The Duke Can Go to the Devil (7 page)

T
he low-down, no-good, toad-eating bounder! May stared after the retreating form of her adversary, completely blindsided by his parting words. Just when she had started to like the man—almost—he had to go and reinforce her original opinion of him. Too busy, her foot. She'd seen the pleasure in that handsome little grin of his. He enjoyed making her sweat.

Blowing out a harsh breath, she turned and stalked back to the house. She had really misjudged the softening she had thought she'd seen in him. There was a moment, when the sun had crested over the trees and illuminated those amber eyes of his, that she had thought she'd seen a bit of who he really was, behind all that imperious posturing.

And he had taken being thrown to the ground remarkably well. It had been impulsive and certainly not the wisest thing she had ever done, but she wasn't sorry for it. It had broken the building tension between them, allowing them both to step back from trading those rather sharp verbal barbs.

She had been so sure he was softening toward her
plight, so certain he would show a bit of grace and decency by accepting her apology. Yet here she was, back to square one and the uncertainty of how long she would be trapped in her aunt's dreary house.

He hadn't said he
wouldn't
come, at least. Still, she certainly couldn't count on him. As she approached the front door, she paused to take a long, deep breath of the morning air, much as she had on the way out that morning.

It was back to the dungeon with her.

*   *   *

William did not go back to his townhome.

He should have, as he really did have things that needed his attention, but he was far too preoccupied with his encounter that morning to have the patience for them just yet. Instead, he exercised Gray for an hour before deciding it was late enough to call on his old friend.

He wanted information, and no one was better for that than Dering. Even if William didn't already know of his friend's acquaintance with May, he would have sought him out anyway. Dering knew everyone in the country one way or another. He had one of those easy, open personalities that, combined with his status as heir to an earldom, seemed to draw others toward him. And thanks to his exceptional memory, he was a veritable treasure trove of gossip and secrets—including many of William's.

It was remarkable that he couldn't seem to shake May from his mind. He was generally quite accomplished at such things. But she was singular in every way. He'd both seen and felt her sharp side, where her lack of both respect and manners bordered on legendary, yet she'd also
revealed her softer side. She possessed humor, even wit, and certainly she was honest to a fault.

Dering had spoken rather fondly of her. The Effington and Wembley girls both thought well enough of her to play side by side with her, and the Selection Committee had allowed her to participate in festival events. He couldn't help but wonder: Had they seen both sides of her, or was there something about him that brought out the worst in her? He readily admitted that she absolutely had that effect on him.

Ten minutes later, William was seated in his old friend's drawing room and, just as he'd suspected, Dering was awake, if somewhat the worse for wear. He yawned hugely as he strode into the room and dropped into the nearest chair. The angled morning light pouring through the room's two windows readily betrayed the redness of his eyes and the purple smudges beneath them.

“Still burning the candle at both ends?”

Dering gave a short brusque laugh and nodded even as he reached for the steaming pot of tea a maid had brought in a few minutes earlier. “Some things never change. Far too many delights to be had at night, yet I never can seem to sleep past dawn. As curses go, it's a relatively mild one. A few cups of tea and I'll be good as new.”

Cracking a small smile, William said, “You do realize that our youth is behind us, yes? You don't actually have to stay out that late.”

“
Your
youth. You are the one who just turned the corner into the next decade. I, on the other hand, am still in the prime of my life.” He raised his cup in a mock salute before taking a hearty drink.

William chuckled, the sound rusty after his
contentious morning. “Yet of the two of us, you're the one who looks like something the cat dragged in.”

“Mmm, I'll concede the truth in that. So, my bright-eyed friend, what is it that I can do for you?” He leaned back in his chair, cradled the oversize cup in his hands, and waited for William to get to the point.

A point that, now that William was face-to-face with the man, seemed somewhat less pressing than it had been a half hour ago. Why had he let the woman get so thoroughly beneath his skin? The only other female who ever managed such a feat was his stepmother, and that was not a favorable comparison. Still, he was here now, and there was no point beating around the bush.

“While out for my morning ride, I encountered Miss Bradford in the park by the river.
Alone
,” he added, though he kept her state of undress to himself. “I must say, I am at a loss as to how you, or any other sane and reasonable person, could find the girl to be suitable for society. Based on my two encounters in the last twelve hours, I cannot imagine how she hasn't embroiled herself in scandal by now.”

Dering's black eyebrows lifted as he drained the rest of his tea. “Not mincing words, I see. And what the devil do you mean, ‘two encounters'? Is that why you disappeared last night? It wasn't very well done of you, leaving without a word. I was expecting you to lose good money to me in the Card Room after the performances.”

“Let us just say the first encounter ended less than amicably. Now then, answer the question if you please.”

Running a hand through his dark hair, Dering sighed. “In my experience, she has been interesting, friendly, and witty with a good sense of humor. Quite charming, in an unconventional sort of way, and certainly refreshing.”

For a moment, William just stared back at his friend.
“We are talking of Miss May Bradford, yes? Blond hair, exquisite features, vocabulary and comportment of a dockworker?” It was a little harsh, but really—
charming
? He'd accept
interesting
, and possibly the
good sense of humor
, but
charming
and
friendly
seemed completely ill-fitting for the woman.

An unmistakable spark of interest flared in Dering's dark eyes, along with a smile that quirked up one corner of his mouth. “One must wonder what exactly happened during those two encounters. You must have offended her royally to elicit such a response.”

“Quite the reverse, I assure you,” William replied, shaking his head wryly. “Honestly, I find it hard to reconcile the fact that she is related to Lady Stanwix. What do you know of the girl's history?”

Dering paused to rub a hand over his eyes before answering. “The countess is her father's older sister. From what I understand, Miss Bradford was raised overseas for most of her life, particularly around India and the Orient. I believe her mother died recently. The father is a ship captain, and presumably because of his wife's passing, he left his only daughter with her aunt before departing for his latest voyage. I gather Miss Bradford is
not
happy with the arrangement.”

Not difficult to believe, given her personality. He imagined she wasn't the sort to sit back and allow others to make decisions for her. “A ship captain?” he mused, settling back in his chair. And she'd been raised in the Far East?

He sat up straight as the obvious conclusion flashed in his mind. “Don't tell me her father is a Company man.” That would just be too perfect. After the way they had butted heads personally, of course her father would
stand for everything William had been fighting against politically since before he'd even inherited the title.

Dering's tired laugh was a little raspy. “He is. No wonder the two of you get on so well. You and the girl, that is. Obviously not her father. Damn but I'm too tired to make sense just yet.” He leaned forward and poured another cup of tea, this time adding a splash of what looked to be scotch. “If further conversation can wait—and I imagine it can—then feel free to call again at a more civilized time.”

“Yes, yes, I'll let you be. Just one more question.”

Dering raised his eyebrows, inviting William to speak.

“Do you think she knows of my role in spearheading the legislation to strip the Company of its monopoly?” It was possible, given her strong negative reaction to him initially.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually know
everything
, old man. A woman's mind is at the top of that list.” Though he gave a careless shrug, William didn't miss the flash of sadness in his eyes. He was thinking of
her
again, no doubt. But since that was a topic William had solemnly sworn not to mention ever again, he simply stood and nodded.

“Fair enough. Enjoy your morning, and thank you for the audience.”

He started for the door, but paused when Dering said his name. “Yes?”

“I'm not sure what exactly happened between the two of you, but try to cut her a little slack. She may look like a proper English rose, but she's about as far from home as one can get.”

Keeping his dubiousness to himself, William gave a curt nod before striding from the room. Miss Bradford might be far from home, but she did
not
need coddling.
He rubbed the back of his neck, where the first hint of soreness was taking root. She had proved she could take care of herself.

He idly wondered what else she had learned on her travels throughout the world. That thought stuck with him as he navigated the now-steady traffic. Why had her father left her here after a lifetime abroad, especially when it was evidently against her wishes? Were Captain Bradford's trade routes tied to textiles? If that was the case, the man must have seen the writing on the wall.

Dering might think that Miss Bradford was very far from home, but William suspected that Bath might very well soon be her new home.

Dear Charity and Sophie,

My kind and benevolent aunt has tossed me in the clink and thrown away the key until such time that I properly apologize to the Duke of Radcliffe (a very long story), which essentially means I shall be here for the duration. Please send a metal file, extra linens that are sturdy enough to be knotted together, and biscuits. Chocolate ones, if you please.

Sincerely,
Your Hardened Criminal Friend, May

Dear May,

The injustice of it all! We couldn't find chocolate biscuits, but hopefully the gingerbread will suffice. No file yet, but Charity swears she saw a grappling hook in the labyrinth, if she could only find her way back to it. In the meantime, though we are ravenously curious about what exactly transpired
between you and the duke, we shall endeavor to give him the cut direct, should he deign to look our way.

Yours in Solidarity,
Sophie and Charity

Settling back against the plush cushions of the divan May had dragged out onto her balcony for a small taste of freedom, she took a bite of the smuggled biscuit and sighed. It had been only a day and a half since Radcliffe had abandoned her to her punishment, but she was already chafing at her confinement. Thank goodness for Suyin. Not only was she able to smuggle notes to and from the bedchamber-turned-prison-cell that May would call home for the foreseeable future, but she was the only person allowed to visit. Apparently The Warden believed that even a lady in confinement should be dressed in her finest.

So far, in addition to the notes from Charity and Sophie, May had received a long letter from her friend Smita. May had spent several years in India during her early adolescence, before Mama had become ill. Smita's family was well-known for its exquisite embroidery, and her father worked closely with May's for many years. Being of an age, the two girls had quickly fallen into friendship. Even though May had moved away and visited infrequently, they still maintained a fairly regular correspondence.

Smita's note was actually the first piece of mail May had received since coming to Bath, and her spirits had momentarily soared. Unfortunately, the news was not so encouraging, as Smita's family's business was declining and they were beginning to worry for the future.

The letter served to make May only that much more
disheartened that she was half a world away from home. Any comfort she could offer in her response would take months to make it back to her friend.

Polishing off the rest of the biscuit, she crossed her arms and tried to figure out what to do with herself. Carrying two cups of tea, Suyin padded out onto the balcony and sat beside May on the settee. Handing one to May, she said, “Your aunt is like a great dragon. Terrifying in her threats, but full of hot air.”

May hooted in laughter, loving her friend's refreshing candor. She always did seem to know what to do or say to make May feel better. Originally from China, Suyin possessed lovely, delicate features and a small stature that belied the strength beneath.

“I agree wholeheartedly. Still, I must find a way to slay her—metaphorically speaking—if I am to enjoy the last bit of the festival. I may not have wanted to come to Bath, but the festival has been absolutely wonderful.” And damn the duke for being such a poor sport. She had thought he was simply toying with her when he had said he might be too busy to bother with it all, but it had been more than a day since he'd left her. There was no other way to interpret her continued confinement: He had left her to rot.

She stewed just thinking about it. As self-important as he was, one would think he'd take great pleasure in wielding his power in order to release her. It was hard to believe she had ever imagined he was softening toward her. Their walk home had been much more lighthearted, hadn't it?