What a Duke Dares (Sons of Sin 3)

“I doubt it.” Her lips twisted in wry denial. “The consensus in the county was that I was too headstrong for my own good. I can’t imagine that the London beaux would have differed.” She paused before he could protest. “I had no idea that I’d wounded your vanity so badly.”

He shrugged, resenting the effort it took to speak lightly. “I daresay the experience was good for my soul.”

Her expression didn’t ease. “I’m sorry, Cam.”

“You’re not sorry you said no.” He should drop this subject. Harping upon her refusal smacked of injured pride.

“It’s a long time ago,” she said softly. That was something new in her. The Pen he’d known would have met that incendiary remark head on. She bent to her soup again and ate with more relish.

“Will you fight me on returning to England?” he asked once she’d emptied the bowl.

He was pleased that she didn’t look nearly so defeated. He hated to see her proud spirit cowed. “Do you want me to?”

He frowned. “However my high-handedness annoys you, I gave Peter my word that I’d take you back.”

“Peter wasn’t my keeper.”

Although you need one. “Perhaps not, but he loved you and wanted to see you settled.”

The bitter laugh reminded him of the day he’d proposed. “With a husband and children, no doubt.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Cam asked sharply.

“It would be wrong for me. I’ll never marry.”

She sounded so certain. And why shouldn’t she? She’d established a life she liked, doing exactly what she liked with whom she liked. He’d almost applaud her audacity. Except that illogically, her impudence made him want to punch something. Preferably one of her damned cicisbei.

She cast him an assessing glance. “I’m well past my majority and as I have neither husband nor father to compel me, I’m a free agent.”

He kept his voice even. “I intend to honor my promise.”

The dangerous glint in her black eyes was familiar. “By hitting me over the head and tying me up?”

“If necessary,” he said in a hard voice. Although God knows what he’d do if she refused to cooperate.

Her body sagged and he saw again the grief-stricken girl who had come into the kitchen. “It won’t be necessary.”

A mixture of surprise and pity made him set his glass down so roughly that wine sloshed onto the pine table. “What the hell?”

Faint amusement curved her lips. Those damnably kissable lips. “You’re easier to tease than you once were, Cam.”

“Why, you—”

She pushed back the rickety wooden chair and stood. In spite of her smile, sorrow dulled her eyes. “Peter and I were meeting in Paris to discuss Aunt Isabel’s will. He was to be my legal representative in London. Now I must represent myself. You have my word I’m going home. But if we travel together, people will gossip.”

Even before meeting this disturbingly attractive version of Penelope Thorne, he’d devised a strategy. “We’ll avoid the cities until we reach my yacht at Genoa.”

“Genoa? That means retracing my steps.”

“Be damned if I’m crossing the Alps in February, Pen. We’re heading south.”

“I can head south on my own.”

He was tempted to agree, if only to escape this attraction that had him counting her every breath. Some corner of his mind kept exclaiming in astonishment, But this is Pen Thorne! With her untidy plaits and her muddy dresses and her skinned knees. How can Pen Thorne throw me into such a lather? “You’ll run into trouble. You were careless to set off with only that spineless coachman as escort.”

Her eyes turned to black ice. “I don’t owe you excuses or explanations.” She turned to go. “I wish you good evening, Your Grace.”

He surged to his feet. “Wait.”