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“To be honest,” Marina confessed, speaking loudly enough for the women around her to hear, “I am beginning to wonder whether I have made a terrible mistake.”

Her mother turned toward her, the pride in her face faltering when she saw the worry in Marina’s eyes. Her sisters exchanged glances.

“Nonsense, my child,” Lady Dashwood soothed. “People have been eager to visit this estate for years. You have simply given them an excuse.”

Sophia laughed, her eyes sparkling as she leaned against the railing. “Mother is right, Marina. Half the guests will probably spend the evening trying to discover whether the infamous Duke of Griffin truly has horns.”

“And the other half,” Harper added with playful seriousness, “will be far too busy staring at you to remember why they came.”

Marina chuckled. Her mother stepped closer and gently touched her arm.

“My darling, look at yourself,” her mother said tenderly. “You are beautiful tonight. You have nothing to fear.”

Marina had almost failed to recognize herself when she’d glanced in the looking glass earlier. Harper’s maid had worked her magic. Her hair had been styled elegantly, with soft curls falling over her face. Tiny pearls adorned the dark strands. The necklace shimmered under the candlelight whenever she moved, while matching earrings delicately caressed her neck.

She looked like a duchess. More dangerously, she looked like Ambrose’s duchess. She swallowed at the thought.

Ernest joined them briefly.

“Your Grace, the carriages are arriving!”

And there it was. People. One carriage after another wheeled through the estate gates, their lanterns illuminating the winter darkness, with several footmen moving alongside the vehicles. More guests appeared; the Duke of Griffin’s Christmas ball was not an invitation to be refused.

“They have truly come!” Marina breathed.

She turned toward her family, her face lighting with joy.

“Look, Harper. Sophia. Mother!”

She seized her mother’s hands and pressed a quick kiss to them before hurrying back to the window, her younger sister following eagerly.

“This is lovely,” Sophia stated, watching the carriages through the frosted windows.

The Duchess of Netherton moved gracefully, one arm looped around their mother’s. She chuckled. “It is more than lovely! The evening will be amazing.”

By the time Marina reached the grand entrance, the footmen were pulling open the enormous doors, and the heavy movement echoed through the hall.

“Smile,” she whispered to herself, trying to steady her nerves. “You are the Duchess of Griffin.”

She let out another breath, then felt a familiar warmth at her bare shoulder. Then came his scent: cedar, dark, with something richer beneath. It made her heart race.

“You look exquisite tonight. Every man here will notice. And I will have to remind them you are my wife,” Ambrose said as he stepped beside her. She turned.

“You are here.”

“Of course, I am. I cannot very well let you do all of this alone. What sort of husband would I be?”

The words warmed her through.

His mouth hovered so close that she could almost feel his lips against her neck. Those gorgeous green eyes remained fixed upon hers with that infuriating confidence of a man who knew precisely what he was doing to her.

He was devastating. His dark hat shadowed his handsome features, and the rest of him was dressed in the same unnerving black. He looked like a polished gentleman and at the same time like a man who ought not to be approached after midnight.

Ambrose straightened to his full height, forcing her to tilt her chin slightly higher to meet his gaze. His mouth curved almost imperceptibly as he looked down at her.

“Merry Christmas, Your Grace,” he murmured.

She blinked twice before quickly dropping into a curtsy. “Me-Merry Christmas, Your Grace,” she returned breathlessly, then cleared her throat and recovered enough dignity to add with dry sarcasm, “You truly can never resist sneaking up on people, can you?”