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his father’s disgraces , so hideous people still spoke of them after nearly twenty years , he and his family could ill afford to have tongues wagging in their direction again.
     Aunt Caroline had barely survived the humiliation the first time, and Gavin was determined
     to protect them all.
    “Do nothing now except to cease worrying,” he advised his aunt, rising to his feet.
     “Let me think on this. I shall devise something.”
    * * * *
    Kira entered the breakfast room the next morning so early, she expected to find it
     empty. Such was not the case.
    The Duke of Cropthorne sat at the head of the table, alone, scanning a series of documents
     with ruthless efficiency, jotting a note here and there as he deemed necessary. In
     his left hand, he held a cup of coffee. At his right elbow, sat a plate of untouched
     eggs. With his dark hair brushed away from his face and his profile strong as chiseled
     stone, he looked handsome indeed, like the kind of man she might have once pined for—before
     Lord Vance had taught her better.
    As Kira reached the threshold, he glanced up. He did not look away.
    She swallowed nervously, then chided herself. He did not like her, nor did her intended’s
     mother; they had both made that clear without a word. Mrs. Howland she might be able
     to coax with time, assure the woman that her new daughter-in-law was neither a strumpet
     nor an infidel. Cropthorne, however, seemed like an unyielding sort , probably far more challenging to win over.
    But James thought a great deal of him, so she must be civil for both her fiancé and
     family harmony.
    “Good morning, your grace.” She smiled. “I apologize if I’ve interrupted you. I thought
     for certain I would be the only one up this early.”
    “I rise early every morning.”
    Hesitating in the doorway, Kira noticed Cropthorne had neither assured her she wasn’t
     interrupting nor invited her to the table with him.
    “Do you enjoy early mornings, as I do?” she inquired. “I find them refreshing.”
    “I find them convenient. One can accomplish more work if he starts before noon.”
    “Indeed,” she murmured, hardly knowing what else to say. To her, early mornings were
     serene. They were fresh and full of promise. Cropthorne found them convenient for
     working. While Kira supposed that was true, she thought his attitude rather dreary.
    “You may sit,” he said finally… reluctantly, as he began stacking his papers.
    “Please don’t let me interrupt you. I am most happy to have some tea and a scone in
     silence.” Kira made her way to the sideboard and the food waiting there.
    “As it happens, this morning I must be off to London for a few days. Business calls.
     So you may eat in silence as you please.”
    Brusque was a polite way to describe the duke, she decided, and she set a scone on
     her plate. Oh, she supposed one of his rank was accustomed to treating his inferiors
     with a hearty dose of condescension. The truth was, Gavin Daggett seemed arrogant.
    Still, Cropthorne had sway over gentle-hearted James, perhaps could even coerce her
     intended into crying off. The duke was not a man she could afford to displease, not
     if she wanted to wed James, quiet her scandal with Lord Vance, and find a place to
     call home.
    “Have a safe journey,” Kira said in her most pleasant voice as she sat at the table
     with her small meal.
    He gave an incline of his head—he did not deign to speak to her—and began to leave
     the room. But as he neared her chair, he paused.
    “I’m given to understand you are the Earl of Westland’s niece.”
    Kira paused, the teacup halfway between the saucer and her mouth. She cast a cautious
     gaze in his direction, only to find his face all but unreadable, except for the hint
     of disdain , and curiosity , in his eyes.
    Likely, he had already heard of her scandal. And now he had discovered her heritage.
     His disapproval of her ran deeper than yesterday; his stare made that clear.