His Duchess (His and Hers 1)

Taviston sat up straighter. “I am of the opinion the fall was due entirely to an obvious lack of moral character.”

His tone should more than indicate to Victoria that he referred to their kiss. He did not know what possessed him to provoke her like this; he absolutely did not think she was a loose woman.

Watching her blue eyes fog over with indignation, he smiled charmingly. She didn’t appear to be breathing.

After a long pause she drew in a ragged breath and said through clenched teeth, “I was more of the opinion the fall occurred because of the influence and encouragement of opposing forces.”

He caught himself before he started sputtering. He should have known, after their intelligent conversation, that she was more than capable of firing back at him. Outwardly, he glared at her. Inwardly, he congratulated her.

His mother looked back and forth between the two of them. “I had no idea ancient societies could be so stimulating.”

“Indeed.” Taviston grinned at his adversary. “Miss Forster seems to think the Romans did not exercise free will.”

She pressed her shoulders back with confidence, failing to realize that doing so portrayed her breasts even more magnificently. “Certainly they made their own choices, but those opposing forces did not retreat. No, they actively participated in the decline of the Empire.” Her lips curved upward, then flattened, then inevitably tilted up again.

Honesty compelled Taviston to nod with admiration. But enough. He set his cup down on the low table in front of him and rose. “I apologize, ladies, but I must return to my work.”

Pausing before Miss Forster, his body told him to touch her, anywhere, anyhow, no matter how inappropriate, but his mind said otherwise.

Time stretched awkwardly as he stood before her. Finally, she rose as well. He gave in to his bodily instinct and took her hand. She refused to look up at him. With an iron will, he resisted the urge to kiss the back of it, but he did not let go.

His mother cleared her throat. He dropped her hand like a hot coal, bowed and said quickly, “It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Forster.” He nodded at his mother and strode out of the room.

After closing the door behind him, he took a few deep breaths. He turned to go back to his study, but two things caught his eye. The rain still pounded on the windowpanes and Timothy the footman sat in the foyer. Why wasn’t he waiting in the carriage? Taviston headed down the stairs.

“Timothy.”

“Oh.” The young man jumped to his feet. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Where is Miss Forster’s carriage?’

“She isn’t allowed to use the family carriage, Your Grace. We walked here.” Timothy looked everywhere but at Taviston.

“You walked in this weather?” Anger flashed through him. The Brownes were utterly petty and selfish.

“Yes.”

“Halston!” Taviston wasn’t surprised to see Halston appear instantaneously.

“How may I help, sir?”

“Order up the carriage. See that Miss Forster is conveyed home.”

He didn’t wait for a reply from Halston. His order would be followed. Crossing the foyer, he pushed open the door to the morning room.

He sank into a chair. It was chilly in the room; there was no fire going. He could do with some frostiness. Why were the Brownes so cruel to their ward? She was a very close relation, a cousin. There was no reason for it that he could see. In reality, he had no idea how Barrett Browne treated her, though it seemed as if he ignored her. But Louisa. Yes, Louisa was quite the shrew. She had always annoyed him, but now he was developing a healthy dislike of her.

Miss Forster had taken care with her appearance for her call upon his mother. Her hair had been braided and wound around her head. Despite her apparent sojourn in the rain, not a strand had fallen out of place. Her gown was a beautiful blue and had fit her perfectly, unlike some of her previous eveningwear.

He couldn’t help but smile as he thought back to the scene in the drawi

ng room. She had been acutely embarrassed when he had first entered, but had soon got over it. She had passion, that one. As if he didn’t know that from the previous evening. His smile disappeared as his groin tightened at the memory.

He had always been in control of his bodily desires and the words coming out of his mouth. Not so in the presence of Miss Victoria Forster. It was a humbling thought that she could bring him down. Which was why he would avoid her, henceforth.

Thus decided, he picked up the newspaper from the table beside him. Except it wasn’t a newspaper at all, but that rag Hither and Yon. He was surprised his mother allowed it in the house. Centered on the front side was a sketch of Lady Maplethorpe and Thomas Pemberton, both well-rendered. There had already been rumors wafting around that the two were embroiled in an affair. This illustration—he looked closer at the accompanying article—claimed to depict a scene from the Wallingfords’ rout, with Pemberton’s hand dangerously near the lady’s backside. Hmm. He’d been in attendance that evening, and he remembered the pair wearing the exact clothes shown in the picture. Accurate and well-drawn. What kind of talented spy was the publisher of Hither and Yon employing?

Voices in the hall jerked him back to the present. It would be Halston informing their guest she was to be escorted home in the Taviston carriage. Taviston hoped her pride would not overshadow her common sense and make her refuse.