Page 13 of His Runaway Duchess

She raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. “You’re a duke, then. The Duke of where?”

“Here,” he responded shortly.

Daphne fought not to roll her eyes. “And where ishere, exactly?”

He pressed his lips together. “Thornbridge.”

She flinched back a little. The name was familiar. “You are the Duke of Thornbridge?”

“I am,” he confirmed. “And this errant, little wretch is my only son, so you’ll forgive me if I let my worry for him overwhelmmy manners. As I said earlier, you ought to get home and out of those wet things.”

A sudden and rather vivid image ofhimpeeling her out of those wet things flashed through his mind, much to his horror. He gave himself a little shake—it was just because she was young and pretty, and he’d been alone for far too long—and made to move past her.

He had actually succeeded in getting past her, towing Alex along behind him, when she spoke again.

“Your Grace, wait!”

CHAPTER 4

Daphne had been told, by several different people in many different ways, that she had a habit of talking too much. This brought with it many other problems. For example, she often found herself in the middle of a sentence without knowing how she got there or how she intended to finish it.

Generally, this led to embarrassing conversations, which she cringed over or laughed over with her sister.

On this occasion, however, her big mouth might have much more serious consequences.

For example, she was cold, wet, alone in an unfamiliar part of the countryside with no way of getting home, and she had just been extremely rude to the only person who could possibly help her.

The Duke of Thornbridge. That name is familiar, but I can’t think where I might have heard it. He certainly hasn’t been out in Society these past few years. I wouldhave remembered him otherwise.

He was a tall man, and while Daphne generally hated men who loomed over her, she had to admit that the Duke’s form was impressive. He had broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the sort of figure that Society dandies padded their suits to achieve. It never quite looked right on them, not like it did on the Duke of Thornbridge.

His black hair was damp due to the mizzling rain, curling ever so slightly and grazing his jaw. He had a dusting of stubble on his cheeks, too—the beginnings of a beard.

Now, that was careless. The fashion for gentlemen was to be clean-shaven, or else to sport carefully curated mustachios. This man seemed not to care whether he shaved or not.

Then again, he also seemed to spurn fashion, judging by his clothes. When he turned his back, Daphne noticed that his coat was tight around his shoulders. Not because it was a fashionable cut, but because of the powerful muscles in his back.

She cleared her throat. He wasn’tbad-lookingexactly, but certainly not handsome enough forher. And yet she found herself getting ready to speak.Of course.

The words were out of her mouth, as usual, before she could stop them. “Your Grace, wait!”

He paused, and for a moment, she thought he was going to ignore her and stamp away. Then he heaved a sigh and bent down to speak to Alex.

“Go ahead of me. Mrs. Trench is waiting for you—I can see her on the patio down there. Join her immediately. Do you hear?”

Alex bit his lip, looking mutinous. “But the lady?—”

“Alex, I do not want to have to tell you again.”

Alex met Daphne’s eyes, and she raised her eyebrows helplessly.

He sighed. “Yes, Papa.”

Shooting Daphne an apologetic glance, Alex turned and ran down the hill. As he entered the more brightly lit patio area at the foot of the hill, where the field bordered the grounds of the house, a number of servants came forward. They all seemed pleased to see him, smiling at him and patting his head.

Mrs. Trench, as she’d been pointed out, was a stern-looking woman with a stocky frame, but her face relaxed into a smile when she saw Alex. She offered him her hand, and he took it. They turned to go inside, and then Daphne was alone with this man. With the Duke of Thornbridge.

The penny dropped.

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