Your error in judgment.

She hated the words, the tacit agreement that she had, in fact, shamed herself. That she would never be able to move beyond it. She didn’t want to believe it, even if it rang true. After all, even if she did marry, Society would never accept her. And they certainly wouldn’t accept a man willing to have her. No matter the funds.

Once again, a man fortified her scandal. The fact that her once-absent guardian did it with too-noble intentions mattered not a bit.

If only he would see that.

It was not the only thing he would never see, she vowed in the darkness. He would never see the tears that dampened her pillow long into the night as the darkness cloaked her in regret.

She didn’t think of the house at all until she woke, eyes on stalks, exhausted from her fitful night, to discover that the housekeeper had risen much earlier and removed myriad coverings to reveal a domicile filled with dogs.

There were more dogs than she could imagine—paintings and statues and tapestries of hounds, gilded dogs threaded into the silk wall coverings, ornate sheepdogs carved into the wooden baseboards, dogs sitting watch on either side of the front door to the town house, and elaborate spaniels wrought into the wall sconces.

Lily slowed her descent on the stairs, taking in the madness of the decor, coming to the bottom step and letting her fingers trace the intricate curves of the mahogany bulldog’s head at the start of the banister. This figure was perhaps the most unsettling of all—mouth open, teeth sharp, even a little tongue threatening to loll.

Eyes wide, she turned in a slow circle, considering the sheer quantities of hounds and decided that it was very possible that she had made a mistake in choosing number 38 Grosvenor Square to hide from the duke.

And then she heard his voice, coming from the back of the house, and she was certain of it. As she had resolved to hide from Alec Stuart for as long as possible, however, Lily headed for the exit.

Another of the ducal holdings would have to do.

“We only heard last night that you were opening the house, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said in a high pitch. “We’ve done as much as we can to prepare, but we will need to add staff.” She paused, then quickly added, “Or, if you plan to take residence here, we can summon staff from Berkeley Square.”

Lily had seconds to make her escape.

“Oh! Miss Hargrove! Good morning!” called Mrs. Thrushwill.

She froze halfway to the door.

“Going somewhere, lass?”

She blushed, turning, captured by Alec’s brown gaze and those perfect lips, one side raised in arrogant amusement. Pasting a bright smile on her face, she said, “I was going to take a walk in the square.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Good morning, Mrs. Thrushwill.”

The older woman returned the smile. “I trust the room was comfortable?”

“Quite,” Lily said.

Mrs. Thrushwill looked to the duke. “We shall air another room for you promptly, Your Grace.”

What? No. “He’s not staying.”

“Oh,” the housekeeper replied, obviously crestfallen. “I thought—”

“I am staying, in fact,” said the duke. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” the housekeeper said once more. “Of course. Of course.” And then she dropped a curtsy and hurried off, no doubt to tell all the world about the kind, gracious, handsome duke.

Not handsome.

Giants were not handsome. Certainly not giants who were attempting to ruin Lily’s life.

“Your eye is turning colors,” she said. “Purple. And yellow.”

“A walk?” he prompted.

In for a penny, in for a pound. “I quite enjoy nature.”

“Nature.”

She nodded. “Quite.”

“Grosvenor Square is not nature.”

“It is green, is it not? There are trees.”

“It’s surrounded on all sides by fence and buildings.”

“If you think about it, all of nature is surrounded by buildings,” she pointed out. “Perhaps you are simply incorrectly identifying the boundaries.”

He was unable to concoct an exasperated answer as, in that exact moment, he seemed to realize that the house was decorated in canine glory. “What in . . .” He trailed off, his gaze falling to a particularly garish portrait of a greyhound on one wall. In it, the dog lay in impressive repose, long, spindly legs tangled together, long, sleek head on a red satin pillow, “Is that a crown?”

Lily approached the portrait to investigate the headwear and considered the title, embossed into the gilded frame beneath. “The Jewel in the Crown,” she read aloud. “Do you think the dog is named Jewel?”

“I think the dog is being mistreated abominably.”

She turned back to him. “Perhaps Angus and Hardy would like crowns.”

He looked scandalized by the very idea. “This house is hideous.”

“I quite like it,” she said. “It feels like a home.” There was something valuable in that, dogs or no.

“I thought you did not like dogs.”

“I thought you did like them, Your Grace.”

He ignored the taunt. “We are not taking up residence here.”

“You are correct. We are doing no such thing. I have ceded Berkeley Square to you. With pleasure. I find I prefer houses with working doors.”

“You fled.”

“It was not fleeing.”

“Not very skilled fleeing, as here we are,” he said. “Settlesworth sends his regards, by the way.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Settlesworth is a traitor.”

“Settlesworth is attempting to save his position, and was happy to be able to provide me with information of import.”

“Now my location is of import?”

She thought she heard him sigh before he said, “Of course it is.”

“Ah, right,” she snapped, not wanting to believe he meant well. “Because it is best you know the location of your problems.”

“You cannot escape me,” he said. “So, why not work with me? We could get the situation rectified and I can return to Scotland. I know we’d both like that.”

“As lovely as that bit sounds, your scenario results in my marrying a man I do not know.”

“I told you, you may choose any man you like. I’ve no intention of standing in your way.”