“But I cannot be certain. Because clearly I have very poor judgment in men,” Della replied wryly. “Mr. Baxter was a blackguard of the highest order, and I chose him. Who’s to say I wouldn’t make such a terrible decision again?” She shook her head. “No, the safest thing is to remain unmarried. I have my friend, my sisters, my daughter. I don’t need anything else.”

Except that she did. She needed passion, and she knew where she would find it. If only Olivia weren’t so stubborn she would even now be discovering what lay beneath Lord Stanbury’s clothing.

But she would never conflate her desire with love. With commitment. She wouldn’t put him under that obligation. As much because she didn’t want to be obliged. She might like him as a bed partner—although she had yet to confirm that—but she did not want him, or any man, as a husband.

If not for her own self, then for Nora.

“Well,” Olivia said, gesturing with her biscuit at Della, “we’ve all made mistakes in our choices, but that doesn’t mean we all don’t deserve a happily-ever-after.”

Sarah nodded. The traitor.

“And there might be someone who could persuade you that marriage, that love, is worth the risk.” And then her expression got all spoony. No doubt thinking of her own husband.

Della wouldn’t argue with her sister, even though she knew full well that she would never find anyone worth the risk. Because the risk was too great. But if she said that to Olivia, her sister would spend the next hour—and an enormous amount of biscuits—trying to convince her otherwise.

The duke’s daughters didn’t always have a lot in common, but they did share one trait: stubbornness.

Which meant that Della would stubbornly persevere in her attempt to gain Lord Stanbury as her lover.

If being sexually sabotaged was a crime, Griffith would never emerge from a jail cell again. He stalked back to Frederick’s town house, frustration oozing from every fiber of his being.

What was it about her that felt so different? He’d been with plenty of women before, all different sorts, the only commonality being that they found him worthy of their consideration.

As they damn well should.

Griffith wasn’t conceited—or, perhaps he was, but his conceit was well deserved. He knew he was handsome, charming, and attentive in bed. He’d gotten so accustomed to having whatever desire he wanted almost immediately granted that he didn’t know how to react with this latest impediment.

Of course it was only an impediment, not a stoppage. It had been she, after all, who had made the initial proposal. And he knew she was just as eager as he to begin.

But what if she changed her mind? What if her sister and her friend discovered what she was planning and talked her out of it?