The Duke Can Go to the Devil (9 page)

His hand tightened against her back, reining in her efforts. “I do, in fact, prefer black pudding to curry anything. Now then, if you don't quit attempting to outpace me,” he said, his words stern, “we will end up spinning right out of the room.”

It was as close to hyperbole as she could probably ever expect to hear from him. He was, however, quite right. She slowed her pace until he was guiding her along once more. As they glided past the corridor, she spotted Sophie as she emerged from the retiring room.

“I'm curious,” May said, peering back up at the duke's unarguably attractive countenance. “What did Lord Wexley say to Lady Evansleigh?”

His bronze gaze flickered down to meet hers for a
moment before settling back just over her shoulder. “I can't imagine you'd think I would gossip, so I shall assume the question was rhetorical.”

The retort was a prick to her conscience, devil take him. “I have no interest in gossip, Radcliffe. Sophie is a very dear friend, and I have a vested interest in her happiness. It was obvious without hearing a word of the exchange that the viscount said something disparaging.”

The duke remained silent for a few beats as the music moved them along. He could be so blasted stubborn when he put his mind to it. After several seconds, May shook her head. “Oh, never mind, I'll get the details from Sophie. Whatever they were, I feel it only fair to say that I thought it very well done of you to take her side.” She wouldn't begrudge him the credit for his kindness.

He raised a dubious brow. “A compliment, Miss Bradford? I may perish from the shock. Regardless, I did not take anyone's side. As a duke, it is beneath me to involve myself in such a thing.”

Speaking of shocking, was that
modesty
she heard? She shook her head. “Yet as a human being, you were kind.”

“It was nothing, I assure you.”

She blew out an exasperated breath. She'd seen too many people be cruel to Sophie to allow him to discount his actions. “It
wasn't
nothing, for heaven's sake. Quit deflecting my praise and let me acknowledge your munificence, you contrary lout of a man.”

At that, his gaze cooled. “You seem more intelligent than most. I cannot imagine why you insist on demeaning yourself and others with your off-color vocabulary.”

There was that extraordinary haughtiness with which she was so very familiar by now. For the first time that evening, he seemed truly annoyed with her. She rolled
her eyes, not caring a whit if any of the other dancers witnessed her reaction. “And I suppose you never speak out of turn? Never swear at all?”

“Never.” The single word was so decisive, it actually made her blink.

“Never?” Surely he couldn't be serious. He was a duke, not a saint. “Not even in the dark and mysterious dens of debauchery known as a gentlemen's club? I find that rather unbelievable.”

The corners of his lips curled into a small, reluctant smile as he shook his head. “Where do you get such outlandish ideas? Whoever told you a gentlemen's club was anything less than civilized?”

If there was one thing of which she was most certain, it was the subject of a man's baser existence. Men, as a rule, descended into the maturity of twelve-year-olds when left to their own devices. She had witnessed more than one sailor be sent to the ship's doctor with wounds resulting from some ridiculous bet or dare. Though she had never seen her father participate in such things, he was the exception that proved the rule.

Lifting her chin knowingly, she said, “I have spent a great deal of time in my life in the company of men. I know very well how they can be when they gather en masse.”

He was obviously amused now. “Such wisdom. I think perhaps you failed to take into account the difference in station of the men you have been around in the past and the men who frequent the fine, old establishments of London.”

“Yes, I'm certain they would never make ridiculous bets about everything under the sun, drink themselves silly, or tell stories as tall as fishermen's tales about their supposed conquests.”

He gave a decisive nod. “That is exactly correct.”

Her laugh was as unexpected to her as it was to him. “Oh, do go on. Either you've never actually been to one, or you are simply the boldest liar in the room.”

The music came to an end far sooner than she expected. How had time managed to get away from her so completely? He halted their motion and immediately stepped away. “I'll leave it to you to decide which. Now then, which way to your aunt, if you please?”

“By the refreshments, last I saw.”

He started that way, but she tightened her hand, causing him to look back at her in question. “Before we part for good, let me just say thank you for accepting my apology. I don't handle forced confinement very well.”

He looked down at her as the people around them streamed past, his eyes unreadable. “You're welcome. Contrary to what you seem to believe, I do not wish you or anyone else ill.”

After their rather teasing tit-for-tat dance, his response touched a nerve. Dropping his hand, she stepped backward to put some space between them. “Don't you? You
did
abandon me to my aunt's censure. Not exactly the most gentlemanly thing I've ever heard of.” She couldn't quite figure him out. Yes, he had been exceptionally nice to Sophie, but he had purposely left May to suffer.

Instead of allowing her to have her distance, he grasped her elbow and said evenly, “Follow me, if you please. This is not the conversation to have in the middle of a ballroom.”

It was then that she noticed the heads turned in their direction, the many curious gazes bright in the golden candlelight. With a firm hand, he guided her toward the garden doors, which were left open to the night air. She
could have protested, but decided to keep her tongue in check as they made their way across the limestone patio to the well-lit gravel pathway beyond. Gossip about her behavior was the last thing she needed. The night was surprisingly humid, and only a handful of other guests wandered the garden. It was as private a setting as they could hope for.

“Now,” he said, his voice maddeningly composed, “you were saying?”

She pulled her arm from his grasp and turned to face him, ignoring the way the torchlight turned his eyes to molten gold. “You claim to be a veritable paragon of good English manners, but it seems to me that could not be further from the truth. I had already shown that I was more than willing to apologize. To ignore my aunt's letter and instead allow me to fester in that dreadful old house was downright cruel.

“And then,” she continued, gaining momentum, “when you do finally deign to reply to my groveling letter, you have us come here where it must be done in public instead of permitting me the modicum of dignity apologizing in private would have allowed.”

He didn't look the least bit affected by her words. Lifting a single eyebrow, he said, “Are you finished?”

Something about the way he spoke gave her pause. “Yes?” she replied, suddenly cautious.

“Then perhaps you'd like to know that I suggested meeting here so you could see your friends. I didn't respond to your aunt's summons because I never
received
anything from her, and didn't feel it would do you any favors for me to show up unannounced, proclaiming I was ready to accept the apology you so graciously offered when we were alone in the park together.”

She stood there, feet rooted to the pebbles, probably
looking like a startled owl as she blinked at him in surprise. “You . . . didn't hear from my aunt?” How was that possible? She had specifically said she wanted May to apologize, and wouldn't allow her freedom until she did. Surely her aunt would have wanted her to do so as soon as possible. Wouldn't she?

No, she wouldn't. She probably wished to leave May tucked up in the house for a few days, where she wouldn't have to worry about her. May gritted her teeth at the thought.

Crossing his arms in a very un-dukelike fashion, he shook his head once. “No, I did not.”

“Oh,” she replied lamely, at a loss of what else to say.

“
Oh?
A whole soliloquy about how cruel and terrible I am, and all you have to say for yourself is ‘
oh
'?”

She shifted her weight, beginning to feel a bit foolish. Perhaps she had jumped to conclusions. But even as she thought it, she realized that wasn't right. She had been
guided
to the wrong conclusion. Purposely. “Pardon me, but how was I to know your intentions? I believe your parting words were that you would be entirely too busy to see my aunt, and for me to give her your best.”

He didn't look the least bit guilty or contrite. “I believe I was entitled to a little ambiguity. You had just thrown me to the ground for no reason at all.”

Yes, well, there was that. Nodding, she dropped her hands to her sides and offered a wry grin. “Oh, sure, use that for your justification. I suppose we shall simply have to call it even.”

“Yes, gladly,” he said, unfolding his arms and stepping forward. “Now if you don't mind, I'd like to escort you back to your aunt so we can be done with it.” He held out his elbow, his features relaxed for once.

Oh, Lord.
When he wasn't scowling, he was actually
attractive. Quite, quite so. Particularly with the torchlight dancing across his angled cheekbones, roughing up his normally polished facade. A small shiver danced down her spine as she reached out and placed her fingers against his sleeve. Her pale glove stood out against the dark fabric of his jacket, momentarily holding her attention. The two of them were as different as black and white. Night and day.

Swallowing, she looked up into his bronze-colored gaze. Perhaps it was the reflected fire, but in that moment, his eyes looked warm. Inviting, even. No, that couldn't be right. There was no love lost between them, as it should be. Licking her lips, she offered a brusque smile. “The sooner, the better.”

Hopefully he wouldn't notice the odd hoarseness to her voice.

S
ome things in life are best left unanalyzed.

Like the unexpected rush caused by a single touch, or the sudden pounding of the heart when one's eyes locked with another's.

Guiding them forward, William steadfastly ignored both of those reactions, concentrating on taking measured, calm steps back toward the house. He was a reasonable man who kept tight control on both his emotions and his body. There was no reason Miss Bradford, of all people, should challenge that.

It mattered not that her floral, sultry scent made him want to pull her closer. It was enchanting, putting him in mind of hothouses and warm tea. Or that, instead of simply laying her fingers upon his sleeve like any other female, she allowed her fingers to tighten on his forearm almost possessively, as though she had every right to claim him.

She wasn't, of course. Claiming him, that is. She was as unnerved and exasperated by him as he was by her. Nothing about her fit into the neat molds by which he categorized people.

What was most unnerving was that he found himself liking that about her.

As they stepped onto the limestone pavers, he stole a
glance at her. She was luminescent, despite the drab pink gown that hung shapelessly from her frame. Her cheeks were lightly flushed, her eyes exceptionally dark blue in the low light. Her skin was still golden, as though illuminated from within.

A movement ahead of them caught his eye, breaking the spell. He turned in time to see a couple emerge from the shadows near the edge of the house. Before he even saw the woman's face, he recognized her fiery red hair.
Of course.
He came up short, jerking May to a stop beside him.

Vivian turned, meeting his gaze as though she knew he would be there. Which, undoubtedly, she did. Slowly, deliberately, she allowed her lips to curl into a catlike grin. “Radcliffe, darling,” she purred, her soft Parisian accent caressing the words. “What a surprise, finding you out here. You remember the earl, yes?”

William could feel his muscles harden one by one as he turned to acknowledge the man who had long been his political opponent. “Norwich,” he said, dipping his head in the shallowest manner possible.

The other man returned the gesture. “Duke. And Miss Bradford, what a pleasure to see you again.” He offered a wide, surprisingly honest smile to May.

She grinned right back at him, as though they were old friends. “And you, Lord Norwich. I didn't realize you were back in town.”

He had never heard such welcome in her voice before. Something uncomfortably close to jealously flashed through William and he clenched his teeth against it. It was utterly ridiculous. She meant nothing to him. Entertaining at times, but even those were few and far between.

Still, the earl's overly friendly expression was just this
side of vulgar, as far as William was concerned. He was easily five-and-forty, old enough to be May's father.

“Only just,” Norwich replied, then patted Vivian's hand. “Lady Radcliffe here convinced me it was worth returning for the last week.”

May's eyes went huge, and she took a quick step away from William, taking the warmth of her hand with her. “
Lady
Radcliffe?” The confusion was clear in her voice. Her gaze slipped back and forth between William and his stepmother, accusation furrowing her brow.

“My father's widow, Miss Bradford,” he replied coolly, not wanting her to give his stepmother any more ideas than she probably already had. He continued with the introduction, all the while wondering why May would have reacted as she did. They were merely acquaintances, weren't they? Straddling the line between friend and opponent since their tentative ceasefire.

Vivian looked May over from head to toe, interest sparking in her pale blue eyes. “How very lovely to meet another friend of Radcliffe's. I feared that for him, there was nothing but the estates and his little projects.”

May turned her attention back to William. “I didn't realize you were so industrious. What are your projects?” Was that a hint of admiration, or just surprise? She probably had been imagining him lazing about his days, sipping tea and riding aimlessly across the countryside.

Straightening in a way meant to convey impatience, he said, “I won't bore you with the details while there is a ball to be enjoyed. Speaking of, I must return you to your aunt. She'll be wondering what became of us.”

“Ah, yes, mustn't keep Lady Stanwix waiting,” Lord Norwich replied, his attention on May. Stepping forward, he captured her hand and lifted it to his lips. William's jaw clenched as she allowed the earl to press a kiss to the
top of her hand—something she had denied William not two days earlier. “I do hope there's room on your dance card for one more this evening.”

“Alas, I am without a card this evening, as my aunt doesn't intend to stay long. Another time, perhaps?”

Norwich had barely nodded when William turned and led May back inside. His body was still tense, and he was agitated in a way he didn't wish to scrutinize.

“Your stepmother seemed lovely. Where is she from?”

“France,” he responded, purposely curt. Vivian was
not
lovely, not in the least. She was a master of manipulation, and he was not looking forward to her accompanying him back to Clifton House.

“Aha. No wonder you don't like her.”

He slanted a narrowed look toward her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You don't exactly hide your opinions of others. It's clear you dislike her, and if she had the audacity to be from France, I imagine that explains it.”

A rebuttal perched at the tip of his tongue, but he refused to allow her to draw him into yet another argument. Nodding to where Lady Stanwix stood beside the small section of chairs to their right, he said, “There is your aunt. Have you in mind what you wish to say?”

“I have all sorts of things I wish to say, but yes, I have rehearsed the required apology.”

“Excellent. It's been”—he paused, attempting to find a word that could possibly describe their encounters—“
interesting
.”

She smiled, clearly not taking offense. “My sentiments exactly.”

*   *   *

Aunt Victoria looked as though she couldn't decide whether to be pleased or furious with May. With her
nostrils wide and shoulders rigidly straight, she stayed where she was as they approached, a queen awaiting her subjects. The good news was, with Radcliffe beside them, she would at least keep a civil tongue.

“Lady Stanwix, do forgive me for detaining your niece.” Radcliffe was back to his stiff, imperious self. One would never know the heated manner in which they had spoken not ten minutes earlier. “The dance may have overheated her, I'm afraid.”

The suspicion was still evident in her narrowed eyes, but she nodded graciously. “You are too kind to have escorted her, Duke. Thank you for your attentiveness.”

“Yes, thank you,” May echoed, offering him a purposely effusive smile. “And once again, I hope you can accept my most
sincere
apology for how I behaved when we met the other night.”

“Of course. I believe it is safe to say that neither one of us was quite ourselves that evening.” He didn't smile, but then again, she didn't expect him to.

Her aunt shook her head, her face grave. “Thank you for your understanding and forgiveness, Duke. I can only hope my niece has learned her lesson. I must say, I'm relieved the festival will be over soon. My nerves need a break from the constant worry that being her chaperone has caused me.”

“I'm certain you are both looking forward to her father's return,” he replied, cutting a knowing glance in May's direction.

Her forced smile melted into a real one. She could have kissed him for that response. Sometimes her aunt needed to be reminded that May didn't want to be here any more than her aunt wanted her here. “Very much so. I'm not sure what I will do with myself once the festival
is over, as he won't touch English soil for a good month yet.”

The thought was thoroughly depressing. Without Charity and Sophie, or the many distractions the festival offered, she couldn't imagine how she would keep from going mad. Her aunt would happily have her seated in the drawing room, embroidering samplers and writing letters and knitting whatever it was proper young English women knitted.

He laid a reassuring hand over her fingers where they rested on his sleeve. “You'll find plenty to do in Bath once the crowds have gone. No more balls or concerts, but the city has much to offer.”

It wasn't his words that held her attention, but his gesture. May's gaze fixated on his hand as his warmth seeped through the leather separating their skin. It was a familiar gesture, one that she might expect of an old friend or family member, certainly not of an uptight and proper peer.

“Indeed,” Aunt Victoria said, oblivious to May's wandering thoughts. “I much prefer the city without the crowds. I wonder, will you be staying past the closing concert?”

His hand quietly slipped away from May's as he shook his head. “I'm afraid I shall exodus along with the masses. I have much to tend to at Clifton House.”

His answer wasn't a surprise, but the fact that it was a disappointment was. She assumed they would go their separate ways, but the thought of him leaving seemed to make the remainder of her time in Bath that much more lonely. Who else would she have to argue with when he was gone? “I'm glad you came,” she said, surprising
herself. “It has been an eye-opening experience, meeting a duke.”

He gave a short laugh, making May's eyebrows hitch up her forehead. She hadn't been entirely sure he was capable of actual laughter. She rather liked the sound of it.

“I am quite sure that it was, Miss Bradford. It has been eye-opening meeting you as well.” He smiled then. Not a patronizing or condescending smile, or even a pitying one, but a true grin that May felt all the way to her toes. “And now, I shall leave you ladies to your evening.” He bowed his head regally to each of them, winked subtly but unmistakably at May, and walked away.

She watched him as he disappeared into the crowd, her lips pressed together against a telltale smile she didn't want anyone around them to see. Devil take it, she actually hated to see him go.

*   *   *

“Tell us
everything
.”

May was impressed. Her friends had waited all of ten seconds before springing the question on her. The only thing that surprised her was that Charity had been the one to speak first.

Sophie, however, didn't keep quiet for long. “More than everything. I want to know every last detail, and if he didn't kiss you, then lie to us and tell us he did.”

“Sophie!” May exclaimed, laughing at her friend's obvious enthusiasm. “You have a much more active imagination than I even realized. And you Charity—I would have expected a bit more levelheadedness from you.”

From her place on the wrought iron bench flanked by potted lemon trees, Charity shot her a rueful look, her gray eyes full of mischief. “Oh please, you expected no such thing. Having borne witness to the dour Duke of
Radcliffe laugh aloud in front of an entire ballroom of people because of something you said, I am as determined as Sophie to squeeze every last detail from you.
Especially
after we were under the impression that he was to be boycotted following your last encounter.”

Smiling, May settled back onto the comfortable cushions of her lounge chair and tipped her face to the sun. It felt wonderful to have her freedom back. They were only in her aunt's garden, but it was a vast improvement over the house. “Now, now, I'm sure such a thing isn't
that
unusual. It's not as though he swept me from my feet and carried me from the room,
Sophie
,” she said, sending a teasingly pointed look to her friend.

Dark eyes widened as Sophie sat up straight. “What? That worked out quite well in the end, thank you very much. And really, if you can ever persuade a man to do such a thing, I highly recommend it.” Her cheeks were bright red even as she said it, but her grin was absolutely irrepressible.

May couldn't help but laugh—an old married matron, Sophie still blushed like a girl fresh from the schoolroom. “I shall keep that in mind.”

“Don't think I haven't noticed that you neatly dodged our questions,” Charity said, reaching up to adjust her bonnet to better keep the sun from her cheeks. Already her freckles where becoming more apparent, but in May's opinion, they served to make her look only that much more lovely. “You promised to explain how you came to be imprisoned, and what the duke had to do with it.”

Acquiescing, May recounted the night she'd met him and the encounter the following morning. Sophie's eyes went round as portholes as May related their
increasingly sharp barbs, culminating in the duke ending up on the ground.

“Oh dear heavens, I think I might just have my very first fit of vapors,” she said, her hand at her throat. “You aren't being metaphorical, are you? You flayed him so effectively with your sharp-witted comebacks that he was left figuratively on his back, gasping for air?”

“No, I'm being quite literal. I imagine he still has the grass stains to attest to it.”

“Right then. Good. All right. Carry on.” Sophie's normally pale skin seemed slightly green. Doubtless she and Charity both thought her mad as a loon by now.

May laughed, shaking her head at the pair of them. “It was all for the best, I assure you. If I hadn't shown him what I was capable of, we might still be locked in verbal combat. The man is as thickheaded as he is stubborn.”

Charity lifted a dubious brow. “Oh really? So he was perfectly fine with the, um, maneuver?”

The image of his almost comically shocked expression as he stared up at the sky flitted through her mind. She should probably keep that to herself. “Sort of. Not at first, perhaps, but I think, deep down, it made him feel something.”