Sarani sighed with sublime delight as Asha brushed and dried her hair in front of the fire. She had just taken the longest, most decadent bath known to humankind. The bedroom she’d been shown to was tastefully opulent, but the sumptuous bathing room was what had knocked the wind from her lungs—all rich wooden paneling and hand-painted porcelain tiles, and almost as large as the connecting bedchamber.

It had lacked for nothing, including modern plumbing for not just cold but hot running water. The massive claw-foot tub had been designed with an ingenious gas heating device.

Sarani hadn’t been able to get out of her fine clothing fast enough, nearly ripping buttons in her haste. She’d languished in that gorgeous tub in the piping hot water until her skin had begun to protest and had only gotten out when Asha had murmured that His Grace would be expecting her shortly.

She hadn’t seen Rhystan since their arrival, and he had been mostly silent in the coach, a brooding expression on his handsome face. She suspected that being in England did not sit well with him, much as it didn’t for her, though for other reasons he had yet to share.

If he ever would.

In hindsight, she realized just how little she knew of the duke’s origins, other than that he was a well-born gentleman who’d been an officer in the Royal Navy once upon a time and was now a rich, powerful duke who captained a ship. Who clearly did not want to be in London.

His stilted behavior in the lavish coach on the way to his residence had indicated as much. Sarani had known Rhystan had deep pockets, given he owned his own ship, but the sight of the ducal crest emblazoned on the lacquered coach had been her first inkling that he didn’t exactly lack for fortune. Rather, if the luxurious coach and its liveried servants had been any signal, he was rather well-off.

“This is fancy,” she’d told him once they’d left the wharf to settle into the plush confines of the fine carriage.

A hint of color had brushed his cheekbones. “It was my father’s.”

“It’s very nice.” That had been an understatement. “Where are we going?”

“To my residence in Mayfair.”

She’d bitten her lip. “Is that…proper?”

“We are engaged,” he’d replied. “But if you are worried, Asha can assume the role of your companion and chaperone. Problem of respectability solved.”

“Even I know that a lady’s maid won’t pass muster as a companion, at least not according to the rules of etiquette here.”

Unreadable eyes had met hers across the carriage. “You are engaged to the Duke of Embry.”

“You say that as if anyone in the ton will refrain from gossiping like fishwives at market. If decorum is not observed, the shame will fall upon me, not you.”