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day. Not that he cared so much what she wore, but he’d noticed already that whenever possible, she chose the plainest gown possible. “I think it is a capital idea,” he said finally. “But give me your word you will listen to her. Her mother never has, and that is a great deal of the problem. Vivian is bright as well as beautiful. If you will not disregard her desires, I think it would be quite an advantageous partnership.”
    “As long as it isn’t a feather-brained idea, she can have a say in her wardrobe. I will naturally have the bills sent to you.”
    It was magnanimous enough that he had to stifle a laugh. “I take it I need to warn my steward in advance so he doesn’t collapse in shock.”
    “One needn’t be extravagant to be tasteful. I would never allow a bunch of fripperies anyway, so you are safe enough, my lord.” The duchess rose regally, her pale eyes direct. “I have carte blanche then?”
    A frightening phrase if he’d ever heard one, but before he could reply, she swept out of the room. Unable to decide if he was amused or
bemused
, he headed back toward his study and barely had he discarded his cravat and sat down, before there was another knock on the door. Somewhat exasperated, he said, “Come in.”
    “Another visitor to see you, milord.” His butler, a young Irishman whom he’d hired because of his absolute lack of resemblance to any of the stuffy servants he remembered from his youth, was grinning. “’Tis a busy morning.”
    “Apparently so. Tell me it isn’t another pushy duchess.”
    “No, sir. I’m thinkin’ a bit worse.”
    “How the devil could it be worse?”
    “Lady Vickers.”
    That
was
worse. Lucien stifled a groan. “What have I done to deserve this?” he muttered, but nodded. “Show her in here. It isn’t like she and I stand on formality.”
    Catherine entered the room a few moments later with her usual aplomb, her day dress emphasizing her gorgeous curves and at least giving him some measure of conviction that maybe the duchess’s visit had been fortuitous. While his former lover’s opulent beauty was nothing like Vivian’s understated femininity, she did know how to dress to emphasize her considerable charms. Her décolletage was a bit much for this hour, but then again, it usually was for any hour. If the duchess could enhance Vivian’s figure, maybe his fiancée would get the attention she should have had all along.
    As long as everyone understood she was
his
now.
    “Was that the Duchess of Eddington?” Catherine asked without preamble, taking a seat. “What on earth was that old hag doing here?”
    “The more pertinent question is what are you doing here? I remember quite well you don’t normally rise before noon and it is”—he theatrically pulled out his watch—“only ten o’clock. I feel faint from shock.”
    “Something has certainly addled your brain.” Catherine leaned back, her arms on the sides of the chair, and gave him a level look. “I admit I rose early because I couldn’t wait to ask you if it is really true. Are you truly going to marry that awkward creature?’
    Creature
was hardly a flattering term. He said coolly, “If you mean Miss Lacrosse, then yes, indeed, she has agreed to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
    “Why?”
    “I have no idea, except I will own it took some persuasion.”
    Deliciously blond and voluptuous, Catherine gave an inelegant snort. “That isn’t what I meant.
You
had to persuade
her
? I don’t believe that for a moment. Your father is behind this.”
    “Actually, it was entirely my choice.”
    “Her?”
    He decided right then to go ahead and have that drink. The morning was shaping up to merit it. Reaching for the brandy decanter, he murmured, “Why not? She is lovely, from a good family, and accomplished in her own way.”
    “She likes . . . plants.”
    “So does my father, and her father, so there, you see, it runs in the family, so to speak. I’m quite used to people around