Hadrian stood fuming over the man’s unconscionable coldness toward Natalie and Leo. Was this what his mother had endured in her dealings with Godwin? This scorn for her common birth? This self-righteous arrogance?

He only wished he’d recognized before now the full extent of the man’s rigid pomposity. Perhaps Comstock was right; under the earl’s tutelage, Hadrian had become a stuffy stick-in-the mud. He had been bred to a life of privilege and power, raised to believe in his own superiority, but now he needed to break free of those chains. He must do so, or in time, he would become as bitter and snooty as Godwin.

Hadrian prowled to the window, pushing back the blue draperies and peering out at the sunlit garden. Usually, the neat pathways and greening trees had a calming effect. But today his mind was too preoccupied with sorting through the shifting chaos of his thoughts. Foremost was his powerful reaction to hearing Natalie disparaged as a temptress. She’s bewitched you.

Bewitched. That was as good a term as any for this fascination he had for a woman who didn’t fit the conventional standard of a duchess. Never in his life had he felt so tied in knots. Yet he suffered no regrets about it, either.

Because of her, he had opened his mind to change. Happiness was an aspect he’d never considered essential to a marriage until meeting Natalie. Now, he craved her spirit and wit and vivacity. Yet it remained damnably uncertain if he could win her heart. How could he ever convince her to give up her freedom, her dream of opening a school, even the very country of her birth?

Perhaps it was time to reveal the truth to her. To put his hopes for their future out into the open.

Despite the chilly air of early evening, Richard, Viscount Wymark, felt the trickle of sweat down the back of his neck. The thought of what he’d just done made him feel weak, almost faint.

He sagged against the door frame, sucking in shallow breaths that were tainted by the stink of rubbish. This narrow, filthy street lined by rackety brick buildings made his skin crawl. He’d despised having to come here, but he’d had no choice.

Damn his miserly father for refusing to settle those gaming debts. Godwin had coldly commanded Richard to make arrangements to repay them from his measly quarterly allowance. He also had strictly forbidden the countess to slip her son any funds, as she was wont to do. Richard didn’t dare beg his friends for yet another extension. He’d already been warned that he’d be cut from their exclusive clique and barred from the best gaming hells if he didn’t hand over their winnings at once.

His life would be reduced to an endless parade of dull society events, dancing with virtuous debutantes and playing whist for pennies with prune-faced old ladies. He might as well put a period to his existence. Even now, his fingers itched for the roll of the dice. It was a sickness in him, one he could not cure no matter how hard he’d tried.