The Duke Can Go to the Devil (6 page)

F
or the space of three seconds—an eternity, at least—William lay flat on his back, stunned. One moment, he had been conversing with the Bradford chit, and the next, he was blinking up at the pale pink sky.

She leaned over him, her face little more than a dark outline against the brightening sky. “Well, I did warn you,” she said, her voice utterly matter-of-fact.

He closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, drawing a deep breath in order to reinflate his lungs. He would have never, ever guessed she was capable of something like that. Threads of irritation, grudging respect, embarrassment, and pain tangled in his chest as he sought to compose himself.

So she was right about taking care of herself. But that didn't negate the fact that someone of her station simply couldn't be out here like this. And what if more than one person set upon her? Both her reputation and her person were still vulnerable, and now that he was invested, he felt responsible for her.

Shaking his head, he pushed himself into a sitting
position. “I could have you thrown in gaol for that, you know.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned down to grab his arm. “Oh, do go on. You were pushing me to show you I can take care of myself, so I did.” Her grip was strong despite her long, delicate fingers and she had him to his feet before he could even protest.

He could not believe she had just thrown him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As though he wasn't at least four stone heavier and a good five inches taller. He'd never condone such behavior, but he really was impressed. Of course, she had the element of surprise on her side—who on earth would have anticipated such an action?

Pulling his arm from her grasp, he took a deliberate step back. “Apparently ‘taking care of oneself' in your eyes means assaulting the very person who was attempting to assist you.”

“Assist me?” she repeated, doubt liberally coating the words. “You were attempting to
intimidate
me.”

True enough. It was a tactic that had served him well his entire life. “Because you were being obstinate. How else was one to get through that exceedingly stubborn head of yours?”

“But that's the point! You didn't
need
to get through. I am perfectly safe out here on my own.”

Based on her little stunt, he was inclined to agree with her. The male population of Bath would do well to steer clear of her. But after how the encounter had gone, he absolutely was not about to let her simply waltz away, thumbing her nose at him and every civilized person in this city. He was committed to this now.

“But you clearly know that your presence here, at this time of morning and without the benefit of a chaperone,
is wrong. Why else would you fear I would ‘tattle' to your aunt? You may have been raised outside of society, but you must submit to its rules now that you are part of it.” God knew he did. Everything he did was deliberately aligned with what was expected of him.

“So you keep telling me,” she said, unimpressed. “But I'm not harming anyone, and it's not as though I'm running some sort of smuggling ring. I'm simply enjoying a bit of morning exercise.”

It was remarkable that someone of her beliefs and manners could look so regal. Despite her scandalous clothing and her simple braided hairstyle, she looked utterly self-assured and almost irritatingly beautiful. As much as she was frustrating him, she also intrigued him. Her behavior was as far from feminine as he could imagine, but still his body responded to her. There was an undeniable attraction there, whether he admitted it or not.

And if he was taking that much notice of her, he certainly wasn't the only one.

He shook his head, exasperated. “You can't possibly be that naïve. You worry that your aunt will learn of your outrageous behavior, yet you are not even attempting to be discreet. Even if your physical person is not under threat, your reputation most certainly is.”

“Once again, that is none of your concern. Why don't you turn around, collect your horse, and carry on with your morning ride? Pretend we never met.” There was no more anger in her voice. She was speaking matter-of-factly now, as though she'd already dismissed him.

“Would that I could,” he muttered. He bent to retrieve his hat from the ground, brushed off the moisture, and set it back on his head. “I cannot call myself a
gentleman were I to leave you here. Gather your things, I'm taking you home.”

“No, I—”

“Allow me to rephrase,” he said, his patience at an end. “I am going to Lady Stanwix's home one way or the other. Either you accompany me and I deposit you before the front door, or I go alone and demand an audience with your aunt.”

All at once, her eyes went huge. “An audience? With my aunt?” She wilted before his eyes, groaning aloud. “Bloody hell,” she murmured, smoothing a hand over her hair.

Stiffening at the curse, he regarded her censoriously. “Is there a problem, Miss Bradford?”

Oddly enough, for the first time she seemed genuinely distressed. That flippant little grin of hers was noticeably absent, and she started walking toward where her things waited in an untidy heap on the ground. “Yes, there most definitely is,” she said over her shoulder.

The woman was an enigma. He waited while she lifted her jacket and jammed her arms through the sleeves. “I don't suppose there is something you are lacking in this life, is there Radcliffe? Money, baked goods, or perhaps a bodyguard?”

What on earth was she talking about? Walking toward her—cautiously—he shook his head. “I have everything I could ever need or desire and then some,” he answered, honestly. “Why do you ask?”

“Are you certain?” she replied, stepping into her shoes. “Everything? There's absolutely nothing you could wish for?”

A loaded question if he'd ever heard one. Everyone in the country assumed he had everything he could ever want. The envy and jealousy of those below him was
palpable nearly everywhere he went. In their eyes, he held all of the cards in life, and they held none. He had worked hard to prove himself worthy of the respect and wealth the title held, but he couldn't change the way some people were determined to see him.

What they didn't seem to see was that he was still human. Money and power would never fill all of his needs or even wants. But he was a duke, and a duke did not discuss that which might or might not be lacking in his life. Deflecting the query, he said, “Is there a point to this line of questioning, Miss Bradford?”

She turned to face him fully, her extraordinary eyes momentarily distracting him. Surely the sky had never been so blue as that sapphire gaze of hers. “Sometime today you will receive a missive from my aunt inviting you to visit. She has it in her mind that I have wounded your tender sensibilities and wishes for me to apologize.”

His tender sensibilities? If she was attempting to ingratiate herself with him, she could use some work on her approach. “And you refuse to do so.”

“Not at all,” she said, pulling a pair of gloves from a hidden pocket in her coat and working them on. “I fully intend to throw myself upon your mercy. I'm only telling you this now so that you can be prepared for the encounter. A simple ‘I accept' from you, and I shall be out of your hair forever.”

“If that is all it will take,” he said, conspicuously brushing a blade of grass from his jacket sleeve, “consider yourself pardoned.” The woman was more or less a scandal just waiting to happen. She was exactly the type of person he typically strove to avoid.

That bravado of hers slipped even more as she shook her head. “I'm afraid you must wait until the apology has been issued before you accept.”

His eyes narrowed a bit. What was she up to now? “Why would I do that? I have no desire to go through the ceremony of it all. That would defeat the purpose of having you out of my hair, as you put it.”

She looked to the ground a moment before sighing and meeting his gaze again. The frankness he saw there was disconcerting. “I'm afraid my aunt won't believe it, otherwise. She is determined to see you accept my groveling apology.”

He crossed his arms. “I like your aunt well enough, Miss Bradford, but to be quite blunt, I don't have time for indulging the whims of others.”

Something rather close to anxiety tightened her fine features as she flexed her jaw. Why was she being so strange about all this? It wasn't as though either one of them wished to be in the other's presence any more than necessary at this point. Impatient, he said, “If that's all, come along. I haven't all day, and I am going quite out of my way to deliver you home.”

She stayed stubbornly in place, her hands setting on her hips. “The thing is, Radcliffe, that until such time as my aunt is satisfied, I am to be held prisoner in her dreadful house.”

He raised an eyebrow, not impressed with her hyperbole. “If you are currently a prisoner, you are a remarkably well-traveled one.”

It might have been the morning light, but he would swear her cheeks reddened just the slightest bit. “There is a difference between sanctioned leaves and opportunistic ones. The latter is a specialty of mine.”

He nearly snorted. “Of that, I have no doubt. Be that as it may, whatever trouble you have caused for yourself is none of my concern. In fact, both I and my grass-stained jacket are in agreement with your punishment.”
He was only half-serious. But he was starting to wonder if she really was being sincere. Could her aunt honestly be restricting her until such time that he accepted her apology? It seemed a little far-fetched, but why else would she say such a thing?

“Again, you practically begged me to demonstrate my capableness,” she said, completely unrepentant. “And don't be bitter. I would think you would relish the opportunity to show grace to one so far beneath you. It is why you are called ‘Your Grace,' no?”

Gesturing for her to start walking, he detoured to where his horse was tied and freed the reins. “I am called ‘Your Grace' as a show of respect, actually. Not that I imagine you care.”

They fell into step with each other, with Gray following obediently behind them. The sun had just begun to flirt with the horizon, brightening the sky as they walked. It wasn't unpleasant, walking along with her at his side. Though he'd certainly not call themselves friends, the bitterness between them had definitely faded.

Beside him, Miss Bradford kept her eyes trained on the ground ahead. “I am not a stranger to respect. I simply believe that it is something one earns.”

As a man who had worked tirelessly in his role as both a political leader and landowner, he didn't appreciate her assumption that he hadn't done anything to earn the respect he demanded. “Oh yes, I'm certain you consider yourself very much above the British social hierarchy. Yet I doubt you have any concept of how much responsibility those born to a title must bear. I have a century-old dukedom I am charged with, which must be maintained not only for the future dukes, but for the livelihoods and well-being of the hundreds of people dependent upon the estate.”

She nodded, making a soft sound of sympathy. “Mmm, that does sound tough. Such a pity that you have only tens of thousands of pounds to make up for the inconvenience of hiring people to do everything for you. I do hope you keep a few banknotes on hand with which to dry your tears.”

He cut a censorious gaze her way. Could she take nothing seriously? “I have always found sarcasm to be the lowest form of wit.”

The smile she sent him was as wicked as it was unexpected. “You find me witty? Well, I must figure out a way to work that into a conversation with my aunt.”

He started to reply, but realized she was only baiting him again. Instead, he shook his head and turned his attention to the road ahead of them. It wasn't yet seven and the city was beginning to awaken. A few pedestrians rushed past them while the occasional cart lumbered by. Though William wasn't willing to allow her the triumph of escaping his escort, he certainly hoped no one would recognize them.

After several blocks, she gestured to a grand old townhome that was about a hundred paces ahead. “This is my aunt's house. I think I can survive the walk from here.”

He gave a crisp nod of his head as he came to a stop. She was a singular human being. Half the morning he had wanted to throttle her, and the other half . . . well, the other half he had still wanted to throttle her. But she was without doubt an interesting woman. Few people had ever managed to successfully draw him into an argument, and in the space of just a few hours, she had somehow sucked him into several. She had also somehow managed to show a different side of herself, revealing glimpses of humor and intelligence.

Still, she was trouble and he'd do well to remember it.

She paused beside him, turning to face him fully. “I do hope I didn't hurt you when I gave my little demonstration.”

It had certainly not been pleasant, but nothing on earth could compel him to admit it had affected him even that much. “I would think you'd be disappointed to learn that I'd been unharmed.”

She smiled up at him, her face so angelic it almost made him laugh. “I need you in one piece when you accept my apology. Wouldn't want my aunt asking questions, should you show up in a sling.”

For the first time since he'd met her, he allowed a slow, earnest smile to stretch his lips. He had every intention of answering her aunt's missive in the affirmative, but Miss Bradford didn't need to know that just yet. The uncertainty could be her penance for tossing him to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Yes, that apology.” He paused and mounted Gray before looking down on his companion. “Having given due consideration to the topic, it's possible I'll be entirely too busy to find an opportunity to call in the short time I'll be in town. Do give your aunt my best though.”

With that, he flicked the reins and rode away, leaving a gaped-mouth Miss Bradford in his wake.