The Duke Can Go to the Devil (4 page)

Prudence, however, had never been her strong suit.

They stood there in silent deadlock, neither one willing to leave and allow the other victory. The warm night air began to feel the slightest bit suffocating and she could feel a flush rising up her neck and blooming across her cheeks, but she held her ground, staring back at the maddening duke.

She knew his type. Arrogant, powerful, accustomed to respect no matter how he treated others. He was everything she couldn't stand about the aristocracy. A person should earn respect by his actions, not by his birth. Her father hadn't started life with a silver spoon in his mouth. He had worked hard for years to prove himself worthy of promotion after promotion.

He was a captain because of a lifetime of bravery, work, and determination. This man, on the other hand, had done nothing more than survive birth. And yet he clearly thought himself superior to her, and probably every other person he encountered. Straightening her spine, she met his piercing gaze with a smile of pure innocence. If he thought to outlast her, he was about to find out that she was prepared to wait all night.

After a long, pregnant moment, the duke reached into his jacket, pulled out another cheroot, and walked the half dozen steps to light it on the nearest coach lantern. He had to know the figure he cut when viewed from behind. May had always preferred men with strong,
capable physiques, and somehow this pampered duke managed to possess just that. Rather annoying, really.

The cut of his lavishly expensive jacket, with its shiny silver-and-gold buttons and silver threaded hem, showed off every inch of his broad shoulders and long, lean torso. It was so close fitting, in fact, the fabric seemed on a mission to prove that there wasn't an ounce to be pinched anywhere on the man's body.

Not
that it mattered to her.

After taking a long, surely exaggerated pull, he exhaled a cloud of smoke and turned to face her, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Do you know, I believe you actually did speak the truth when you said that Dering did not send you after me. He would never wish for a friend to endure one of such boorish manners.”

“Precisely,” she said with a decisive nod, her lips curling into a triumphant grin. “He likes me far too well to play such a prank on me.”

Aha!
She'd won that round. His smug expression fell just the slightest bit as he realized how neatly she had appropriated his insult. Knowing she had the upper hand, she manufactured a small yawn. “And now I find that I'm bored to death with those manners and this conversation. I do
so
hope you enjoy the remainder of your evening, Your Grace.”

Turning on her heel, May took two victorious steps toward the building before the door suddenly swung open, and the very last person May wished to see stepped outside.

Bloody, bloody hell.

T
hings had not gone well for William following the concert. When he'd descended the stairs after the final performance, two of the young women he had evaded earlier had been lying in wait. They'd pounced as soon as his foot touched the last step, and had proven to be relentlessly forward. When he'd finally disentangled himself from them, a pair of men from the continent had set upon him, apparently eager to meet the highest ranking person in attendance.

He'd managed to escape outside, but he hadn't been there five minutes when Miss Bradford had so thoroughly and gleefully shattered his peace. For that reason, the satisfaction William felt at the look on Miss Bradford's face was almost sinfully good. It might have been petty—very well, it most certainly was petty—but he welcomed the surge of gratification that raced through him in that moment.

“Lady Stanwix,” he said, dipping his head in greeting. “A pleasure to see you again.”

Surprise registered in her narrowed gaze as she jerked her head toward where William stood. Her eyes widened
almost comically and the look of fury was quickly replaced by a one of muted horror. “Your Grace! I beg your pardon, I didn't realize you were out here. With my niece,” she added, obviously confused.

“I daresay she had a similar reaction upon discovering my presence,” he replied dryly. He directed his attention to the interloper herself and said, “My apologies for having intruded on your solitude, Miss Bradford. It is never my intention to be where I am so plainly not wanted.”

The girl scowled at him suspiciously. Wondering if he was purposely calling her out for her conduct, perhaps? William offered her the same look of innocence she had bestowed upon him earlier. There were consequences to one's behavior, something that she'd do well to realize sooner rather than later now that she had joined society.

Lady Stanwix's lips compressed into a thin, ominous line as she sent an icy look toward her ward. She no doubt could guess just how welcoming the girl had been. Returning her attention to William, the countess shook her head. “You must excuse my niece. She was raised in the wilds of the East, and despite my best effort, has yet to understand the fine nuances of civilized behavior. If she has been anything less than gracious, I hope you will accept my most abject apology on her behalf.”

William was fully aware of the rudeness of speaking of the girl as if she wasn't standing right there, her eyes hot with fury and her lovely white teeth no doubt grinding. If she hadn't already been so spectacularly rude to him, he might be inclined to feel badly about it. But she had, and he wasn't.

Shaking his head gravely, he offered the countess his most commiserate look. “Such a terrible burden for one
with such impeccable manners and station. You have my sympathies, madam.”

The older woman dipped her head regally, causing the purple feather at her crown to sway precariously close to his forehead. “Thank you, Duke. You are most understanding. Now I think it best that I escort my niece home before she can cause any more offense.”

Just as William suspected, the girl couldn't keep her mouth shut for long. Stepping between them, she said, “Offense such as speaking of a person as though said person were not present?” She lifted a single blond brow. “Yes, such a thing would be egregious, I agree.”

The countess's eyes narrowed ominously. “May,” she said, her voice sharp with warning, “I strongly suggest you keep your tongue behind your teeth for once. We shall talk more when we are home.”

William's impassive expression almost slipped.
May?
Such an innocuous name for such an overbearing female. Make that an
unwise
female. Despite her guardian's unmistakable threat, he could already see the retort forming on the girl's lips.

The last thing he needed was the pair of them descending into a squawking match sure to draw the notice of gossips. Stepping forward, he grabbed May's hand and lifted it toward his lips for a civilized dismissal that was intended to shock her into silence. “Good evening, Miss Bradford,” he said firmly before pressing his lips to—

Thin air.

The impertinent chit had snatched her hand back! She smiled blandly despite the daggers in her gaze. “And to you, Your Grace.”

The movement had been subtle enough that it was likely she thought it would go unnoticed in the dark, but he saw the countess's eyes widen briefly before
narrowing to angry slits. Whatever was about to transpire between the lady and her ward was none of his concern.

Straightening, he nodded tightly to Lady Stanwix before stalking to his carriage. He had endured quite enough of the dramatics of bothersome females for one night and he intended to put as much distance between himself and the blond vixen-turned-shrew as possible.

It was only when he'd vaulted up into the dark, sumptuous interior of his carriage that he realized that he'd just allowed her to win their little standoff: He'd been the one to walk away.

*   *   *

The vacuum of silence left by the duke's departure was all the more deafening for what she knew was coming. His blithe words had virtually guaranteed her aunt's fury, drat the man.

Straightening her shoulders—preparing for battle, really—May turned to face her aunt. She was momentarily taken aback. The older woman's eyes glittered menacingly in the dim light, as hard and cold as the diamonds draped across her throat. She nearly vibrated with the fury and tension that stiffened her joints. She looked as brittle as glass, as though a single tap would shatter her control.

There was a more than fair chance that her aunt had witnessed May tugging her hand away, despite the dim light. She hadn't intended to do such a thing, but everything in her had rebelled against the thought of that insufferable man's lips upon her hand, gloved or otherwise. Lifting her chin, May said calmly, “Shall I collect my wrap so we may leave?”

Aunt Victoria made a low sound of disgust in her throat as she closed the short distance between them. “First, you lead me on a merry chase through the whole
of the Assembly Rooms.
Then
you make a fool of yourself
and
me in front of one of the most highly ranked men in the
ton
. Why in heaven would I let you out of my sight now?”

The ostrich plume quivered as she shook her head. “No,” she said, slicing a hand through the air, the glint of diamonds flashing like bottled lightning. “No, you will not collect your things. No, you will not speak to your friends. No, you will not embarrass me again, you ungrateful child. You will leave with me this very moment. You will confine yourself to your chambers, and you will think about what you have done.”

May knew she should keep her mouth shut, she really did, but she also couldn't bear not to defend herself. “I have done no more and no less than the duke himself has done. If you are not angry with him, then why should you be angry with me?”

Her aunt's finger wagged perilously close to May's nose. “I'll not have any back talk from you. That man is the Duke of Radcliffe, one of the most powerful and respected men in not only England, but in the entire world. It is not my concern how he chooses to comport himself. In any event, I very much doubt he behaved as anything other than a gentleman.”

“But—”

“Moreover,” she continued, rolling right over May's attempt to speak, “whatever did occur between the two of you was entirely your fault for having come out here in the first place. What were you
thinking
?”

May very nearly told her exactly what she'd been thinking, but some long-dormant sense of self-preservation kept her lips sealed for once. Her aunt had always been unyielding and disagreeable, but May had never
seen her quite this furious before. She thought of her father, and his heartfelt pleading for her to be on her very best behavior for his sister, no matter how difficult it seemed.

Swallowing her pride and anger, she lowered her gaze to the stone pavers at her feet. “I suppose I wasn't. My apologies.” That last word stuck in her throat like day-old toast.

Her aunt was quiet for a moment, no doubt suspicious of May's capitulation. Finally, her lavender skirts rustled as she turned toward the street. “John Coachman?” she called, despite the likelihood that most of the men out there responded to the exact name. “We wish to leave.”

Remarkably, the appropriate Stanwix servant promptly responded, “Yes, m'lady.”

Dread gathered in May's chest, and she took a long, slow breath. No doubt every servant out here would be buzzing with gossip when their employers arrived. She didn't give a fig what the people of Bath thought of her, but the more people knew of it, the more her aunt would punish her.

Not that Aunt Victoria needed an excuse. The woman had been critical of May's every move since the moment she had arrived to stay with her. Her clothes were too exotic, her vocabulary too vulgar, her manners too coarse, and her skin too tan. She was overly tall and inadequately educated in the exceedingly important British societal hierarchy.

To be fair, May would give her that last one. What use did she have for a system she never planned to be a part of? By the time her father returned, he would have recovered from his grief enough to realize leaving her here had been a dreadful overreaction. Not that she could
really blame him. Mama's death had been indescribably difficult for them both. But it had almost been a year, and May was more than ready to go home.

Home.
Even the word brought a pang of sadness to her heart. Her mother had always said that home was where one's heart resides, not necessarily where one's head lies at night.

The carriage arrived then, its shiny black paint and gold coat of arms somberly reflecting the firelight, even as the interior seemed as dark as pitch.

Within minutes they were on their way, the steady tap of the horses' hooves counting off second by uncomfortable second. After what seemed like hours, Aunt Victoria finally cleared her throat. “The Duke of Radcliffe is an ally we cannot afford to offend. I don't know what possessed you to behave so abysmally, but it is an error in judgment that shall not be repeated.”

May clamped her teeth together and nodded. If she valued what little freedom she might have left, it was the best tactic . . . no matter how much she wanted to argue. Besides, she had no intention of ever talking to the man again, so it was unlikely she would offend him.

“As for your behavior tonight, I don't know what you said before I arrived, but it was clear to me that the duke had taken exception. You will apologize to the duke—
sincerely
—and do whatever it takes to earn his forgiveness.”

May was perfectly amenable to apologizing to the duke. Just as soon as he apologized to her. After all, he was the one who set the tone of the encounter by accusing her of those vague but dastardly machinations. She almost laughed, imagining him apologizing.

Pigs would fly before Radcliffe ate crow.

Aunt Victoria continued on, unknowing and likely uncaring of May's thoughts on the issue. “Until such time that you are able to accomplish this goal, you are to be confined to your chambers. No visits from your friends, no constitutionals, none of the festival events. I won't even have you visiting the music room until you've made things right. Is that clear?”

May's stomach tipped at her aunt's words. Good God, the woman could not be serious. Sentences for smuggling had been less harsh than this. “And how, exactly, am I to gain the forgiveness of the man if I'm never to leave the house again?”

“When you are ready to speak with him, I shall send a note requesting his indulgence in calling upon us.”

May was exceedingly grateful for the inky darkness. She could hold her silence, but hiding the outrage from her face would have been impossible, which would have only served to further anger her aunt. And even as she mentally rebelled against the thought of facing the duke with her proverbial hat in her hands, there was one thing that kept the situation from being unbearable: her aunt's rigid schedule.

As far as May was concerned, her aunt's dictates stood only while the woman was awake. There was nothing to keep May from waltzing out the door in the morning for her normal routine. Aunt Victoria was an unpleasant woman to live with, which meant that the servants were not particularly loyal to her—a fact that May happily and frequently exploited.

Still, this was not the life of freedom she was accustomed to. The weight in her chest that had been so familiar since her father left swelled again, leaving her a little breathless. She craved that old freedom that came not
from lack of walls, but from lack of oppression. Her parents had always respected her, even when she was very young. They had listened to her, and talked with her, not at her. They had loved her unconditionally, regardless of what clothes she wore or how she spoke.

It was becoming more and more apparent to her just how unusual her upbringing was. Not the sailing or the exotic locales—though those too were unusual—but the love and support she had received.

“Well? Answer me, child,” her aunt demanded, yanking May from her thoughts. “Have I made myself clear?”

Staring straight ahead in the darkness, May nodded once. “Crystal clear, Aunt.” Closing her eyes, she settled back against the squabs and allowed the rocking of the carriage to remind her of the rocking of the ship that would soon be taking her home.

*   *   *

“And here I thought you didn't indulge in spirits.”

William's hand tightened around the crystal tumbler at the sound of his stepmother's low, overly sensual voice. “I'm not certain why you should think of me at all.” He didn't bother to clarify that it was only white wine. He preferred a clear mind to the oblivion strong spirits offered. “Or why you are here at such an unseemly hour.”

It was nearly midnight, well past the time for paying a proper visit. Something he was certain she knew full well. Vivian gave a delicate Parisian shrug and sauntered toward him, her ruby lips lifted ever so slightly at the corners. She moved the way water slipped around rocks in a shallow stream, fluid and graceful at every turn. It was all calculated, of course. Custom-designed to make men of power weak at the knees.