthea was not at all prone to giving any credence to it.

Neither was the duke.

“It’s almost as if it were written by an entirely different person,” he said dryly.

“Exactly!” she said, glad that he had put voice to what she’d been struggling to understand.

“Since Pickleherring is obviously a pseudonym, the columnist could change from one writer to another, and we’d never know.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?”

“I do,” he said firmly. “It’s unfortunate that Nate became the target of this new writer, but I’ve spoken to the paper and to a wide variety of my friends about it.”

She turned to him. “But how can you stop a gossip column?”

He shrugged. “Obviously, I can’t. Especially since readership has increased thanks to his recent viciousness. But I’ve pushed Prinny to express his dismay at such cruelty. That will have some effect in moderating the situation.”

He spoke as if talking to the Prince Regent were akin to stopping by a haberdashery to order a new set of buttons. “Do you often have conversations with Prinny?”

He cast her an amused glance. “Do not be star-struck by royalty. It is important to remember at the center of it all, they are human beings just like you and me.”

Humans who had the power to create laws, steer the government, and make or break simple people like her.

And yet, standing beside Ras, she felt as safe as it was possible to be.

If Prinny had suddenly appeared and began to publicly damn her, she believed she could withstand it.

Assuming, of course, that Ras stood by her side.

But rather than focus on whether that was good or foolhardy of her, she changed the topic.

“How is Lord Nathaniel? Will we see him in society again soon?”

“He is recovering. It was mostly his feet that were damaged, and so he is resting until they heal.”

“But what happened?

“Footpads. Stole his money and his boots. He had to walk a very long distance to get to his home.”

She glanced at him, feeling the stiffness in his body as he answered. There was more to the situation there, but she wasn’t sure she should push to know more. He must have realized her hesitation and so flashed her an awkward smile.

“I think there’s more to the situation, but Nate hasn’t confided in me yet. All I can do is make sure he heals…and keep an eye on—” His brows narrowed. “Do you know Lord Fletcher?”

She frowned. “I think I danced with him at the beginning of the Season, but I haven’t seen him since. I don’t remember him as being anything unusual.”

“You will let me know if he comes about again? And you will not be alone with him.” That last was as much a command as it was a request.

“Is he dangerous?”

“I don’t know. I believe he is the new Mr. Pickleherring, and he has a particular interest in hurting Nate.”

“But why? And why did he write such awful things about me?”

He sighed. “That I do not know. I have been trying to find him to ask just those questions, but he has gone to ground.” Then he squeezed her hand where it rested on his arm. “I believe the danger to you is past, but pray be on your guard just in case.”

“I will,” she said. But she hardly needed to since he attended every event that she and Zoe did. Indeed, he’d escorted them on more than one occasion.

And that was the last thing of consequence they shared.

She tried in private moments to ask about the details of where she would live, but he deferred, saying he was setting matters in order.

She asked when she could see him again, when they might be alone together again.

He answered with this ball or that rout and never arranged a private meeting.

If it weren’t for a few lustful kisses in darkened corners, she would think he’d lost interest in her.

But those few moments proved he was still very much interested.

And the way he looked at her in public was equally explicit.

He seemed to hang on her words, his gaze lingering on her face, and he continually asked about her welfare.

Was she being treated well? Had she been snubbed by anyone?

And then came his casual comment the night before Zoe’s presentation at court. They were standing in the back garden of a ball. Though others stood nearby, they were private enough for his words to be just for her.

“I thought you would be interested to know that Vicar Chapman has been relieved of his parish. Indeed, an investigation into his actions regarding several young women has caused him to be excommunicated.”

Vicar Chapman? The one who had made such unseemly advances to her after her parents’ death? “He’s been… Been…” She couldn’t even ask the question.

“Drummed from the church in disgrace.” The duke’s eyes seemed to burn as he squeezed her hand. “He will never prey on defenseless young women again.”

She found that unlikely. Once a man had that inclination, he would likely always seek the vulnerable.

The duke must have read the doubt upon her face because he was quick to soften his statement. “He will never use an ecclesiastical position to find his victims. He is no longer a priest, no longer affiliated with the church—”

“Indeed, he will not be allowed into heaven,” she said. That was what excommunication meant. His eternal soul was forever damned to hell.

“Do not feel sorry for him,” the duke said. “He victimized several women in his parish, not just you. I am only grateful that you were strong enough to resist him.”

Only because she had a place to go. And because her brother had taught her how to punch a man where it hurt. “You did this?” she whispered.

“I initiated the inquiry,” he said. “The rest was up to the church.”

She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t thought that wretched man still had any hold upon her life. But knowing he could no longer use his position to hurt anyone else lifted a weight off her that she hadn’t even known was there. And it was all thanks to Ras.

“You astound me,” she whispered.

“It was the least I could do,” he returned.

She would have given him anything at that moment. If he had wanted to whisk her away to his bedroom, she would have willingly thrown herself into his arms. Indeed, she tried, but he held her off. “We are not alone,” he murmured.

“We are never alone,” she groused. “I must confess that I thought becoming your paramour would mean—”

“Hsst! Lower your voice.”

She huffed out a breath. How could she explain that she missed him?

That though she had seen him nearly every day since their night together, they had always been surrounded by others and were forced to be circumspect.

It wasn’t just her physical desires, which were plenty strong, but they couldn’t speak of anything meaningful.

Not with people in earshot. She certainly could not demand to know what he planned with Zoe.

“I thought…” she tried, but she could not find the right words. “I wish…”

“I miss you,” he said as he lifted her hands to his lips. “But all will be settled soon. I swear it.”

They were suddenly interrupted by a gentleman who wanted to speak with him about politics.

That was the interruption this time. The last time, another gentleman had wanted to speak to him about his horses.

And yet another wanted his opinion on Ireland.

He was a powerful man, and she must stand beside him and smile, knowing that everyone looked slyly at her and wondered at their relationship.

How desperate she was to have this charade over with! Couldn’t she hide in her room until he had found a place for her to live? Then she could declare to one and all that she was his mistress, and everyone would stop whispering behind her back.

But that was not to be and, truthfully, she was beginning to despise the gossips so much that her thoughts turned to contempt. Let them whisper! So long as Ras looked at her the way he did, she would be content.

At least, she tried to be content.

Just as she tried not to scream into her pillow at night while wondering what was in store for her.