Though he could sense her trepidation, there was no hint of it on her face. Her expression was serene, her chin held high. She carried herself with the easy elegance of a born aristocrat. Which she was. Hell, she was of royal blood, even though he knew some of the British nobility might not view it that way. Especially his mother.

Once more, he was struck by the similarities between the lives they led—both straddling two worlds in which neither of them wholly belonged. Both running from something. And they were about to pull off the coup of the season.

He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize she was speaking as they approached the waiting ducal carriage, where his coachman and tiger stood, dressed smartly in their crimson and silver livery.

“Thank you for doing this, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “I shall endeavor to hold up my end of our bargain.”

“As will I.”

And he meant it. He would protect her if someone from Joor had followed her, though once they’d left St. Helena, neither he nor Gideon had seen any more of the ship that had been on their tail. There was the chance that it could have been pure coincidence. Either way, he would see Sarani safe and settled once they parted ways.

He had considered the fact that she could make the perfect wife for him. They could live separate lives—he on the sea, and she wherever she wanted. However, that solution would only be temporary, because eventually, there would be the matter of children.

His, to be specific. Despite his views on his father and the dukedom, he had a responsibility to continue the ducal line. And as much as he’d been at loggerheads with the former duke, Rhystan was deeply aware of his duty. He would need an heir.

And even though the idea of a tigress-hearted daughter with jet-black hair and fierce hazel eyes made his pulse leap, it was out of the question. Though a fake engagement and even a fake marriage were easy prospects, there was no way he would have a child with a woman he could never trust.

And Sarani Rao had broken his heart once.

He would never open himself to the possibility again.

Thirteen

It was astounding what a full bath, a shave and trim by a devoted valet, and a wardrobe full of expensive, fashionable clothing could do. Despite the prevailing preference for facial whiskers—and the ton’s laughable notion of masculinity and vigor—Rhystan chose to be clean-shaven, though he did keep his hair on the longer side. The only way the thick curls could be tamed out of sea-blown wildness was with some length to them.