The Duke Can Go to the Devil (3 page)

“I should think not,” William replied firmly, refusing to be drawn in by his friend's ribbing. He was well aware that many of his peers felt him too conservative by half, and took great pleasure in teasing or even mocking his rigid ways. He cared not a single iota. He took his title and his standing in society exceptionally seriously, and he would not see it tarnished under his watch. When it came to those he associated with, he preferred those with reserved intelligence and a respect for the natural order of things. As far as he was concerned, Miss
Bradford's performance was indicative of a lack of appreciation for the English way.

Dering relaxed against the chair back and smiled. “You are definitely missing out, my friend, but such is your prerogative. I imagine many here would breathe a sigh of relief to know of your disinterest.”

The trio curtsied as one, and from his elevated vantage point, William was treated to a delectable view of Miss Bradford's décolleté. Against his will, his body took notice. Turning away from the display, he shot his friend an appraising glance. “Are you to be included in the count?”

Dering gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. “I think Miss Bradford and I are very well suited for friendship. I like her quite well, in fact. She's unlike any woman I've ever met.”

Of that, William had no doubt. Already his mind dismissed the girl, pushing aside her startling beauty and unconventional music. “I shall take your word on that.”

*   *   *

“This may be the last time we play in public, but it shall
not
be the last time we play,” May declared, giving her dear friends a three-way hug. It was oddly emotional, knowing that the festival was soon coming to an end and the girls would be going their separate ways. As opposed as she had been to coming to Bath in the first place, it was strange to think that she would actually miss it.

Stepping back, Charity shook her head. “Of course not! You must promise to play at my wedding breakfast. Assuming we ever get all the details sorted out.”

“Well, you had best get them sorted out quickly,” May said, giving Charity's arm a teasing little tap with her fan. “I am determined to be there, but once my father returns, there's no telling where we will be off to next.”

Perhaps back to China or Indonesia. Java was a frequent stop for her father, so it wasn't unreasonable that they might head back there. The thought filled her with excitement, but at the same time, it broke her heart to think of leaving her two friends for so long. Lord knew the post was unreliable at best when one was traversing the seas.

Sophie flashed a sly smile and tipped her head toward their friend Mr. Thomas Wright, who was wending his way through the crowd half a dozen feet away. “You could always marry by special license. I know a good vicar who can do the deed for little more than a please and thank you.”

His attention duly captured, Wright flashed a broad smile and veered from his original path. “Did I hear somebody mention a vicar?” His blond brows lifted in teasing mischief. “And to be clear, my fee is a please, a thank you, and an exceptionally good wedding breakfast. Or dinner, I suppose, depending on the time.”

May chuckled at his cheek. He was as fun and affable a fellow as she had met in Bath. “Ever the benevolent soul. Charity, you should consider yourself lucky to be offered such a bargain.”

He nodded, his lips quirked up in that irrepressible smile of his. “Well, for Hugh and his bride, I can certainly make an exception. If you throw in a fortnight at that magnificent oceanfront estate down in Cadgwith, I'll forgo the meal. Need to visit my sister and the new baby soon, anyhow.”

Charity's smile broadened. “I cannot wait to meet Felicity and little Isabella. I know she's only Hugh's sister-in-law, but that's close enough to be called family, as far as I'm concerned. And you are most welcome to visit any time, but I'm afraid my parents have insisted that the
wedding be held up north at our longtime parish. Are you terribly upset?”

He pretended to consider it before shaking his head. “I suppose, in time, I shall get over the heartbreak. Though Miss Bradford, when it is your turn to spring the parson's mousetrap, I fully expect to be allowed to do the honors.”

The comment caught her off guard, making her laugh. “Parson's mousetrap? I certainly hope you won't be holding your breath, as you will likely be waiting a very long time.” It wasn't that she was against marriage—indeed, she was wholeheartedly for it—but the idea of finding someone whom she not only loved, but with whom she could share a meeting of mind, values, and personality seemed altogether unlikely. Particularly when one took into account her love of world travel.

“As long as it takes, Miss Bradford, though I can't imagine you'll be unmarried for long. You're delightful in both wit and countenance, neither of which has gone unnoticed, I assure you.” He tipped his chin to indicate the room at large. “Half the men in this room are watching you as we speak, in fact.”

Sophie slipped her arm around May's elbow. “Yes, but only the best for our May. We won't let just anyone have her.” She gave a little wink, then abruptly straightened. “Oh drat. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it appears as though your aunt is on the warpath.”

May didn't even attempt to suppress her disappointed groan. If her aunt was headed their way, then the evening was about to be cut short. As sour as the woman's mood had been on the way over here, it was a given that listening to May perform on her guzheng would have only worsened her disposition. No doubt she looked
forward to nipping any enjoyment May might glean from the evening in the bud.

“How far away is she?”

Charity's gray gaze flicked over May's shoulder. “A minute, two if you are lucky.”

Damn it all. After the contentious nature of the ride there, the last thing May wanted to do was abandon her friends and subject herself to what was sure to be a miserable ride home. If May could evade her now, it would be easy enough to get lost in the crush again.

Her mind made up, she sent a meaningful look to her friends. “I have a sudden and overwhelming desire for a spot of tea. Rest assured, I shall return shortly.”

With a quick wave, she hurried away toward the closest door, which she knew led to the Octagon. Traveling along the perimeter, she slipped through to the crowded hall, keeping her gaze to her feet and her walk to a brisk, purposeful pace meant to discourage interruption. The door across the way put her into the Tea Room, where she skirted along the back wall to the farthest possible spot from where her aunt had been.

Pausing to take a breath, she glanced across the sea of finely coifed heads, making certain Aunt Victoria wasn't in pursuit. “Blast,” she muttered when the bobbing purple ostrich feather came into view. Making a split-second decision, she pulled open the side door and darted into the warm, damp night air, quickly closing the door behind her.

Exhaling, she turned and surveyed her surroundings. She'd never been on this side of the building, which was significantly less polished than the elegant front entrance. A long row of waiting carriages lined the pavement, standing at the ready for whenever their owners should decide to leave. Several surprised drivers glanced
over to her, but quickly averted their attention. Obviously well trained, to a man, if they knew not to question the sudden appearance of a gowned and bejeweled young woman dashing from the Assembly Rooms this time of night.

“May I help you?”

May jumped sideways, startled by the clipped words that were chilly enough to freeze the English Channel. Standing in the shadows to the left of the door was a lone figure in dark clothes, a lit cheroot held idly in his left hand.

“I require no assistance, thank you,” she responded, automatically lifting her chin with regal disdain. It was a gesture she hated in her aunt, but it came naturally enough when confronted with a tall, dark, and unwanted stranger.

In the dim light, his eyes narrowed. “I don't believe it. Did Dering send you out here?” The words were ripe with accusation.

Dering's name gave her pause. What the devil did he have to do with anything? She was certain she didn't know this man from Adam. She was also certain that she did not care one bit for the way he spoke to her. “Not at all,” she said coolly. “Why, did he send you out here?”

He threw the half-smoked cheroot to the pavement and ground it beneath his heel. “Nice try, Miss Bradford. You may tell our mutual friend that I was in no way exaggerating when I said I was not interested.” A flick of his eyes communicated his aloof dismissal of her.

Affront flooded through her as she grasped his meaning. Why the conceited, self-centered jackass! How was it that he even knew her name? She had no idea who the man was, and more to the point, she had no desire to
know who he was. Her hands went to her hips, heedless of the fact that she was crushing the delicate fabric of her gown. “And
you
may tell our mutual friend that he needs to be more discerning when choosing his acquaintances. Had he actually arranged this little rendezvous, I would have told him quite plainly of my intention not to associate with arrogant, conclusion-jumping Englishmen.”

He stepped forward, revealing himself to the weak lamplight behind her. Chiseled jaw, long arrow-straight nose, wide, full lips—he wasn't overtly handsome, but he certainly had an aura of power and authority. Doubtless, he was used to females falling at his feet. Well, she was no ordinary female, unfortunately for him. She stood her ground, glaring right back at him.

One disdainful dark eyebrow lifted as he shook his head slowly. “So the cat hisses when her schemes are ruined. You do yourself and your aunt a grave disservice, Miss Bradford. Now then, turn around and march yourself back inside like a good little debutante. With any luck, perhaps your aunt will never learn of your machinations.”

Machinations?
“First of all, you have me at the disadvantage, sir, as I haven't the least idea of who you are—
not
that I wish to. Secondly, I have as much a right to be out here as you do. If you have a problem with it, I suggest you march
yourself
back inside like a good little gentleman.”

“Your Grace,” he bit off.

“My grace . . . what? Leaves you in such awe you cannot finish sentences?”

His eyes narrowed further so that they were little more than dark slits against his pale skin. “You
misunderstand. As the Duke of Radcliffe, you should address me as Your Grace.”

She cringed inwardly, only just managing to keep the surprise from her expression. Damnation,
this
was the Duke of Radcliffe? It would be her luck that she would inadvertently lock horns with one of the most powerful men in all of Britain. The very man, in fact, whom Aunt Victoria had been so worried May would offend.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to close her mouth against his insufferable arrogance. Heaven knew what her aunt would do if she ever learned of this meeting.

Just when she was about to turn and walk away, at the very moment she had convinced herself to ignore the man and his loutish ways, she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. The amount of pure, unadulterated conceit and imperiousness she saw there was like a dagger to her pride. He thought he had put her in her place!

Almost before she even knew what she was about, she crossed her arms and said, “One would think that as duke, you would have a better grasp of proper grammar. Given your sentence structure, you just referred to
me
as the Duke of Radcliffe.”

It wasn't a horrible thing to say. Just a little prick to that massive ego to let him know that he had in no way cowed her. Granted, her rejoinder might have been grasping at straws, but in all fairness to herself, it was hard to put together a proper retort when he was looking down his dukish nose at her. The man seemed to radiate authority and power the way coal radiated heat.

“Proper grammar?” he repeated, incredulous. “Perhaps before you devolve into schoolroom lessons on word choice, you might attempt to remember your clearly lacking tutelage on etiquette. Society takes no
umbrage at a grown man out alone on darkened streets. Females, on the other hand, should have a care for both their reputation and their personal safety.”

May scowled. Did he think to lecture her like a wayward child? “I have survived darkened streets the world over,
Your Grace
. Not to mention darkened ships, darkened jungles, and darkened villages. I sincerely doubt a moderately dim street in the middle of Bath shall get the best of me now.”

Speaking of the street, it had gone noticeably quiet. The grooms and drivers who had been chatting among themselves were now avid witnesses to her confrontation with the duke.

Judging by his flexing cheek muscles, Radcliffe wasn't pleased by her riposte. “Such pridefulness for what sounds like an exceptionally base existence.” He swept his hand out, encompassing the elegant limestone buildings and well-paved street. “We are not on a ship, in a jungle, or near a village. We are in a thriving metropolitan area where the greatest danger lies in the wagging of a gossip's tongue. Given your behavior, however, it is entirely possible that such a fate is exactly what you hope for.”

And there he went again, accusing her of those
machinations
. “Of course it is,” she retorted without missing a beat. “Subjecting myself to that delightful personality of yours is just a bonus.” The man's ego probably required a separate carriage in which to transport the sheer mass of it.

“Sarcasm is very unbecoming on a lady, Miss Bradford.” His patronizing tone was enough to make her teeth grind. The duke and her aunt must have had the exact same tutor for their “How to Talk Down to Others” lessons.

Fluttering her eyelashes innocently, she said, “Is it? Please, enlighten me further about how I can be a proper lady.” She said the words even as she knew that she was allowing things to get out of hand. The prudent thing to do would be to close her mouth, turn away from the man's infuriatingly arrogant self, and retreat back inside