Sarani lifted her chin with as much haughtiness as she could muster. “Then it seems you’ve been rather spoiled, Lady Penelope. Please excuse me.”

She strode away before the other woman could reply, her thoughts swirling. What had Lady Penelope meant by secrets having a way of coming out? If Sarani’s biggest secret were to be exposed, the scandal would be unavoidable. Did Lady Penelope know something?

Sarani was so caught up in her own world that she nearly crashed into a small mountain. Or rather, a large duke.

“Your Grace, I beg your pardon,” she murmured, her pulse already at war in her breast at his nearness. “I did not see you.”

A pair of keen blue-gray eyes narrowed on her. “You are upset. Where were you running off to?”

She drew a strangled breath, though the sudden short supply of air had nothing to do with Penelope and everything to do with the man sucking the oxygen out of the room. Good gracious, why was the ballroom so bloody hot? Every hair on her body stood alarmingly on end, his very presence making her feel like she’d been touched by lightning.

“Nowhere. I just needed some air.”

She swept past him to the narrow balcony beyond a pair of glass-paned French doors, acutely aware of what had happened last time they’d been on a terrace alone. But it was either that or faint. Thank goodness this one was well lit with no inviting alcoves to speak of. The duke followed, his huge frame propping against one marble column, and Sarani bit back a groan.

“What did Lady Penelope say to you?” he demanded.

Had he been watching her while dancing with Ravenna?

Sarani brought up her fan and stared at it before fanning herself vigorously. Dancing couples were beginning to stare at them whenever they twirled past the glass doors, not even hiding their interest. Rhystan was the sort of man who drew attention wherever he went, and she… Well, according to the scandal sheets, speculation was rife. The two of them arguing on a balcony would be too delicious for words.

“Nothing,” Sarani said. “She was being her usual self.”

“A brat?”

A puff of laughter escaped her lips. “Categorically.”

“I’ve danced with several ladies of unimpeachable reputation, including Lady Pettigrew, who practically devoured me with her eyes, then with my sister, launching her off in the most respectable of ways, and now I wish to take a turn with you. Will you dance with me?”