As always, Sarani’s chest squeezed at the sight of him. She had no idea how a man became more handsome with every passing day, but he did. Today he wore a navy coat that hugged his broad shoulders, a silver-stitched waistcoat, and gray striped trousers. His hair was windblown and his cheeks flushed as though he’d just been out on a bracing ride. He looked downright edible. Sarani flushed at her unruly thoughts and ducked her head.

Too late—Ravenna was already staring at her and grinning. “You’re besotted with my brother, admit it!”

“I am not.”

“You are, too. You went all calf-eyed the minute you saw him.”

Sarani blushed. “You are being silly.”

“Silly but right.”

But the duke was already upon them before she could form a reply. Sarani’s breath caught, her senses running amok as he came to a stop, bowing to them, those forceful eyes falling upon her like a tangible caress. “Ladies. No, no, please don’t get up.”

“Your Grace,” Clara squeaked, while Sarani murmured the same.

“Brother, dearest, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Ravenna squinted up at her brother. “Do hurry up. You’re interrupting a rather fabulous conversation about fashion. Sara’s going to let us try on some of her clothing from India.”

The duke’s gaze fastened to her, and Sarani fought to keep from squirming. The last time he’d seen her wear anything like a sari had been at the river, and that garment had been partially transparent even over a chemise. She seemed to recall him clutching his coat to his lap as if he’d die without it, and at the time, she’d been confused. Now that they’d been intimate, she knew exactly what it signified.

Her face warmed. “It’s all in good fun, Your Grace, I assure you.”

Rhystan opened his mouth and shut it as if he, too, was reliving the same memory. Sarani closed her eyes to avoid looking at his groin. Because that would be unseemly.

“I need to speak with you,” he said. “Alone.”

Grinning widely, Ravenna bit her lip as though she had something to say, but at the sharp look on her brother’s face, she curbed her tongue and grabbed Clara’s hand. “Don’t mind us, we’ll be just over here, hitting feathered bits of cork and sweating like piglets.”

Sarani bit back a laugh before standing to join Rhystan a few steps away. “What do you wish to speak to me about?”

“Markham has demanded money.”

She faltered. She hadn’t expected that. “How much?”