He was a duke, but he’d made his own fortune, carved his own path. Sarani was a princess, but she’d defied all odds of her sex to educate and arm herself. She was no wilting flower, no tame English rose. And the truth was, he didn’t want her to be. He wanted her exactly as she was: vibrant, singular, and so sublimely beautiful she made his heart hurt. Rhystan kept glancing to the staircase, waiting for her to walk down the steps.

“Hiding, Rhyssie?” Ravenna asked, poking him in the side.

“Trying to,” he replied. He glanced at her, struck by how splendid she looked in an aquamarine gown. Her auburn hair was piled into high coils, and her coppery eyes glowed. “Are you partial to a rich French marquis by the name of Marchand?”

She scowled. “I’m not partial to anyone. I told you, I don’t want to marry yet.”

“Ravenna—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She tossed her head, but not before he saw a flash of misery in her eyes. “I’m wrecking your plans because you want to run away again. I am aware.”

He drew in a breath. “That’s just it, Ravenna, I’ve just now decided I’m not leaving. At least not for a while. Gideon can manage the fleet for now.”

“You’re not going?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve responsibilities here, and you and Mother are here. I want to have Elodie visit with the girls and get to know my nieces.” He paused, drinking in her radiant smile. “But we’re still finding you a husband.”

The smile disappeared behind thunderclouds. “I’ve told you that…”

But Rhystan wasn’t listening. At the tingling sensation along his spine, his eyes lifted and connected with a pair of the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. Even in the thronged ballroom, she’d found him instantly, and then the breath lodged in his throat, his heart beating so fast he could scarcely countenance it.

“Oh, my,” Ravenna whispered, her gaze following his. “She’s a vision.”

That was the least of what she was.

Sarani Rao was a goddess in the flesh, and now everyone would know it.

Twenty-Six

This was it. No turning back.

“Her Highness, Princess Sarani Rao,” the majordomo for the evening said, giving Sarani a conspiratorial wink. She’d come to know and was quite fond of Her Grace’s staff. Fullerton, in his role of butler, was one of her particular favorites.

But as hundreds of eyes fastened to where she stood at the top of the staircase, Sarani’s already jumbled nerves weaved into knots. She wasn’t ready for this. She wasn’t! It was a bad idea to make a statement. Any statement at all. These people would eat her alive. Heaven knew friends of Talbot and Markham would be here, ready to draw blood with their eyes and their words.