Betting on a Duke’s Heart

By Royaline Sing

Aetius White, the Duke of Saxton, couldn't save his father, but he'll be damned if he won't save the man’s dream. He'll acquire a Triple Crown–winning horse at any cost, even marriage. Luckily, the lovely lady in mind loves challenges as much as he. Certainly he can win her heart without losing his own…

Hell will freeze over before Miss Dina Campbell agrees to marry a horse-mad man who wants her dowry of a prize stallion, no matter what her father wants. The duke may be handsome, but he’ll have to prove he is a suitable match for her before she’ll even consider the offer. And there’s no way this love-averse man will ever succeed with the wager that she has planned…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Apr 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781649371393

Book preview

To Aai and Pappa, who taught me I can chase my dreams even while going through the grinding wheels aka life.

And to my whole family, who told me to go hammer at the keyboard and keep deleting those commas.

Pronunciation Guide

Dina: T͟Hē.Naa (Thee.na )

God Kali: God Kə.lee (K.u.li, Not to be confused with Goddess Maa Kaali)

Chapter One

King Nala ruled Nishadha, the ancient, prosperous kingdom of India. No other king equaled him in leadership, wielding weapons, horse expertise, or Dharma, the duty. His male beauty rivaled the Gods. His perfection was marred slightly by his love of gambling…

The Love Saga Of Nala And Damayanti. Mahabharata, Hindu Mythology.

Hertfordshire, England, June 1895:

Miss Dina Campbell tucked in a black curl in her upswept hair arrangement, flattened the front of her gown, and squared her shoulders outside Papa’s library, to discourage—or dispatch, to be honest—her twentieth suitor. Or was it thirtieth? It was hard to count correctly, with Papa’s horse luring hordes of horse-mad men. But she was prepared.

An out-of-fashion purple gown with a globe-like bustle behind her posterior? Check.

A look of bluestocking disdain on her face? She peeked in the mirror on the wall. Check.

An unladylike burst through the doors with a loud bang? Check.

She willed her eyes to roam everywhere in the room but to the man who was skimming the tall mahogany bookshelves. The sheer, lemony curtains fluttered, allowing the sunlight to permeate and dance on the exotic tapestries. Fresh pink lilies posed in tall, ornate vases. A faint sandalwood aroma whirled in the room from the incense burning on the table. Then she glanced at the more than six-foot-tall gentleman. Only to halt in her tracks as she sucked in a breath.

The man… He rose, drawing her eyes to his strong legs in his tan trousers, ending with fawn boots. She was a horseman’s daughter. She usually noticed legs first. As her gaze swept upward, she couldn’t help but admire his muscled frame. Broad shoulders filled his deep blue waistcoat. Despite aristocratic features, a tanned face screamed of outdoor work.

So what if he likes the outdoors as much as I do?

Miss Campbell, I presume. He bowed.

Your Grace. She curtsied automatically. He sported a long nose, piercing dark eyes, a strong-willed jawline, and a full head of raven hair. His presence filled the room, exuding a powerful aura, charging the air with a larger-than-life influence. Her heart raced. For the first time in thirty suitors.

They’d never met—what with her childhood spent in India, her recent travels, and the duke’s absence from Society—but she knew of him. Aetius White, the Duke of Saxton, better known as the horse breeding and racing king—the Bareback Duke. Mostly, she had read the papers. The photographs had depicted a thin youth, training as a jockey. They had nicknamed him Bareback Duke because of his first Derby victory years ago, or rather, for how he’d ridden his horse. Riding without a saddle was called bareback riding but Saxton had ridden without a shirt. Accidentally, but still. If he appeared so virile with the presentable attire, how would he look without a shirt?

Then he went and opened his mouth (he indeed had excellent teeth), spouting pompous words and ruining the effect of his handsome physique.

So. You are to be the Duchess of Saxton.

She promptly unimpressed herself.

No, I’m not. Whatever gave him that notion?

He blinked. Good. Apparently, a horse had garnered the Bareback Duke’s attention. A wife wouldn’t even come close. Dina wouldn’t spend her life as anyone’s second interest. Even second place was stretching too far. There must be no stables, races, jockeys, and if she was lucky, no dogs ahead of her in line for her husband’s affection.

Clearly, Mr. Campbell hasn’t divulged the arrangement to you. He straightened.

Clearly not. Papa must have dangled their prize horse Rochko as a dowry once again. Rochko had already won the 2000 Guineas race in April and the Derby last week, two out of three races together known as the prestigious Triple Crown. No wonder the famous horse-racing duke had agreed to marry her for it. But she wouldn’t marry him.

His deep voice filled the air. The news is a lot to take in. But you’ll do well as the duchess, no doubt.

How do you know? She wrinkled her nose as her gaze was drawn back to his toned legs. They really did fill his riding breeches nicely.

I know your father very well, a perk of being a neighbor with the same interests.

At his words, her eyes snapped up to his face, attempting a hasty polite smile. Dear Lord, his lips curved a tiny fraction. He had caught her staring. Her ears warmed.

He practically sang praises of your great learned mind, Saxton continued.

And you believe it after meeting me for…three minutes? She tilted her head.

Are you implying I shouldn’t believe your father, or that you do not have a great learned mind? He quirked a brow.

Her eyes widened, accompanied by a twitch of her mouth in a smile. But that was all the answer she’d give him.

What I believe, Miss Campbell, is that our fortunes will be enhanced by our alliance. All semblance of ease vanished, transforming him into the stern businessman. You are well-equipped to accommodate unexpected news. Well enough to seek answers about the situation gracefully. It is to your credit.

To my credit? Her eyebrows rose. He presumed to know her but wouldn’t even let her contribute to the conversation?

Why are you shocked into few words then, ninny?

As for being a duchess, my mother… He clasped his hands behind his back as his face turned somber. At the mention of his estranged mother, no doubt. She will do everything necessary to take you under her wing.

What? His Grace has already gone past the wedding, hasn’t he?

I’ll make further wedding arrangements. Convey to Mr. Campbell I’ll return—he pulled a golden hunter pocket watch out of his jacket, flipping it open—in an hour.

She was sure her mouth gaped since he stared at her. Words simply wouldn’t come out as her tongue and throat tried to protest. The audacity of the man.

I’m glad to see you are happy with the situation. Saxton observed her for a long moment and then bowed. I leave you to the wedding preparations. Good day. Then he did exactly that, departing, with his significant presence, out of the room.

And that’s when it hit her. She hadn’t uttered a single word to decline his proposal. Or was it a decree? An edict, maybe. She was officially betrothed.

Or am I?

Agh. She pivoted on her heels, ready to break a perfect china saucer decorating the nearest wall. Instead she saw her father near the door, sporting a huge grin.

Papa, please tell me you didn’t do it again.

I do many things worthy of a repeat performance, Dina. He sauntered into the library and plunked in his plush armchair behind the walnut desk.

Papa. Dina’s chiding didn’t hide her suppressed laughter. Hari Om. She sent a prayer above. She loved Papa, but he was impossible sometimes. I just met a duke who informed me that I’m the next Duchess of Saxton. Please say you didn’t buy me a duke now.

He succeeded in maintaining an innocent face for ten seconds before he burst.

Didn’t I just? Did you see him? He’s handsome, with all his teeth in place, as you required. Hair, too. And his fitness. Wait till you watch him ride.

Papa!

"Most of all, he is rich and titled, as I wanted. See? A candidate who meets both of our requirements. A proud accomplishment, if I say so myself. You can’t find one fault with him."

Oh, but she could. The arrogant, handsome man had considered her slightly better than a statue. Which was worse than what Papa sometimes deemed her: a horse.

You chose to dress in the purple monstrosity to dissuade him. Who’d admire you in it?

How could she know Papa had picked a man different from her earlier suitors? But Saxton should have at least attempted a better first visit with his would-be bride. Granted, she wasn’t a diamond of the first water, but she had admirers.

Even if they all dangled after Rochko.

Her pride still smarted over the duke’s quick dismissal. He had caught her staring at his impressive visage while he hadn’t even taken note of her! Horse-obsessed man.

Papa. You can’t keep offering Rochko. Clearly, a man marrying me for a horse won’t be concerned with my happiness. We’ve gone over this only a hundred times.

Don’t be cheeky, my dear. The laughter drained from Papa’s eyes.

His lean but robust body straightened, and his shiny bald head tilted toward her.

Oh, no. She’d received this look numerous times for her childhood shenanigans and her recent travel escapades.

This one’s different, Dina, mark my words. He is passionate about horses, not mad. If he cares about you as much as his horses, nothing will stand in his way to make you happy. My judgment is solid this time, and final. You had your chance to pick a young buck. Two seasons and nary a suitor who stuck around for a month.

Dina chewed her bottom lip. The suitors had scattered like roaches for a reason. She’d never expose what her Indian relatives were engaged in back home—she didn’t want to ruin herself as the English said—but she’d planted seeds in their minds to disqualify her as a wife. Her age of four and twenty proved a good start. The rest had been accomplished by talking about her travels, a hint at her craving for an unbridled life at her husband’s expense, and a subtle reference to her Papa not being cloaked in as much money as perceived. Wouldn’t her magnanimous husband erase their troubles, anyway? Nothing overt the suitors could spread but enough to discourage them.

It had been a brilliant strategy, really.

Fortune hunters, all of them. How could she find a soul mate in that lot?

If she ever married, she’d marry only for love. On both sides. She did want a family, but she also wanted her own life. Her love of translating her mother’s copy of the Nala Damayanti saga gave her an avenue to carve her own identity. It was her heritage. Only someone who loved her would understand that.

Otherwise, she had a perfectly good plan to live without a husband’s interference. Papa simply didn’t know that yet.

Now her life’s work and plans hung in jeopardy because of this blasted duke.

This one’s not a fortune hunter. He has wealth and splendid stables himself.

Wasn’t that just unfair? A duke with such a sinful face couldn’t be a tad poor?

Papa, he delivered an edict. I am to be the next duchess and he will be back. All before she had a chance to argue the said edict. He didn’t even ask for my hand.

A mere formality, my dear. When?

Dina stared.

When is he coming back? Papa asked again.

She threw her hands up. That’s all you heard? He didn’t spend two minutes with me.

Her father walked toward her and gingerly took her hands. She peered at his face. He loved her the best way he could, she had learned. Warmth clouded her heart.

I didn’t do right by your mother. You are angry, I know. I was obsessed with my stables. But my affection was always for her and you. I didn’t do my best to display the fact, and I regret it, for it has brought you so much grief.

Oh dear. As a child, she had blamed Papa for neglecting Mama. As she’d matured, she’d grown to understand him better. But hell would freeze over before she’d place herself in a position where she’d be disregarded for horses, for God’s sake.

She prolonged the moment, holding onto his hands. I—

Shh. He squeezed her fingers. It brought back good memories. Granted, she had wrenched those moments from him, but they’d been precious. Her first pony, a plethora of books, and a continental tour. She couldn’t bear to see him diminishing out of worry for her.

I’m not getting any younger, my dear. He sighed.

You are as strong as an ox.

An old ox who is growing older. A young one like you keeps me from maudlin thoughts. But it’s a fact. He stepped away. Do you see the difference between obsession and true affection? A man is eaten up by his obsession while living, but when he’s dying, he thinks only of those he loves. I’ll mend my mistakes and see you settled before it’s too late.

Papa, stop at once. No one is dying, and I will be happy.

Either with a loving man or my occupation. Once her translation was published, she’d explain to him. It would set her up nicely—for life.

Yes, you will be. You are not getting any younger yourself. With Saxton, you will be looked after well. I’ll ensure it, if it’s the last thing I do. Unless you give me just cause to reject Saxton’s suit, you’ll marry him. If not, forget your trip to Greece. Papa transformed into a solid oak. I was going to let you travel one last time before the marriage but not unless you agree. I should have been this stern before.

Oh, Papa, please. Not her travels. The target date approached—a few months away. Don’t you always tell me not to make decisions when I’m emotional? Dina wrung her hands. He’d never seemed this vulnerable, harrowed at her rejecting a suitor.

He didn’t even know my name.

Don’t think I’ll fall for that this time, Papa said with affection. Unless the man dies, this marriage will happen. As for catching his attention, you must bring him to heel. As long as you’ll be his duchess, I’ll look the other way.

Papa!

Close your mouth. You are different from your mama, God rest her soul. A faraway glaze laced his eyes. She never tried engaging me after we married. I drifted and she let me be. I always found her waiting. I should have been more thoughtful, of course. You won’t meekly accept negligence if you don’t want it, will you?

Unbidden tears rushed and she hugged him. Darn right she wouldn’t take it. She’d do what she had to without upsetting dear Papa. But she’d not marry an inattentive lout or risk her dreams over his greed. Instead she’d bend those ducal shoulders and make him kneel down on his long legs. She’d make him cry off.

Within five minutes the duke had decreed and assumed her acceptance. All without even noticing her—err—asking her. He owed her his dues and pay he would.

Chapter Two

In Vidarbha, Princess Damayanti grew into a beauty like Goddess Lakshmi. Along with the allure of big expressive eyes, creamy complexion, and slender form, Damayanti also possessed a sharp intelligence, and devotion in her heart for Lord Hari (Vishnu).

The Love Saga Of Nala And Damayanti, Mahabharata

The colt Benedict lurched sharply left and downward as did his rider’s stomach. Aetius relished the feeling as much as he enjoyed a sweet, sultry day, smelling of sweat and horses. Panting hard, he clutched Benedict’s mane and sinuously moved his torso along the horse’s neck. Within the enclosed oval training ring on his estate, the colt jerked into a run, dusty clouds puffing at its heels, then halted. Every bone in Aetius’s body screamed at the wrenching movement and welcomed the pause.

Gentle sun rays rested on his skin. The sun brushed the sky with a tinge of gold but the early summer morning foretold the brilliant day that would follow. Distant chirps of birds intertwined with the panting of the horse and himself. The moment stretched.

Aetius sensed what was coming. He bent, flush with the horse’s long neck, trying not to clench his knees too tightly around the horse’s belly. Benedict reared high and let out a loud whinny. Like a tenacious burr stuck on a blanket, Aetius didn’t budge. Sweat trickled from his forehead in haphazard lines to his chest. His damp shirt clung to his skin. With tightened jaws, he evened his breathing and waited out Benedict’s play. A saddle, or at least a bridle, would have helped, but Benedict wouldn’t let one on him, thanks to the harshness of his previous owner.

Ae-tius. Jo-seph. White, his mother used to scold him. She’d loved enunciating every syllable of his Greek name with which she had so fondly named him. Do not be cruel, she’d said and she’d twisted his ear so hard he still grimaced from the memory. He had merely tied a bunch of bright purple geraniums and, later, a heavy burr to a horse’s tail to compare differences in its speed. To his tiny mind of six and a half, it had been a significant experiment and might have led to winning a real race, like his father.

How she would’ve enjoyed upbraiding the obnoxious former owner of Benedict. The poor horse had endured whips, spurs, and too-tight bits—ceaseless discomfort at the hands of the master. While Aetius’s heart could not leave Benedict to such a fate, he’d also recognized the defiant glint in the horse’s eyes and the potential of the thousand pounds of pure muscle. He’d bought him at a trifling price, too—via his groom, as his shrewd steward had suggested. A duke making an offer would have escalated the price. Not that Aetius lacked monies as one of the wealthiest peers in England, but he couldn’t stand enriching a cruel man’s purse.

Aetius had fed Benedict himself for the last few months, walked him, and monitored his habits. The horse had even taken to nuzzling Aetius’s nose. But Benedict wouldn’t let anyone ride him and Aetius couldn’t resist the challenge. He’d tried a few times, only to be thrown off.

Then last week he’d met Miss Campbell. His mouth curled at the memory. The flat front of her dress had enveloped a tall, slender frame, but a wide, round bustle in the back made her look like a human-sized half-pumpkin. Most inconvenient attire that most likely she had worn to put him off. But no man would be put off with the energetic entrance she’d made. At least he hadn’t been.

Her fair skin had glistened, contrasting with a wavy mass of raven hair resting atop her head. Her big eyes and straight nose looked rather attractive. It wasn’t a usual English face—Scottish maybe? Or was that a hint of Italian ancestry somewhere? Her accent was different but familiar. Though, before he’d been able to regard it more, her reaction had distracted him. Of course, as a seasoned equestrian, he had contemplated Rochko’s bone structure and bearing with more acumen. But a wife’s pleasant visage didn’t hurt.

Most of all, she had asked him, a duke, questions. Despite being surprised, not only had she composed herself well, she had also asked him how he knew she’d do well after meeting her for only three minutes.

And he had caught her staring at his breeches.

He shook his head. He still had an urge to laugh. No demure miss, her. Yes, the woman was interesting. Once the shock at her good fortune to snare a duke wore off, she’d be pleasant company. Though he must remember that this was business. He didn’t want the entanglement of love.

Aetius couldn’t save his late father from plunging to his own death. But he’d be damned if he couldn’t save his father’s equestrian dream. No one stood between his acquisition of Rochko, the magnificent beast, and his winning the third race: St. Leger Stakes at Doncaster in November. Aetius would finally own a Triple Crown winner. The words echoed like dust around him.

After sealing this marriage business, a strange energy had filled him. He felt in his bones that he’d be successful with Benedict, too. A good horseman never ignored his instincts. So here he sat, just as stubborn, wrestling Benedict into accepting him as a friend and granting the horse the privilege of being his steed.

The almost three-year-old thudded in small circles. He pranced with sprinkles of fresh neighs, as if he enjoyed the battle of wills. Hot breaths flared through Aetius’s nostrils. Could this spirited horse fulfill his goal? His father’s dream? No. He daren’t build his hopes again only for them to crash for the hundredth time. He had made the right decision to acquire Rochko by marriage.

How do you know? Miss Campbell would ask. A tilt pulled at the corner of his mouth.

The horse tossed his head and sniffed. Aetius leaned slightly forward, near the muzzle. His palm rubbed Benedict’s powerful neck as he sat waiting. Hoping. The horse huffed and took off, cantering around the ring.

Huzzzaaah. The stable hands hurled their hats up. Aetius grinned. His blood rushed through his veins, buoying the satisfaction of the accomplishment. This connection with these robust, loyal creatures, this was what he lived for.

A flash of green beyond the white stakes of the ring caught his attention. Even at this distance, Aetius couldn’t mistake her proud posture. What in the blazes was Miss Campbell doing in his training ring? Before he understood how she’d materialized there, his gaze locked with hers. As if her glance implored him to join her.

Should he? He was hardly presentable. She stood with a footman so they wouldn’t be alone. He’d offer a greeting. He slipped down to the ground. Just then his groom tapped him, producing a treat for Benedict. Aetius turned.

Rub him down well, he instructed and he patted Benedict’s shiny, brown coat while Benedict’s wet tongue lapped up a well-deserved sugar lump from his open palm.

When Aetius lifted his head, the green figure had vanished.

…

Dina had witnessed and taken part in many horse trainings. Whether it was walking a newborn colt, or introducing a mare to a saddle, or a spirited thoroughbred teasing its rider. No one had looked as good at it as the Duke of Saxton.

Her breath had hitched at the sight of the powerful man coaxing the horse with patience. His thighs had clenched the horse’s ribs, outlining every muscle in his calves. His seat over the animal had been firm, even without a saddle, but most importantly, he’d used no whip, no spurs, not even stirrups. He’d caressed the creature oh so lovingly.

No wonder he was nicknamed the Bareback Duke if he preferred riding thusly. He’d looked primal, as if one with the magnificent creature.

The horse was rescued by His Grace, William, her footman, whispered. His Grace’s steward said so. He eyed the man beside him. Under the shadow of a tree by the stable wall where Dina and William stood, the gentleman, wearing a loose black coat, had joined them. William hadn’t lost any time gaining information.

More like His Grace acquired prime horseflesh, Dina observed. Look at its neck and the hind legs, William. It’s an excellent runner.

That, too, the spectacled steward said in a proud tone. But His Grace owns many horses already. His Grace didn’t need to contrive to buy Benedict, this horse, from a cruel owner if he didn’t want to. Fed the animal himself for months.

Dina chewed her bottom lip. The man was obviously loyal to his employer, but she could see the duke did handle the horse with care. Of course, Mr…?

Stone. I apologize if I spoke out of turn.

No need. We were simply passing by and are glad for the information. On the horse.

She needed to talk to Saxton, but etiquette did not allow an unmarried woman to call on a bachelor, neighbor or not. In the country, people fed a fast rural grapevine. The supposed engagement wasn’t public yet. She didn’t want even a whisper linking her name with His Arrogant Grace. But curiosity had led her to ride near Saxton’s house and she’d ended up at the training ring. Maybe a message through Mr. Stone would yield a better chance of reaching the duke.

Huzzzaaah! the circle of stable hands around the spectacle exclaimed. Her gaze slipped back to the tableau.

Finally, after three months, the horse lets His Grace ride. Mr. Stone clasped his hands as if wanting to clap.

The duke sat atop the horse and grinned. An odd shift in her chest alarmed her. The horse’s hooves moved, lending a distinct gait to Saxton’s form as he tossed his head back, his slick raven hair glistening in the sunshine. His tanned forearms tightened as his hands bunched the horse’s mane. Even from afar, she saw his exposed neck moving, denoting sounds to communicate with the horse. Saxton was entirely in his element. Joyful, not gloomy or stuffy like he’d appeared in her parlor a couple days before.

He’d made an attempt at a joke. For a minute or two.

Be that as it may, this only proved the man didn’t have time for anything other than horses. He hadn’t returned her messages, which she’d signed with her father’s signature. What else could she do to request a meeting with Saxton? He’d promptly forgotten about his new fiancée and seemed to be immersed in his equestrian world. Dusty and sweaty with only a shirt on—one that indecently exposed his neck and clung to his chest, outlining the rippling muscles underneath… She swallowed at the track of her thoughts.

He slid off the horse and glanced straight at her. Dina stilled, the voices around her fading to a distant hum. She held her breath, not breaking the odd connection between their gazes. Then he turned his head as a groom tapped his shoulder.

She let go of her breath. He had dismissed her once again.

Mr. Stone cleared his throat. I must take my leave. We have a lot to achieve for the birthday celebrations.

Of course, His Grace’s birthday. Papa was attending, even if Dina had declined.

Well, the fete is for His Grace’s favorite horse, Blacknight, but yes, they both share the same birthday.

A birthday celebration for a horse? Dina thought her father was the greatest horse-mad man in the kingdom but she supposed she had a rather provincial view of it.

Yes, miss. Mr. Stone tugged at his coat.

Would you do me a favor, Mr. Stone? Dina brought forth her widest smile. The man remained unfazed but waited politely. Would you give His Grace a message? If His Grace could visit the Campbell residence at his earliest convenience?

Your servant, Madame. The sharp man didn’t ask for her name. She thanked him before he returned to the mansion. William helped her on the horse and they both veered away from the training ring.

How interesting that the beast has something in common with the duke. She chuckled. William revealed his pea-sized dimples, and Dina burst into laughter. A gently bred young lady sharing a laugh with a footman wasn’t a common sight, but for Dina everyone in their house was family. Moreover William was her age, and they had grown up together. He’d been a perfect partner in crime.

Miss, you could have found a minute with him. William used a serious tone.

I didn’t want to disrupt the significant moment for the duke, she remarked. Despite spotting her, he hadn’t come forward. When next they met, she wanted to be on equal footing. She wished to be noticed thoroughly, not ignored in the crowd of a training ring.

An idea shaped in her head. Would she dare? Every day her father dropped names for the wedding invitation list. Only waiting for the duke to announce the betrothal, he had said. Right after the birthday fete. She couldn’t let matters progress that far.

But if she pulled off her idea, she could thwart the announcement. Her mind trembled with excitement and trepidation. It could be arranged to have Papa spend the evening of the fete at home. Unbeknownst to him, of course. A bit of his port after his favorite pudding—with a spoonful of cardamom and nutmeg paste—should do the trick. He did need his rest.

Well, no risk, no reward. If she couldn’t find a way to meet with the duke soon, she’d preserve her reputation. But what would she do with a pristine reputation if she became trapped in a marriage with His Dukeness? She craved a family but not with someone who had no time for her. She calmed the butterflies in her belly. She’d take her chances with her plan, along with proper precautions. Their horses clopped toward the Campbell stables and in a few minutes Dina reached her chambers.

William, will you find Salim and Marcus? Dina paused at the door. Ask if they can reach here in time to perform for the fete?

An hour by train, miss. I should say no. Isn’t this what you call impetuous? William’s smile belied his words.

Indeed, you do, Dina said with a grin. It might be more spontaneous than impetuous, though. It had been months since she had done anything exciting. Didn’t the necessity (not the thrill) justify a little abandon?

Call the whole troupe. What better way to celebrate an Arabian horse’s birthday than with some Arabian dance and music? It’d be her birthday gift to the duke. There would be no way he would ignore her then. Bring the musicians, the dancers, and singers.

His Grace would spring a marriage decree on her, would he? The duke needed a little of his own medicine. And she’d deliver it with flair. She observed the spots on her fingers. Hmm, gloves definitely wouldn’t go with the ensemble she had in mind. And it wouldn’t do for the ink stains to show on only one dancer’s hands. Washing them with vinegar never wiped them away completely. But she thought of the next best solution.

Also, please ask Mary to bring Henna. Her maid loved the dark exotic tattoos. I’m in the mood to decorate my hands. Back in Kolkata, Dina and her mother had enjoyed decorating each other’s hands and even their feet with the wet, cool, delicate lines of mehendi. The earthy smell of the green leaves when crushed into a paste always left her