Page 13 of Rules for Heiresses
Courtland Chase was a devil she no longer knew.
If she’deverknown him.
After the lavish wedding breakfast, the evening ball was the event of the decade—a local gentleman, one of their own, becoming an exalted English duke and choosing to marry his duchess on the island instead of returning to England’s shores. Her husband, as she’d gleaned in the past few weeks leading up to the wedding, was hard-nosed in business, but admired and respected among locals and British nationals alike.
As such, his astonishing change in station was feted by everyone—from the shopkeepers to the governor—and the unbridled, joyful response of the islanders filled her to the brim. British aristocrats would never display such pure, unchecked emotion.
“I wish we didn’t have to leave.” To her surprise, the wistful sentiment had fallen from her mouth.
The duke inclined his head, eyes unreadable, as he peered down at her. “Oh?”
“I love it here,” she murmured. “It’s so real and…honest.”
A puff of humorless air escaped his lips. “Said by a woman who has never endured a moment of hardship in her entire life.”
His disdain could not be more obvious. “You don’t know a thing about me, and that’s not what I meant at all.”
“Tell me, then.”
The words were soft, unthreatening. She stared at him, wondering if he was merely humoring her or truly wanted to know her thoughts. Or perhaps he’d ridicule her for them. She was more than aware of what the wordfreedommeant to the people of the island, with the foul, unforgiveable shadows of the past ever looming.
While it’d been three decades since abolitionism in the British colonies, liberty was a hard-won human right that many of her privileged set took for granted. Ravenna knew that from her brother, who worked tirelessly in the House of Lords to fight against such injustices.
She blew out a slow exhale. “I meant their honesty of feeling. Joyful in this moment and not afraid to show it—that’s what I meant. The lack of artifice is refreshing. Even the English ladies seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“For many of the women here, it’s all they have,” Courtland said, his eyes casting over the crowd. “The balls, the dances, the diversions. Island life is not as it is in England, though many of them would wish it to be.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“No.”
Ravenna blinked. It wasn’t a happyno, but it wasn’t angry either.
“Why don’t you want to go back?” she asked.
Lean, tanned fingers tapped on the marble balustrade in that familiar little-finger-to-index-finger motion she’d intuitively recognized during their card game, and for a protracted moment, Ravenna thought he wasn’t going to answer. “I don’t belong there.”
“You’re an English duke.”
“On paper.” A cold smile pulled his lips. “And if Stinson had anything to say about it, he’d be duke, not me.”
“Primogeniture matters, trust me.” Ravenna gave a low laugh, drawing his gaze to hers. “I’ve heard Rhystan curse it enough. He never wanted to be duke, you know. His mistress, until he met the love of his life, had always been the sea. I suppose he and I share the same deeply rooted sense of adventure.”
Courtland’s brow shot high. “Or, in your case, one might call it absurdity.”
One might, but not her. “Why? Because I’m female? Because of my sex?” She tapped one ivory-gloved hand to her chest. “Women face impossible standards to uphold the virtue of an entire nation, and honestly, it’s infuriating. Not to mention illogical!”
Stormy eyes blazed at her provocative words—she knew exactlywhichprovocative word—and an answering spark ignited inside of her. Ravenna sank her teeth into her bottom lip, and a muscle leaped to life in his cheek, his nostrils flaring wide like a predator scenting prey. The rawness of this…thing between them was madness.
Heat drizzled through her and she was suddenly reminded of their kiss in his office…his hot fingers at her throat, unloosening, untying,undressing… Gracious, she hadn’t even thought beyond the ball or what would happen later tonight when she would be stripped and bare before him. When he would claim his husbandly rights.
Her wedding night. Perish the thought.
“You’re a lady,” he said slowly, his voice a low, masculine rasp that did unconscionable things to her. “You can’t be gallivanting all over the world.”
“Why? Because my virtue, and perceived inherent value, will come into question? Because a man deemed it so?” She let out a tight breath, mingled with equal amounts of waning fury and sharp-edged desire. “I am not the sum of my physical parts, Your Grace.”
Silence descended between them and Ravenna feared she might have said too much. She was much too outspoken and free with her opinions. In England, even with the rise of the suffragettes, there was still the notion that aristocratic ladies should not entertain such controversial views of women having—gasp—rights over themselves. She sucked air through her teeth, desire cooling swiftly. Oh well, better he knew early on what kind of woman she was than be surprised later.
