His Duchess (His and Hers 1)

Victoria slipped her hand into the dangling inside pocket of her dress and withdrew a coin. It wasn’t much, but Lizzy deserved it. The girl bobbed a curtsy as Victoria headed once more into milieu.

She stood on the edge of the room, trying to plan her next move. She’d have a much better chance of landing a husband if Louisa weren’t present. However, she must play with the hand she’d been dealt.

“Miss Forster, is it?”

Startled, Victoria looked up to see a youngish man, blond hair swept forward a la Byron, grinning down at her. She did not know him.

“I am, and who might you be?” A prince from a far-off land? A suitor who had fallen in love with her from across the room? Wishful thinking.

“Henry Woodard, at your service.”

He swept her an elegant bow that was not at all appropriate for her lowly station. Victoria’s neck tingled in apprehension, but she curtsied anyway.

Mr. Woodard stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I hear you are looking for a man.”

“I beg your pardon?” She kept her voice neutral, unwilling to scare off this random man without knowing what he wanted. These were desperate times indeed.

“Rumor going around the card room,” he said with a roguish smile. “In need of a husband, are you?”

She was, but his tone indicated they each understood “need” to mean different things. He dipped his head low and she caught a whiff of alcohol-laced punch.

“I don’t particularly care whose bastard you’ve got hiding in there?

?? —he gestured toward her abdomen— “as long as you’ve got a large dowry sitting in the bank.”

She would not dignify that with a response. Victoria slithered along the wall until she could escape—yet again—into the crowd. This time, thank to Lizzy, she could move quickly and so disappeared before the odious Mr. Woodward could even stand up straight. Eventually, she wound up in a corner of the room where a number of chairs were set in rows. Most of them were occupied by older women who probably tired easily. Victoria had never been more grateful for a gift. She lowered herself into a seat between two of them, secure in the knowledge that no more rogues would approach her with outrageous propositions. She could only imagine what Louisa’s response would be if she heard these rumors. She spent the rest of the evening observing the interactions of those around her and regretting her lack of a dowry.

Well, it wasn’t so much that she didn’t have a dowry. It was that the sum was a paltry one hundred pounds. She’d secretly hoped Mr. Browne would add to that total, in order to expedite a marriage proposal. But alas, so far, he had not.

When Louisa finally came to collect her after midnight, Victoria said goodbye to her new friend, Lady Smitherton, who had sat to her right. Once in the carriage, to her utter relief, Louisa tipped her head back against the cushion and closed her eyes. Not a word was said about rumors.

Thank goodness for small favors.

Chapter Two

“Miss! Miss! See here, whatever are you doing out alone at this time of night?”

Lost in the recollection of her observations at the rout, Victoria slowly turned her gaze to the man whose voice had shattered her tranquility. The fresh night air was just what she needed to plan out her sketches. Apparently, someone thought otherwise. The man’s long stride ate up the pavement of Grosvenor Square as he approached her, greatcoat flying behind him as if he were a bat on the attack. He drew to a halt directly in front of her. Her pet, Arthur, abandoned the worm he’d been inspecting and ambled over to sniff the intruder’s boots.

The man’s harangue grew harsher. “Why are you out so late? Do you know what time it is? You—”

“Approximately a quarter past two.”

At her interruption, his jaw slackened, leaving his mouth hanging open in astonishment. The lapse was momentary as he firmed his jaw and continued his tirade. “Have you any idea how dangerous it is to be abroad so late? There are all manner of scoundrels and footpads running about.” He glanced down. “You are walking your dog?”

His deep voice might be a marvel for the ears but the condescension coating his tongue ruined the effect.

“Meow,” Arthur chimed in.

“That’s a cat?”

Victoria had been looking down at Arthur and now her gaze rose up, way up, to the stranger’s face. He looked puzzled and suspicious all at the same time. But oh my, what a spectacular face. His hat concealed the color of his hair and the meager ethereal glow of light from the gas lamp prevented her from discerning the color of his eyes, but the set of his features were worthy of notice nonetheless. Definitely worthy of sketching. His jaw, which had been much in motion ever since his approach, was clearly defined, his nose aristocratically straight and, despite his grim expression, his lips looked warm and sensual.

She had been silent for too long, allowing Arthur to fill the void. “Well, he’s either a cat or I have very cleverly trained my dog to meow.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as her sarcasm assaulted him. “Which further begs the unnatural question, what on earth are you doing out here alone, walking your cat, of all things?”

Handsome face or not, Victoria didn’t like his imperious tone, as if he had any right to question her, a perfect stranger. She’d had enough of strange men approaching her this evening, thank you very much. However, she did not wish to argue with an undoubtedly inebriated man in the middle of Grosvenor Square.