Much Ado About Dukes

That wince? It spoke volumes. For he had transformed, for an instant, from arrogant duke to horrified human. And then just as quickly, he was again the all-powerful, Herculean duke.

“Oh dear,” she whispered, lowering her gaze as she made a startling realization.

“What?” he asked, the timbre of his voice deep.

This was not at all what she thought would occur. She was tempted to kick a rock, if there were one here to kick, because apparently, she had misjudged him. Not entirely, but certainly to a degree. “You are not against women.”

“No,” he replied, shocked by her words. “Not at all.”

“Have you read The Declaration of the Rights of Woman?”

“Of course I have,” he replied as if it was the gravest insult she could give to ask such a thing. “Do I look like a fool?”

She was silent. He did not. She did not think he could ever be a fool.

“Don’t reply,” he said. “I did not mean to give you such good fodder to feed upon.”

“Fear not, Your Grace,” she assured, feeling merry for the first time in several minutes. She couldn’t help herself. He’d so thoroughly handed her a weapon against himself. “I never take up such easy stuff.”

He nodded. “Noted. Very noble.”

What the blazes was happening?

Where was the battle?

Surely, he would tell her to go to the devil at any moment? That he did not wish to hear the tiring tales of ladies who bemoaned their fates?

“Lady Beatrice,” he began, “you and I are almost certainly going to be related and very soon, but I do not think we should be at odds. It is not good for my brother or for your cousin.”

She hesitated. “I agree, but where does that leave us?”

“You clearly do not need to like me.” He paused, then inclined his head. “We must be pleasant with each other in company.”

“Must we?” She did not do pleasant particularly well. Niceties were her nemesis.

“We must, to come to terms,” he affirmed in a tone that brooked no argument.

She sighed inwardly. He really was used to getting his way.

“Terms,” she stated. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“Yes.” He locked gazes with her for a moment, then turned her under his arm. “Despite what you seem to have concluded, I do not find you or your cause unimportant.”

“Oh?” she queried, her breath catching in her throat at his artful maneuvering of her person.

“The rights of women—of all people—is an important thing. It’s why I’m a firm supporter of the Clapham Sect and their pursuits of abolition. Something you have clearly not heard about me, though you know my reputation. Society does prefer salacious gossip to quiet actions,” he said firmly and without jest as he waltzed with ease. “But unfortunately, most of the men in this country do not agree with our shared idea.”

She scowled, though she did not miss the words our shared idea. Did he truly mean that? She knew about the Clapham Sect and admired them greatly. She’d read all of Olaudah Equiano’s writings and even once had the remarkable fortune of hearing the freed man speak.

“That doesn’t make it right,” she replied.

“Of course it does not,” he agreed with alacrity. And then he hesitated as if he was about to say something he knew she would not like. “But one must proceed with caution.”

“Caution,” she mocked, her earlier anger at him returning. “Caution never got—”

“Lack of caution gets one dead, Lady Beatrice.”

She clamped her jaw shut. She could not deny that.