In Bed with the Duke

He plucked at some strands of grass. Tossed them into the stream and watched them float downstream.

‘I have shown him scant sympathy whenever he comes to me with his troubles. The last time I refused to bail him out of his difficulties he accused me of having a mind like a ledger. Of not understanding what ordinary people have to go through. And he was right. I did regard him as nothing more than a financial drain. And an intolerable nuisance.’

‘Yes, but you wouldn’t have gone out of your way to destroy him, would you? You’re not that kind of man.’

He reached out and touched her arm, just briefly, as though her declaration of faith in him had meant something to him.

‘I didn’t think my aunt was that kind of person, either. But her husband...’ She shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past him. As soon as they married there stopped being any money for the things I’d taken for granted before. It started with fewer trips to the dressmaker. When I questioned him he accused me of vanity. And since I already thought he was a terribly pious and unpleasant sort of man I just thought he was trying to improve me. But then there were things like... Oh, he wouldn’t let me have a fire in my room unless it was actually snowing outside. That sort of thing. And I’m sure there isn’t anywhere in the Bible that says you have to go cold to prove how virtuous you are.’

He drew in a sharp breath. ‘It is possible that he has squandered your inheritance—have you thought of that? And this is his attempt to cover it up?’

She thought for a bit. Then shook her head. ‘If it is, he’s gone a very strange way about covering anything up. Surely my disappearance will eventually cause no end of talk? Especially since it looks as though they mean to explain it away by accusing me of improper conduct,’ she finished bitterly.

‘And me,’ he growled. ‘If anyone asks where you have gone, they will drag my name into it.’

‘I don’t see how they can. They don’t know it,’ she pointed out.

‘I will know it,’ he growled. ‘I will know that somewhere people are accusing me of...debauching an innocent. Well, your aunt and uncle picked the wrong man to play the villain of the piece. I won’t let them get away with it.’

‘Good,’ she said, turning to gaze up at him. ‘Because you are not a villain. Not at all.’

He might look like one, with his bruised face, his harsh expression, and his dishevelled and muddied clothing. But she knew how he’d come by the mud, and the bruises. At the time he’d told her about his adventure in the mill she’d half suspected he might have made some of it up, to try and impress her. But that was before he’d rescued her from those drunken bucks simply by looking at them with that murderous gleam in his eyes. Before he’d carried her to this stream just so she could soothe her feet in its ice-cold water. And had listened to her as though her opinions had merit.

‘So far as I’m concerned,’ she said, reaching up to touch the deep groove between his brows, ‘they picked the right man.’

‘What?’ His eyes, which had been glaring off into the distance as though he was plotting a fitting revenge on her guardians, focussed on her in bewilderment.

‘I know that you will put all to rights, somehow—won’t you?’ For that was what he did. ‘Or at least you will do your very best.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’ He fidgeted and turned his head away.

‘Because that is the kind of man you are. Completely upright.’ And not in the way the male members of Stoketown Chapel were upright. Not one of them would break into a warehouse at dead of night to steal a set of false ledgers in order to uncover a fraud. They’d be too scared of what other people would think of their actions.

She might have been mistaken, because it was growing too dark now to see clearly, but she rather thought her last comment might have caused him to blush.

‘Time to turn in for the night,’ he said gruffly. Then bent to put his arms around her and got to his feet.

Just as before, the ease with which he carried her filled her with admiration. Admiration spiced with a series of totally feminine responses. Because this time he was carrying her to a bed they were going to be sharing.

As though he shared the tenor of her thoughts, he came to a complete halt just before entering the barn and stared into the gloom at the far end. Where they were about to make a bed in the pile of hay.

‘This is going to be damned awkward,’ he grated, before turning sideways to slide through the drunken excuse for a barn door.