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life would have been like if you had not stormed into it that night,” he speculated, smoothing a soft, unpowdered black curl from her temple. He pressed his lips against her hair, approving of her refusal to bow to convention and society by hiding the beauty of her hair under layers of white powder. “Do you remember that night, my sweet?”
    â€œRemember?” the duchess questioned with an impish grin identical to that of young Robin’s. “How could I forget? You nearly killed me!”
    â€œAh, but I didn’t, much to my delight and eternal thankfulness. Although now that I am reminded,” he added with a mocking glance, “you certainly led me one fine chase. And here you sit now, smugly casting aspersions on my swordsmanship. Really, my dear, you do me a grave injustice.”
    The duchess smiled provocatively, the slight dimple in her cheek entrancing the duke as much today as it had the first time it had peeped out at him. She was more beautiful today, if that were indeed possible, than she had been when he’d made her his duchess. With Sabrina by his side he had found the love and happiness he had always been searching for, and until his fateful meeting with this black-haired, violet-eyed hellion, that elusive bird had always flown free of his grasp. But once he had captured her, he vowed he would never let her fly free, for Sabrina was his life. It was as simple as that.
    His duchess blushed slightly under the warmth of his gaze, but she did not glance away and continued to meet the message of love in his eyes as she touched his mouth with hers. And it was upon this intimate scene that the door was opened to admit a liveried footman.
    â€œLady Wrainton, Your Grace,” he said in stentorian tones, and stepped aside for an attractive young woman who, at the sight of the closely positioned couple on the sofa, nearly stumbled as she tried to halt her progress into the room.
    â€œMy dear Sarah, do come in,” the duchess said, beckoning and rising to greet their guest.
    â€œPlease, I do not wish to intrude, Your Grace,” Lady Wrainton said nervously, quite in awe of the duchess, even though she was her sister-in-law. “I-I had not realized His Grace was in here,” she added, completely in awe of the duke also, whose scarred cheek gave him a sinister look that left her knees shaking. He was an undeniably handsome man, and the years had certainly been kind to him, for there was no excess weight to slow him down or to strain against the buttons of his waistcoat. Tall and lean, his face marred only by the scar, he exuded a sensuality that even she, a happily married wife and soon-to-be mother, could feel, and she wondered what he must have been like twenty years earlier when he’d been in his early to mid-thirties. Despite his obvious happiness and contentment in his marriage, his face was still stamped by a certain cynical hardness, or perhaps it was merely the scar that created such an impression. But still, Sarah wondered how the duchess had managed to handle such a man all of these years.
    But as Sarah stared at the duchess, she realized that Her Grace’s beauty alone could hold any man spellbound. It was difficult to believe that she could possibly be the mother of five children, for her figure was that of a young girl’s, her tiny waist rivaling any that Sarah had seen on acclaimed London beauties. The passage of time had enhanced the beauty of the Duchess of Camareigh, not stolen it away, for there was a glowing warmth and happiness from within that was reflected on her face. And that was something that no artificial beauty aid could capture.
    Sarah remembered herself in time and started to curtsy, only to find herself being raised gently but firmly by the duchess.
    â€œNow you listen to me, Sarah,” she warned her with a glint in her violet eyes. “I will not tolerate any subservience from you. You are the wife of my beloved Richard,