Dangerous in Diamonds by Madeline Hunter

all.”
    “Then I am doubly sorry to have forced today’s visit to London on you, Katherine. I had little choice, however. I know you see that.”
    Katherine remained a tense stone statue beside her. It had been cruel to insist she come, but Daphne really could not make this particular call alone, without another woman by her side. That would be stupid.
    “I do not see why he did not come down to Cumberworth again,” Katherine muttered resentfully. “It was rude to request that you make the journey to see him, and for such a small thing. He may be a duke, but if he desires a social call, he should be the one inconvenienced, not you, and certainly not me.”
    This was, Daphne decided, one of those times when their rule about not prying was very useful. Katherine had drawn erroneous conclusions about this visit to London all on her own. Daphne was under no obligation to explain that this was not a true social call, that this duke had not exactly requested this visit, and that more was at stake than Katherine could ever guess.
    Castleford’s odd invitation sat in Daphne’s reticule. One paragraph, written in the flowing hand and formal voice of his secretary, Mr. Edwards, apologized in the duke’s name for not communicating sooner about her situation. Mr. Edwards explained that some questions had arisen about the property when the matter had been addressed last Tuesday, and they would in turn be taken up again soon. He requested her further patience.
    Below Mr. Edwards’s signature, in another hand—one more individual and abrupt—a few more words had been penned . You had best call Tuesday next, three o’clock. Castleford .
    She still had not decided what “you had best” meant. It could be interpreted as a busy man encouraging her to be present so her interests could have a voice in his deliberations. Read differently, however, the line sounded like a threat.
    She did not expect it to be a pleasant meeting in either case. Since it was Tuesday he should be sober, so she doubted he would misbehave. However, the last time she had seen him they had been parting a scant fifteen minutes after she rejected his advances. Uncomfortable did not begin to describe that final quarter hour together. Nor, despite her clear preferences, had he truly stood down.
    She saw him in her mind as he finally took his leave of her. Displeased. Annoyed. Watching her the way a hawk might a field mouse.
    I may have to devote the next year to seeing you in high color again, Mrs. Joyes.
    He left the property at dawn the next morning, before the household rose. She had listened to his horse on the lane and closed her eyes with a deep sigh of relief. Facing him might have been the smarter move, however, if he had allowed it. They possibly would have laughed about what happened in the greenhouse. He might even have apologized.
    Instead, she had worried about his mood for the next three days. She had grown frantic when no word came on Wednesday about Tuesday’s deliberations. Then this odd letter arrived Friday afternoon.
    The carriage stopped. Daphne pushed open the blinds, angled her head, and looked out. The breadth and height of Castleford’s house would impress anyone. There was nothing reserved, modest, or discreet about the structure. It possessed more exuberant decoration than had ever been fashionable in England and more windows than most manor houses. Its design spoke unapologetically of wealth, privilege, and lack of restraint.
    Of course it did.
    A host of servants in blue, braided, old-fashioned livery waited to serve her. Hose and pumps marched forward. White gloves handed her and Katherine down. Two periwigs beneath tricornered hats escorted them to the door. An impressive butler, decorated in gold buttons and embroidery, took her card, placed it on a silver tray held by a duller version of himself, then immediately led the way up the curving ceremonial staircase beyond the reception hall.
    Katherine paced alongside, wide-eyed, too