Least Likely to Marry a Duke (Liberated Ladies)

‘You consider a dukedom to be a ghastly burden?’

‘Surely it must be?’ It was incredible how those eyes of hers changed with her mood. Now they were thoughtful, a little puzzled. She was thinking and he felt as though that fierce stare had turned inwards as she puzzled over his answer.

‘Certainly not. It is what I was born to. It is a privilege.’

The brown gaze became sceptical and her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. ‘Is it not exhausting, having to be perfect all the time in order to earn that privilege? Are the expectations of your family, your dependents, your tenants, never wearisome? Do you never wish you could simply be William Calthorpe, Esquire, an ordinary gentleman of moderate means who might live where he pleases, do as he wishes?’

‘The thought has never occurred to me,’ Will said firmly and truthfully. ‘Very well, I will not attempt to swim. Now, let us get off this beach. You should shelter in the hut and I will see if there is some spot on the headland nearest the grounds where I can make some kind of signal.’

Verity turned obediently enough. Having got her way, presumably she was prepared to be more biddable. But that small concession to obedience did not appear to include minding her tongue. ‘What exactly am I sheltering from?’ she enquired sweetly. ‘The weather is fine and warm, and the incidence of dangerous wildlife or marauding pirates appears to be low.’

‘You have misplaced your hat,’ Will poin

ted out, refusing to deal with her flights of fancy which were expressly designed to irritate him, he was sure. She shrugged and made a dismissive gesture towards the tangled undergrowth where it had presumably been ripped from her head in their mad scramble to reach the shore. ‘Do you not wish to preserve your complexion?’ he asked.

‘Not at the cost of being stuck in a stuffy little hovel for hours. I will come with you.’

‘Miss Wingate—’ No gentleman would lay a finger on a lady, let alone raise his voice to one. He was a gentleman, so why did he have the most appalling urge to shout at Verity Wingate, say far worse things than he had already that day? Why did he want to shake her until she ceased to provoke him? And why did the thought of having his hands on those slim shoulders, pulling her close to him, produce a reaction that made him turn from her abruptly and stalk away towards the little cottage? At least with his back turned she would not notice the physical effect she was having on him.

Her feet crunched on the shingle, then the snap of a twig told him that she was following close behind.

Obedience and no argument for once—how refreshing.

‘Call me Verity,’ she said crisply. ‘And I will call you Will. We are going to be stuck on this rock for hours—and not exactly in harmony either—and I am not going to be Your Gracing you the entire time.’

‘Miss W—’

‘We are not within hearing of the Court Chamberlain or a single Patroness of Almack’s, let alone any member of the College of Arms. I believe we may use first names without provoking a scandal.’ She paused and Will almost turned around to ask why she hesitated. ‘Or, at least, not more of one than we already find ourselves with.’

He saw her sun hat, a frivolous disc of straw with floating yellow ribbons, hanging forlornly from a thorn bush and reached out for it. ‘Here. The crown appears to have a hole in it, unfortunately.’

Verity took it, sighed audibly at the state of the thing, and jammed it back on her head. A tuft of glossy brown hair poked through the damaged part.

‘There will not be a scandal,’ Will said, resisting the urge to tie the ribbons in a large bow under her chin and tickle her neck while he was at it. ‘No one but my family and yours are present. I will manage this so that your good name is not compromised.’

Not that the absence of scandal was going to save him unless they were rescued very quickly indeed. She had fallen silent again, so presumably she had not realised that, scandal or no, they were not going to escape the consequences of this. A single gentleman, stranded with a young lady in a remote spot where the only shelter was a hut containing a bed, could expect only one demand from her father.

That was right and proper, of course, even if it was damnably awkward. At least the children like her, Will thought. And the sobering thought of an irate bishop—did they wield croziers instead of shotguns when herding sons-in-law to the altar?—had killed the last trace of that inconvenient arousal just then. But marriage to this argumentative creature?

‘There, I knew you would be sensible about it once you recovered from the shock and stopped trying to be noble about it,’ Miss—Verity said with an air of satisfaction that had him wanting to shake her all over again. And then...

‘Here is the hut,’ Will said, quite unnecessarily as they were standing right in front of it. He wondered if he could build a raft. If he had an axe and some strong twine... And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. There was the door of the hut, of course. Would that float? He opened it and examined the hinges.

‘Don’t you dare think about it, Will,’ Verity said firmly as he measured the thickness with finger and thumb. She appeared to be able to read minds. ‘That is only one degree less dangerous than trying to swim across.’

‘Does nothing ever ruffle your calm, Verity? Or do you insist on producing sensible advice under all circumstances?’ he demanded, irritation suddenly overcoming the tattered remnants of good manners.

‘Would you rather something did ruffle me?’ She paused, one hand on the door frame, arrested in the act of tossing her wrecked hat inside, and smiled at him. It was not reassuring. ‘I have no intention of not being sensible, or of pretending to be less intelligent than I am, even if you would prefer me to produce some tears and flutter my handkerchief. I have no idea how to have a fit of the vapours, if that is what you are expecting, Will.’

It might be easier if she did succumb to nerves, he admitted to himself. Then he could rely on his own judgement without having to give due consideration to her, undoubtedly reasonable, objections. That smile—genuine, amused, warm. He had no idea she could smile like that. And his name on her lips.

Will moved closer without consciously thinking why he was doing it. Would you rather something did ruffle me? she had asked.

‘I expect you know what to do with tearful young ladies who cast themselves upon your manly bosom. Does it happen very often?’ Verity teased.

When had been the last time someone had teased him? Male friends, of course, but not like this, certainly never with that smile that asked him to laugh with her at the joke. But it was not amusement he felt. The desire came flooding back as their gazes locked and her eyes widened with something that was not fear or apprehension but, perhaps, surprise and curiosity. Or arousal?

How had he come to be so close to her? Close enough to see that the brown of her eyes held darker flecks and a thin fringe of gold rimmed the irises. ‘I have never had that experience,’ he heard himself say, his voice husky. ‘It is one I find strangely appealing.’