and integrity in her little finger than half the purported blue-bloods in this room, and if you think I give a fig for what any of these intolerant fops think, you’re wrong.”
“Embry!” His mother’s eyes widened and darted around the room. “Control yourself. This is what I mean… Look at you, this behavior is not befitting a duke.”
He let out a grim laugh. “Believe me, that has nothing to do with her. Roland and Richard were ducal material, not me.”
She flattened her lips. “Your gallivanting all over the world and consorting with these colonials has made you forget who you are.”
“On the contrary, Mother, they’ve made me see the duke I wish to become.”
Their furious exchange was drawing notice, though no one dared approach. One word from the Dragon Duchess and they would no longer be welcomed in the haute ton’s illustrious circles. Rhystan frowned. Was that what she was afraid of? That she would lose all the precious influence she’d built?
Rhystan settled a cold glare on the duchess. “Did you wish it had been me to die instead? Then you would have been content with your perfect sons and their approved wives, though at the rate Roland was going, the ducal coffers would have been empty.”
Pain broke in her eyes, and he felt the smallest slash of guilt. “No, I don’t wish that. I want only the best for you, Rhystan. I always have. Your father, too.”
“Don’t you dare bring him into this.”
He expected her to walk away. This was much too public for her tastes, but to his surprise, his mother turned to face him, her back to the crowd. “You were much too alike, the both of you. Headstrong, smart, rebellious. Until he died, he insisted on updates of your accomplishments. He was proud of you.”
Stunned, Rhystan faltered. “He had a strange way of showing it.”
“The duke was not a demonstrative man, but he loved you.” She inhaled a deep breath, looking unsure of herself for the first time he could think of. “He did not send for you five years ago. I did. I sent the message with the ducal seal to the vice admiral after we received his letter.”
He blinked. “Why would you do that?”
“To prevent you from making the same mistake as you are now with a woman who will tarnish the Huntley name. Then, you were only the son of a duke. Now, by fate’s decree, you are a duke. Consider what this will do to your reputation, our standing in society. You need to marry a woman of consequence, one who matters.”
“Like Lady Penelope?” he shot back. “Whose parentage is disputable?”
“That is gossip. In the eyes of the ton, she is the catch of the season.”
He shook his head at the double standard. “Then the ton is bloody obtuse.” His mother’s mouth curled with displeasure at his crudeness, but Rhystan had had enough. “I will see the estates sorted out, and I will see Ravenna married. And when that is done, I will leave for good.”
“And your fiancée?”
“You will have your wish, Mother,” he said wearily. “Our agreement will be ended. Family bloodlines will be unsullied, and your precious reign will continue.”
* * *
Sarani watched from the ballroom floor, barely taking in the conversation of her partner. He had a delightful French accent, but beyond that, she hadn’t heard a word. She’d been much too interested, like most everyone else, in the discussion taking place between the dowager duchess and her son. While their faces were composed and their voices remained low, Sarani was so attuned to Rhystan that she could feel the tension rolling off him. It didn’t surprise her when he gave his mother a curt bow and strode off in the direction of the terraced gardens.
“Thank you for the dance, Lord Marchand,” she told the marquis when the polka ended and he escorted her toward the refreshments room.
“It was my pleasure…Princess Sarani,” he replied softly. Sarani’s feet rooted to the spot, her eyes darting to his. The marquis smiled. “I had the pleasure of visiting your father’s court some time ago. We were introduced, though I’m certain you do not remember me. I was sorry to hear of his death. He was a good man.”
“He was, thank you,” she stammered, at a loss. A stranger had recognized her, a member of French nobility no less, and he did not regard her any differently or look at her as though she were an interloper. Even knowing exactly who she was,