“And as you can probably tell,” Isolde said with smile for their guests, “I’ve lost the argument.”

“You can win the next one,” Oz cheerfully offered, returning with the drinks expertly balanced on his large palms. “I understand congratulations are in order.” He offered Fitz a drink, set his aside, and handed champagne to the ladies. “When is the blessed event?”

The duchess blushed and the duke took her hand. “May we’re told,” Fitz said. “Apparently, the timing of these matters isn’t always certain.”

The duchess added, “We’re both complete tyros as well.” Isolde was surprised to experience a small lurch of jealousy, outrageous of course and instantly dismissed. “How pleased you must be. Is this your first?”

“Yes. And I’m more delighted than most expectant mothers because I never thought I could have children,” Rosalind said, squeezing her husband’s hand. “It’s a miracle of sorts.”

“My wife was a widow when I met her,” Groveland explained.

“And my husband was a confirmed bachelor, so you and I have something in common,” Rosalind teasingly remarked, smiling at Isolde. “We both astonished the ton by successfully luring these men into marriage when so many before us had failed.”

“We must be two very clever women,” Isolde playfully observed, responding to the duchess’s levity.

“Or perhaps we’re two remarkably clever men,” Oz countered gallantly.

“I’ll drink to that.” Fitz raised his glass.

“I’ll drink to anything tonight,” Oz said, lifting his glass to Fitz.

The men drained their brandies, the ladies exchanged conspiratorial glances, and Oz rose to refill their glasses. “The champagne’s not to your liking?” He nodded at the women’s untouched drinks. “Josef can bring something else if you wish.”

“My stomach is uncertain at this stage,” Rosalind said in demur.

“I don’t dare drink too much or I might be excessively rude to someone,” Isolde declared.

Oz glanced at Fitz as he walked away. “Then it’s up to us to maintain the family honor.”

Groveland laughed. “Never a hardship, especially at times like this. How many curious guests are you expecting?”

“Two hundred.”

Isolde gasped. “You never told me.”

Oz turned from the liquor table. “I didn’t dare. You scream.”

“I certainly do not.”

“I’m sure you have good reason,” the duchess sweetly observed. “And disregard Fitz’s rudeness. We’re pleased to be here. As for these men, I’m sure they need someone to scream at them from time to time. They’re much too familiar with male privilege.” While Rosalind had never met Oz, Fitz had mentioned they were good friends and she knew what that meant for men of their repute. Or in her husband’s case, his previous repute.

Isolde couldn’t help but smile at Rosalind’s pithy viewpoint. “I’m afraid my husband has an excessive need for authority,” she mockingly lamented.

“Mine as well,” Rosalind agreed with playful forbearance.

“You forget I’ve promised to be on my best behavior tonight,” Oz pointed out, returning with two very full glasses. With the blood sport about to begin, he needed a bracing tonic.

Isolde grinned. “Rest assured, I shan’t forget.”

Oz rolled his eyes. “As soon as you marry them, they start giving orders.”

“And yet the trade-offs are exceedingly pleasant,” Fitz said with a lift of his brows.

“Agreed.” Oz smiled, Isolde blushed, and a sudden silence fell. “Speaking of trade-offs, two or three hours in society is my limit. After that everyone can go to hell.”

“If we can help in any way to ward off the obnoxious,” Groveland offered, responding to Oz’s note that had asked him to do just that. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you.” Oz held Fitz’s gaze for a telling moment. “If I’m called away for a moment or two, I’d appreciate you stepping in.”

“We’ll be Isolde’s phalanx against the unruly rabble,” Rosalind submitted. “I’m becoming wider every day, and Fitz can be masterfully rude. His mother tells me he had much too much practice,” she added with a bright smile for her husband.

The duke accepted his wife’s assessments with a beneficence any of his friends would have found incomprehensible short months ago. Groveland had been distinguished for his shameless indifference to his lovers; as for his rudeness, his mother was right. “We’ll protect Isolde, never fear.” He expected Oz was concerned about his former lovers who’d try to lure him away from his wife. “Do you have any cognac?” Fitz asked, rising to his feet.

Oz quickly stood. “Of course.”

As the men strode away, Fitz quietly said, “I wished to mention Compton. You must have heard what he’s saying.”

Oz nodded. “He concerns me. It’s the main reason I’d like you to stay by Isolde’s side if I’m absent. Compton’s creditors are about to become vindictive I understand.”

“Does he harbor expectations even now?”

“So I gather. He claims the marriage is a hoax, which implies that even if Isolde has a child, he remains the legitimate heir.”

“Is he serious?”

“I’m not sure. But with someone like him-” Oz shrugged.

“I know… a cheat and a bounder. It might take more than threats to send him on his way.”

Oz looked up from his pouring. “An excellent idea. I have ships regularly leaving London.”

“Think about it then. If you’re concerned with the niceties”-Fitz raised one brow to discharge the consideration; they were both men of unlimited power-“you might think of it as saving Compton from his creditors. A benevolence as it were. If you recall, he tried to extort money from Topham last year, threatening to inform his wife of the little wench Topham had set up in St. John’s Wood.”

“And?”

“You know Topham’s temper. He paid Compton a visit. In any event, no one would miss the scoundrel.”

“But his mother,” Oz drawled.

The duke smiled. “Maybe she’d enjoy an ocean voyage as well. Beresford spent a year abroad in involuntary exile after the Tranby Croft affair, as have any number of other nobles who’ve unwisely strayed from the path of righteousness,” he sardonically murmured. “And surely Compton is not in the least righteous, nor is his dreadful mother.”

They were both men of enormous wealth who understood the advantages allowed those of great fortune. The world was neither democratic nor fair, nor-sacred opinion aside-did the meek inherit the earth.

Oz dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I’ll let you know how things transpire.”

“Just send me their sailing date. I’ll understand. By the way,” Fitz added with a grin, “those bruises and bites will draw comment. I expect your wife requires protection from leers and snickers on that score as well.”

“If you don’t mind.”

Fitz grinned. “I expect it was worth it.”

Oz grinned back and handed Fitz his drink.

While the men quickly tossed off their cognacs and had another, Rosalind and Isolde conversed with comfortable ease. They were both women who’d lived lives of relative freedom.

“I don’t know if Oz told you,” Rosalind said, “but Fitz and I married as precipitously as you. Against all reasoned practicalities, he managed to sweep me off my feet. I couldn’t say no.”

“I can understand why. He’s not only gorgeous, he obviously dotes on you. Even on short acquaintance that’s evident.”

“Fitz is a sweetheart. Although it seems that Oz was as insistent on marrying you.” She smiled. “Neither man has any regard for convention. They rather do as they like. You hadn’t known Oz long, had you? Fitz didn’t think so,” she added, seeing her question had unsettled Isolde. “Forgive me. I’m sure it’s none of my business.”

“No, really, it shouldn’t matter. I was simply debating whether to present the fiction Oz had promoted at our first appearance in public.

“If it helps, Fitz told me you’re not related.”

Isolde exhaled in relief. “Then I needn’t dissemble. The truth is that we met at Blackwood’s Hotel quite by accident and married the same night.”

“How wonderfully romantic,” Rosalind exclaimed. “Love at first sight-a thing of beauty! I once wrote romances, so I firmly subscribe to the notion. Although Fitz and I rather disliked each other on first meeting.”

“Obviously that changed.”

Her smile was affectionate. “Fitz can be very persuasive.”

“Oz as well,” Isolde softly replied, not altogether sure she wasn’t beginning to care too much for a man whose genius for persuasion was apparently much in demand.

“Your delightful story is safe with me and rest assured with Fitz as well. Fitz and Oz were quite close in their prodigality; two of a kind,” she added with a grin. “Or rather I should say, were two of a kind.”

How to respond when her husband was still the prodigal rake?

“He’ll change with marriage,” Rosalind assured Isolde, as if reading her thoughts. “I had my reservations as well. Who wouldn’t with men like them?”

“You’re happy, I can tell,” Isolde said rather than deal with the brevity of her and Oz’s future.

“Over-the-moon happy. My life had been one of struggle, so I’m grateful beyond words for Fitz’s love.”

Such unalloyed happiness triggered a wretched and utterly useless ache of misery. No happy ending would befall her, Isolde reflected, although salvation from Compton certainly would be the sweetest of triumphs. And at the moment, Oz was everything she could possibly desire. “I’m equally grateful for Oz’s kindness. He’s incredibly benevolent.”

What an odd choice of words, Rosalind reflected. But rather than voice her thoughts, she said, “I’m so pleased for you both. Ah, here come our darling husbands. I miss Fitz dreadfully the minute he walks away. I expect you feel the same way about Oz.”

“Yes, very much.” Simple words, complicated emotions, and no fairy-tale ending in sight.