“Are we there yet?” Evelyn asked, her voice breaking the quiet, as she leaned out the window, eyes wide with excitement as the Petworth carriage rolled to a halt. The view of Apsley House stretched before them, its grandeur unmistakable even from a distance. Adeline, seated across from them, shared her friend’s anticipation. 

The late afternoon sun bathed the stately residence in golden light, its neoclassical columns standing tall against the lush expanse of Hyde Park. Behind them, the bustling hum of Piccadilly faded into insignificance, leaving only the magnificence of their destination.

As she stepped down, her leather boots crunching onto the gravel drive, Adeline lingered, absorbing the intricate architectural details—the soaring façade, the ornamented pediments, and the stones that seemed steeped in history.

A flurry of liveried servants bustled about, unpacking carriages and swiftly moving luggage inside. A servant, heels clicking briskly beneath his powdered wig, guided them to the largest of the house’s three drawing-rooms, where the hosts and guests gathered.

“Lord Egromont! You have arrived!” A sweet, musically sounding voice floated across the room.

Adeline turned to see a regal lady excusing herself from her conversation to approach them. She had elegantly styled chestnut hair, and her vivid blue eyes sparkled warmly. She wore a deep sapphire gown adorned with delicate lace and a simple strand of pearls, accentuating her graceful figure.

Pierce bowed over her hand before drawing her into a warm embrace. “Catherine, always a pleasure,” he said, then turned to shake hands with the tall, distinguished man beside her. “Apologies for the delay—one of the horses lost a shoe.”

Catherine waved a dismissive hand. “No need for apologies. You are here now, and that’s what matters.” She addressed the ladies with a smile. “I’m delighted you’ve brought guests, my friend.”

Pierce smiled. “Indeed, Catherine. The last time you saw my sister, she was still in the nursery. May I introduce my sister, Lady Evelyn Wyndham, and her friend, Miss Adeline Sandringham?” The ladies offered graceful curtseys.

Catherine gave a warm nod to Adeline before addressing Evelyn. “Yes, I remember you, Lady Evelyn! My, you’ve grown into a beautiful young lady. Have you made your debut yet?”

Evelyn beamed, admiration shining in her eyes. “I will this coming Season, Your Grace.”

Catherine clapped her hands with enthusiasm. “How exciting! We must discuss your plans. I’ve arranged a walking tour through Mayfair later this week—a perfect opportunity to find some additions to your wardrobe.” 

A subtle clearing of the throat from the man beside her prompted Catherine to turn, a smile of recognition gracing her lips. “Ladies, may I introduce our host and my wonderful husband, Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington.”

The ladies dipped into another graceful curtsey.

Pierce’s eyes flicked around the room. “Quite the gathering, Catherine. Not surprisingly, there’s an unusual balance of ladies to gentlemen.” Adeline watched as his gaze narrowed with amusement at their hostess. “What are you up to?”

The Duchess grinned mischievously. “Adrian needs a wife.”

Pierce chuckled. “Oh dear, and is Adrian aware of your scheme?”

“What am I aware of, Lord Egromont?” A deep voice cut through the group. Adeline turned, her breath catching at the sight.

The man she assumed was Adrian stood in the doorway, his tall frame exuding quiet strength. Dark hair framed a chiseled face, and his piercing stormy gray eyes held a glint of curiosity. His finely tailored attire hinted at both wealth and refinement, while a faint smile played at the corners of his lips, adding a touch of warmth to his commanding presence.

“That Catherine is scheming to find you a wife.” Pierce grinned as the men embraced warmly. “It’s been too long, my friend. You’re looking well.”

Adrian clapped Pierce on the shoulder as he stepped into the circle. “It has. How is your family?”

“They’re well. Mother misses you and your antics.” Pierce turned toward the group, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “As it happens, Evelyn has joined me. Allow me to introduce her dear friend, Miss Adeline Sandringham. Miss Sandringham, this is our good friend, Adrian Sinclair, Duke of Wakefield.”

Adeline’s heart fluttered as she dipped into a practiced curtsey, her gaze rising to meet the Duke’s. Adrian offered a measured bow, his expression composed, yet she caught the briefest flicker of interest in his eyes. But just as quickly, he turned to Evelyn, barely sparing Adeline another glance—as if determined to remain unaffected by her presence.

Adrian grinned as he looked at Evelyn. “Little Evie! I think the last time I visited, you were trying to learn how to read La Belle et la Bête. Comment est ton français ces jours-ci?”

“Je suis un naturel, Votre Grâce.” Evelyn’s smile stretched with unmistakable pride.

Adrian nodded with approval. “Fantastique. When you make your debut, I’ll have to invite you and your brother to my box at Drury Lane. There’s a French troupe that performs during the Season, and I’m sure you’ll enjoy their style of theater.”

Evelyn’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I’m making my debut this year! Oh, thank you, Your Grace!” She turned to her brother, grabbing his arm. “Brother, did you hear?”

Pierce gave her hand a gentle pat. “Of course, I heard, but I’ll need to know what this play is about first.” His brows furrowed slightly, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “The French can be... well, not English.”

Evelyn pouted, confusion clouding her expression. “What do you mean by that?” Her fingers traced the fabric of her dress, a telltale habit whenever uncertainty crept in.

Pierce’s gaze darted between Adeline and Catherine, his mouth pressing into a firm line. The tension in his stance was unmistakable—the slight shift of his weight, the restless energy in his posture. Sensing his unease, Adeline stepped forward, her fingers settling on Evelyn’s arm in a steadying touch.

“What your brother means,” she began, keeping her tone even, “is that every culture has its own traditions, ones that might hold meaning only in France. The theater offers all manner of performances—musicals, dramas, comedies—and he simply wants to ensure it is something you would enjoy.”

She met the Duke’s gaze, the weight of it pinning her in place. Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to hold steady. “And not,” she murmured, voice just above a whisper, “something others might deem… disreputable.”

Evelyn’s smile softened, though the faint furrow of her brows lingered, betraying a trace of doubt as she processed Adeline’s words. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but a soft shuffle of feet interrupted her, and a servant approached the group, who leaned in and murmured something low and discreet into Catherine’s ear.

A spark of excitement flashed in Catherine’s eyes before she accepted a glass bowl from the servant with effortless grace, passing it to her husband. With a serene smile, she turned to the room, moving with the practiced ease of a hostess in command, her presence both poised and welcoming. Lifting her glass, she tapped her diamond ring against her wine glass, the soft chime cutting through the hum of conversation as all eyes turned to her.

“Welcome, everyone, to our week-long event,” she began, her voice warm yet commanding. “Thank you for joining us here in our little abode. I trust the activities I’ve planned will provide you with plenty of enjoyment.” She glanced at the assembled guests, smiling. “I’ve placed an itinerary in each room. I have designed them with some free time for you to relax or entertain yourselves as you see fit. To conclude our welcome drinks, we have a small activity.”

Catherine’s lips curled into a playful smile, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. “Each of you will pick a number from Arthur,” she said, her voice light but purposeful, leaving a trail of anticipation in the air.

Arthur stepped forward with the bowl and gave it a light shake, the soft clink of glass against his ring adding a touch of drama. A ripple of laughter spread through the room at the gesture and Catherine smiled, the room now attentive to her words.

She paused, giving the room a moment to settle into the unfolding mystery. “Once you have your number, find your partner and introduce yourselves,” Catherine said, her smile widening as she watched her guests. “There are prompts, in case you’re feeling shy about sharing a bit of yourself. If you find yourself paired with someone, you already know too well,”—her eyes flicked momentarily to Pierce, a knowing glint in her gaze — “let me know, and we’ll see if we can arrange a swap.”

A few minutes later, Adeline’s gaze landed on the crisp, deliberate strokes forming an ‘eight’ on her paper. Evelyn, beside her, was already reading her own paper, a small, excited exhale escaping her lips as she saw ‘two’. 

Pierce held up his own paper with a flourish. “Four,” he announced, his voice cheerful, before he and Evelyn set off to find their respective partners.

Adeline’s gaze lingered on the sea of faces, wondering which of them would be her partner for the activity. Her heart gave a small flutter, both intrigued and uncertain about the upcoming encounter.

“I have the number eight,” a deep voice cut through her thoughts—smooth as silk, almost too casual.

Adeline stiffened, her focus torn from the room. She glanced over her right shoulder, only to find the Duke of Wakefield standing far too close, his sharp gaze drifting to her paper.

Her pulse pounded harder than she cared to admit, and she swallowed against the anticipation tightening her chest. Seriously, Adelaide? She chastised herself, willing away the betraying warmth creeping up her neck. 

Unwilling to let him linger so near unchecked, she stepped forward, the space between them suffocating. Turning to face him, she found his expression unreadable—impassive, detached, as if he hadn’t just stolen the breath from her lungs. 

His gaze flicked to hers, piercing and deliberate, stripping away her composure. It was as if he could see straight through her, unearthing the very thoughts she fought to bury.

Adeline studied him, unease coiling in her chest. She’d heard the rumors—the murmurs of a man who thrived on indulgence, a scoundrel who toyed with convention like a game. His effortless stride, the practiced charm in his voice, the way he owned every space he entered—it all pointed to a man who cared little for society’s rules. No sensible woman would fall for a man like him. She reminded herself of that fact, forcing down the flicker of intrigue. He sought out widows—so why was he here, searching for a wife?

Her thoughts veered toward another rumor. Was it true he’d gambled away his inheritance, leaving him chasing after a wealthy dowry? The idea lingered uncomfortably, unsettling her. But just as quickly as it came, she dismissed it—there was no use entertaining gossip. Yet, her eyes lingered on him a second longer, as if trying to decode the mystery he presented. 

He didn’t respond at first, his gaze still sweeping over her as though studying every detail. It made her skin prickle, his scrutiny like a touch she wasn’t ready for. She shifted uncomfortably, flipping her paper over to focus on the first question, desperate to push away the unwanted thoughts. The question itself felt suddenly trivial. Where do you find inspiration? She hadn’t the faintest idea.

A beat of silence stretched between them before Adrian’s voice broke through, deep and steady, the weight of it sending a ripple of tension down her spine. “What type of play do you think I would be taking your friend to?”

His words lingered, yanking her thoughts back to him with an unsettling force. She swallowed, her pulse kicking against her ribs as she struggled to hold her emotions. But his voice clung to her senses, each syllable wrapping around her like a touch she couldn’t shake. What was he implying?

Her gaze locked onto his, and heat flared beneath her skin, betraying her before she could stop it. She fought for composure, shaking her head as warmth tingled at her fingertips, leaving her grasping for something—anything—sensible to say.

Adeline lifted her gaze, arching a brow. Her tone measured. “Your reputation precedes you, Your Grace,” she said, her words light but sharp. “Even in the quietest corners of Sussex, your name carries weight. I can only imagine the first act of your play stirring enough scandal to make the ladies clutch their pearls and faint from shock.”

It took a moment for Adeline to see if her words had landed, and when she noticed the surprise flash across Adrian’s face, a sharp, unrestrained laugh escaped him. It startled her, the sound so unexpected that it hung in the air between them, making her pulse quicken. He awkwardly cleared his throat, and his usual composure slid back into place. 

For the briefest moment, she saw a twitch of self-consciousness, but it vanished, replaced by a half-smirk and an arched brow. “You would not swoon, Miss Sandringham?”

Adeline’s pulse fluttered at the thought, but she steadied herself, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. “No, because I would not be there in the first place,” she replied, a smile playing at the corner of her lips as if daring him to challenge her.

Adrian tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “You do not enjoy the theater?”

She leaned back on her heels, her gaze sharp as she sized him up. Her lips pressed into a thin line, suspicion prickling at the edge of her words. “Of course I do. I’ve seen many plays in my time. Just not the kind you frequent.”

Adrian waggled his eyebrows with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Do not judge something you have not experienced, Miss Sandringham,” he said, his tone laced with teasing. “It can be quite... satisfying.”

Adeline’s lips parted, her mind spinning through the possible explanations he might give why it would be so. She shoved the thought aside and let her gaze settle elsewhere. “So, this house party is for your benefit, then?” Her eyes swept the room, counting the three women she presumed to be his intended choices. “Only three prospects?”

Adrian didn’t follow her gaze, shrugging nonchalantly, as though the matter were of little consequence. “I only need one wife,” he said, the indifference in his voice almost palpable. “Catherine assures me they tick all the boxes to become my duchess. So, why bother looking anywhere else?”

Adeline’s breath caught in her throat, her gaze locked on him, her expression revealing the shock she barely contained. She knew the peerage treated marriage as a cold transaction, alliances forged for titles, wealth, and land. But hearing such flat detachment firsthand left her unsettled. She could never imagine herself marrying for convenience. If that day ever came, she was certain of one thing: it would be for a love that was deep, passionate, and soul-stirring.

Her words were sharp, carrying an edge that was impossible to miss. “In seven days? Do you believe that’s enough time to choose someone to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you expect them to be so... compliant? To follow you around and obey your every whim without a thought of their own?”

The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, and for a moment, her breath hitched in surprise at her own boldness. She had no business speaking bluntly to a duke. Yet, as she held his gaze, unreadable and unwavering, her exasperation pressed harder against her restraint. His coldness, his offhand treatment of emotions—it felt like a slap to everything she held dear. She wasn’t just angry; she felt unsettled by how easily he could dismiss the very thing that made someone human: the heart beneath the title.

To her surprise, Adrian didn’t flinch or bristle at her words. Instead, his gaze met hers, cool and calculating, as if her boldness had sparked some quiet interest in him rather than anger.

He lifted his glass; the champagne swirling in the delicate crystal, his eyes never leaving her face. The tension between them thickened with each passing second, as though he were studying her with a focused intensity that made Adeline’s skin prickle. Despite the discomfort that curled in her stomach, she held his gaze, unwilling to let him see any sign of weakness.

He broke the silence. “Catherine has already vetted them,” His voice was even, betraying no emotion despite the underlying gruffness. “All that’s left is to spend some time with them, see how we interact. I could choose one at random, of course, but...” He let the thought hang in the air, a faint, enigmatic smile curving his lips. “It’s always enlightening to observe what people desire. Is it me, or my fortune?”

Adeline stiffened as Adrian shifted behind her, positioning himself just over her left shoulder. His presence was unmistakable—not overbearing, but felt like the warmth of a fire flickering too close to bare skin. He said nothing at first, only scanning the room with that practiced, assessing gaze of his, the kind that made her uncomfortably aware that he missed nothing.

“Lady Zara Miller,” he murmured at last, inclining his head toward a striking blonde across the room. “A diamond of the first water. She could have any man wrapped around her finger if she cared to. But look closer—see how she holds herself? The way she barely acknowledges the man at her feet?” His voice was low, almost too smooth, sending an unwelcome ripple of awareness through her. “She’s indifferent. A pity, really. Second Lieutenant Macaulay is one of the most fascinating men I know.”

Adeline tried to focus on his words, but his nearness made it difficult. The warmth of him, the quiet weight of his voice, the way his breath stirred the air at the nape of her neck—it was all too distracting. Irritatingly so. Refusing to be affected, she lifted her chin, studying the blonde across the room. “Bored and detached?” she echoed, arching a brow. “It looks more like she’s dressing him down.”

Adrian let out a low chuckle, the sound somehow rich and knowing. “That’s because Lady Zara was bred to marry a duke. Why waste charm on a man who isn’t the prize she’s after?”

Adeline pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. The way he spoke of marriage—as if it were a game to be played, a conquest to be won—set her teeth on edge. But before she could respond, his attention shifted.

“Speaking of prizes—do you see the lady with our mutual friend, Pierce?”

She nodded, careful not to move too suddenly, lest she brush against him. Though there was still space between them, it didn’t feel like enough.

“That,” Adrian continued, his tone thoughtful, “is Lady Prudence Stanhope, twin sister to Lady Beatrice Stanhope. You’d think it would be difficult to tell them apart, but Prudence stands out. She’s brilliant—always five steps ahead of her opponents. A perfect trait for a duchess.”

Adeline followed his gaze, taking in the pair across the room. Prudence and Pierce stood locked in conversation—or rather, debate. Pierce’s posture was sharp, his gestures animated, but his eyes gleamed with something far from irritation.

“Look at Pierce,” Adrian murmured. “Notice how his brows are drawn together?”

Adeline observed the way Pierce leaned in, his mouth twitching at the corners even as he shook his head. His stance suggested exasperation, yet his expression held an undeniable spark of amusement.

“He’s grinning,” she noted, tilting her head. “That doesn’t look like a man eager to walk away.”

Adeline felt the faint brush of his sleeve against her bare forearm, a whisper of fabric against skin that sent a jolt through her. She stiffened, willing her body to ignore the unwelcome awareness curling at the edges of her resolve.

“They’ve only been speaking for ten minutes,” Adrian observed, his voice dropping into something quieter, more assured. “And yet, there’s already an undeniable pull. He may not recognize it yet, but she has his full attention.”

Adeline tilted her head, studying the pair in question. From a distance, Pierce seemed reluctant, his stance edged with resistance. Yet something about him—an unconscious lean, the way his fingers flexed at his sides—suggested he wasn’t as indifferent as he pretended to be. A thread of tension wove between him and Lady Prudence, invisible but unmistakable.

Adrian’s tone turned thoughtful. “And then there’s Lady Beatrice. See how she holds herself with practiced ease?” His gaze flicked toward the young woman engaged in quiet conversation with the Duke of Wellington. “Neutral expression, poised, and the perfect balance of intelligence and grace. But watch closely—she keeps glancing toward the window. She’s done it more than once.”

Adeline followed his line of sight, catching the flicker of movement as Lady Beatrice’s gaze did indeed glance toward the window once more. “Do you think she’s waiting for someone?” she mused, her voice laced with curiosity.

Adrian hummed, the sound thoughtful. “Perhaps. A suitor, maybe. Or merely a longing for something beyond this room.” He paused, his gaze sharpening slightly. “Lady Beatrice reads people like a book. I wonder if she’s waiting for someone to read her in return.”

Adeline turned slightly, angling herself to face him. The flickering candlelight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the glint in his storm-gray eyes. A knowing look, teasing yet inscrutable. Her lips curled, though her voice carried a touch of bite.

“Ah, so it seems you’ve already made your selection.” She let her gaze flick briefly toward Lady Zara, then back to him. “Shall we announce it now? Spare you the agony of enduring the rest of this house party?”

Adrian’s laugh was a deep, quiet thing—a rumble of amusement that stirred the space between them. The warmth of it curled into her chest before she could stamp it out. Her breath caught, just for a moment, as his slow, knowing smile unfolded, a challenge dancing in his expression.

“It would appear so,” he murmured, his voice edged with something that sent a shiver down her spine. “But then again, I could be wrong. Perhaps Lady Prudence will find Pierce intolerable. Maybe, Lady Beatrice merely seeks an escape from dull conversation. And Lady Zara? She may not be aloof at all, but simply a woman feeling out of place among strangers.”

He shifted slightly, his gaze locking with hers. “That, Miss Sandringham, is why courtship exists—to uncover the truths hidden beneath polite façades.”

Adeline bit back the urge to roll her eyes, her lips curling into a slight, unimpressed smile. “In your case, it hardly qualifies as courtship. It’s more of an interrogation,” she said, her voice cool and low as she crossed her arms, a sharp edge creeping into her words. “You’re picking a wife like you’d choose a prize horse—someone who can bear heirs and dazzle in a ballroom. Why not just marry one of your mistresses? It might cause a scandal, but at least you’d know she’s good in bed!”

The words slipped out before she could stop them. As soon as they did, Adrian’s smile vanished, his gray eyes narrowing, sharp as a blade. Her pulse quickened, but she stood her ground, heat flooding her cheeks. How could he reduce marriage to such a calculated transaction? Her mind raced, bitterness rising unbidden.

It wasn’t fair—to their other half, to the children caught in the middle. A child deserved parents bound by more than duty, a home built on more than obligation. Adeline had seen firsthand the quiet devastation of a loveless marriage, the slow erosion of warmth until nothing remained but cold civility. The memory still stung, a wound that had never quite healed. She had vowed long ago never to walk the same path, never to repeat her father’s mistakes—not thinking what it would cost the children. A child deserved parents who truly loved each other. Adeline had seen the damage a loveless marriage could do, and the memory still stung. She’d vowed never to repeat the same mistakes, no matter the cost.

The delicate chime of glass against glass pierced the silence, drawing Adeline back to the present. Catherine, ever the gracious hostess, spoke with effortless poise. “Thank you all for your participation. Your rooms are prepared, and the servants will escort you to your chambers.”

Across the room, Adrian’s gaze lingered on Adeline, unreadable in the flickering candlelight. Something unspoken hung between them, heavy and charged. Then, with a slight bow, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the ground beneath her feeling just a little less steady.

Evelyn slipped her arm through Adeline’s, her unrestrained excitement radiating like sunlight. As they followed a waiting servant, she chattered on—about her partner, the evening’s amusements, the thrill of it all. But Adeline barely heard her. Her thoughts spun in a tangled web of emotions she wasn’t ready to name.

The Duke of Wakefield had unsettled her in a way no one ever had. His bluntness, his cool intensity—it was maddening. Infuriating. Intriguing.

By the time they reached their shared chamber, Evelyn’s energy had yet to wane. With a dramatic sigh, she flopped onto the settee, kicking off her slippers and stretching like a contented kitten. A mischievous grin played on her lips as she turned to Adeline, eyes alight with curiosity. “So,” she drawled, “what exactly did you and the handsome Duke of Wakefield discuss?”

Adeline forced a smile and turned her attention to untying her boots. “Nothing of consequence,” she said lightly, though unease coiled tight in her chest. She despised how easily the man in question had unsettled her.

Rakes were predictable—their honeyed words, their practiced charm, the effortless way they commanded attention. She had thought herself immune. Yet here she was, her thoughts tangled with the memory of his sharp gaze and that maddeningly knowing smile.

Her hands stilled as she loosened the pins from her hair. No. She refused to be drawn into such folly. A man like the roguish duke was a temptation best avoided. Keeping her distance wasn’t just wise—it was imperative.

Exhaling slowly, she forced the tension from her shoulders. Whatever fleeting curiosity had stirred within her, she would smother it before it took root. With silent conviction, she reminded herself that marrying the Duke of Wakefield was not—and thankfully would never be—in her future.