Page 25 of His Runaway Duchess

“Oh, you think he’s more handsome than me? Why should I care about that?”

She blinked. “Why in the world wasthatthe part you felt you had to mention? My point is that fortune-hunting ladies who are willing to do all sorts of things to catch dukes do not much care which one they marry. If I were such a woman, I certainly would not throw away one duke in order to catch another one who is eminently less agreeable, would I?”

There was a long pause after that. The Duke stared at her, his brow furrowed, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair.

“No, I suppose you would not,” he conceded, at last.

“And I turned up here in such a state, remember?” she continued, pushing her advantage. “I was filthy, and disheveled, and bedraggled. What woman would dare to try to catchanyonewhile looking like that?”

The Duke narrowed his eyes at her. “Ah, but there’s the catch, isn’t it? Youknewyou looked very alluring in that state, but you could still feign innocence while knowing exactly what effect it would have.”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“Alluring,” Daphne repeated faintly. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, are you saying that I lookedalluring? I looked like a hag! The grubbiest hag in Christendom! Any respectable man would be shocked. Of course,” she couldn’t help adding, “if youdofind women coated in mud very attractive, then I can’t?—”

“Oh, that’s enough,” he snapped, bouncing to his feet and striding across the room.

For a moment, Daphne thought he was going to walk right out of the room and leave her standing there like a fool. Instead, he headed for a glass whiskey decanter on the sideboard and poured himself a generous measure. Gulping it down in one mouthful, he immediately began to pour himself a second glass. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Do you drink whiskey, Miss Belmont?”

Of course, Daphne did not drink whiskey. Ladies never drank spirits or things like that, and whiskey and brandy werefirmlymen’s beverages. Her mother drank brandy on occasion, but never in public. Daphne couldn’t believe that the Duke did not realize this, so perhaps he simply did not care anymore.

“No,” she said, “but I’ll try some. It might steady my nerves,” she added, saying something she’d heard gentlemen say before.

He grunted, holding her gaze for a long moment. Then, he turned back, poured a second, generous glass of amber liquid, and held it out to her.

Daphne edged towards him, eyeing him warily. The anger seemed to have drained out of him, replaced by a sort of exhausted resignation. She took the glass carefully, trying to make sure their fingers did not touch. It was nearly impossible, and the side of his forefinger brushed hers ever so slightly, and a rush ofsomethingsplintered down her arm, making her shiver.

He didn’t seem to notice her shudder, turning around and walking back to his desk. He didn’t sit down. Instead, he stood and stared down at the desk, which was covered in papers, ledgers, and books.

Daphne sniffed her drink cautiously. It smelled vile. Men drank it in big mouthfuls, didn’t they? Best to get it over with. She took a modest gulp of the stuff and immediately choked.

Oh, it wasawful. It tasted like… She couldn’t even decide what it tasted like, only that it tastedbad, and itburned. Her face screwed up as she forced it down. Spitting it back into the glass would be a mistake, she thought. She’d have to drink the stuff now, one way or another.

Apparently, her choking was more audible than she thought. The Duke turned around to face her, smiling wryly.

“I would suggest small sips, Miss Belmont.”

“Thank you,” she rasped.

She would take a break before the next sip. Perhaps there’d be an opportunity to get rid of the drink, such as tipping it out of the window or hurling the glass, whiskey and all, at somebody’s head in a dramatic fashion. The Duke’s head, ideally.

“What did you do with the scandal sheet page, then?”

She winced. “I burned it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“What, did you think I was going to frame it and hang it on my wall?” he snorted. “Besides, variations of that story will be in every gossip column and scandal sheet in the country, as well as some of the proper newspapers. Burning that page won’t solve our problem.”

“No,” she conceded. “But can’t we just explain it all? Your stepmother was here, wasn’t she? Won’t that be good enough?”

“Of course, it won’t be good enough,” he snapped. “And even if it would be, it doesn’t matter—our reputations are already destroyed. It’s over for us both. We’ll never be forgiven. There’s only one way out of this.”

Daphne took another sip of the whiskey. Yes, it was still awful.

“Meaning?”

He held her gaze. “Meaning, Miss Belmont, you and I are going to marry.”

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