Sarani’s brow rose infinitesimally as she shot him a look that said: Demure, sweet, dutiful? He felt heat crawl up his neck. Perhaps he had exaggerated slightly in his description of Ravenna. Then again, the last time he’d seen the little minx, she’d been barely out of the schoolroom…and maybe a bit intimidated by the drifter-turned-duke brother she hadn’t seen since childhood.

“I don’t know, Your Grace,” Sarani said, her rich, mellifluous tone curling over his senses. “I, myself, can be a hellion on occasion. It’s rather liberating.” She inclined her head and offered a conspiratorial smile to the incorrigible chit. “It’s a pleasure to make a fellow hellion’s acquaintance, my lady.”

His sister’s grin lit up her entire face. “If we are to be sisters, I insist you call me Ravenna.”

Sarani smiled back. “Ravenna, then. And I’m Sara.”

Remembering her forgotten manners, Ravenna ducked into a hasty curtsy, eyes gleaming with sudden mischief as her bright copper-colored gaze returned to Rhystan. “Now this is a surprise. We expected you, but not two of you and certainly not a fiancée. Does Mama know?”

“No,” he said. “Not yet. Is she at home?”

Ravenna grinned. “She’s been at home ever since word arrived that you’d put into port. You are in so much trouble, you naughty boy.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m a grown man, Ravenna.”

“As you say, Your Disgrace.” She stuck out her tongue and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “She’s in the drawing room. Come along before she sends reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?”

She gave an unrepentant grin. “Your harem of female suitors.”

Rhystan felt his jaw drop. “I beg your pardon, did you just say ‘suitors’?”

“Oh yes, she’s been interviewing them by the handfuls—who wants to be the next Duchess of Embry? It’s been the rage for weeks all season.” She leaned in and lowered her voice in a stage whisper. “I’ve heard from the servants’ grapevine that the wagers at White’s are through the roof. Lady Penelope is the favorite so far, though I find her a tad…conceited for my liking.”

Her gleeful gaze slid to Sarani, who, to her credit, hadn’t said a word despite her rapidly twitching lips…which indicated she was either going to scream or burst into laughter. Rhystan grimly suspected the latter.

“She’s the daughter of the Duke of Windmere and quite an heiress,” Ravenna went on, quite oblivious to her brother’s brewing frustration. “A splendid catch, the papers are all saying. Well, bully for them. Because Lady Sara from”—she paused and frowned at Sarani, wrinkling her nose—“wait, where are you from?”

“India.”

Ravenna’s eyes went wide, her scrutiny sharpening on Sarani’s face and clothing with newfound appreciation. “Truly?”

“By way of England and Scotland,” Sarani added hastily. “A relation to the Earl of Beckforth.”