Page 35 of My Demanding Duke

"Falconbridge's bride? I had heard he had finally taken a duchess." Gravesend bowed again, more deeply this time. "I am doubly honored to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. And may I say, Falconbridge is a fortunate man indeed."

"You know my husband?" Anna asked, worried for a moment that the duke would hear about the incident after all.

"I know of him," Lord Gravesend replied carefully. "Though I confess, I'm surprised to find you walking these paths with only a maid for company, your Grace. The duke is not known for taking risks with his possessions."

The word “possessions” stung, though Anna couldn't deny its accuracy. Wasn't that precisely what she was? A possession acquired through her father's gambling debts?

"Yes, it was foolish of me and I believe he’d be very upset if he was to find out,” Anna answered, forcing a helpless tone in the hope that her rescuer might come to her aid once again.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Gravesend assured her, his instinctive chivalry warming her to him.

“You are too kind, my lord,” Anna smiled at him, feeling a tad guilty for her earlier thoughts about his Byron-like qualities. Who better than a Romantic to come to a lady’s aid not once, but twice, in mere minutes?

"May I escort you back to the main path, Your Grace?” Gravesend asked, offering her his arm. “I would hate for your morning to be further disrupted by unsavory characters."

Anna hesitated only briefly before accepting his offer. As they walked, Gravesend made polite conversation about the weather, the latest gossip about Prinny, and which gatherings he had attended and would attend. Trivial, everyday topics that made Anna feel at ease—it was almost a relief to converse normally with a gentleman, after the intensity of all her exchanges with Falconbridge.

“I will not delay you any longer, my lord,” Anna said, once they had reached the safety of The Queen’s Walk. “Thank you again for your bravery; I do hope our paths will cross again.”

“I will make sure of it,” Gravesend answered, nonplussed by her dismissal. “Your servant, your Grace.”

He offered Anna and Josie a flourishing bow before disappearing back down the path they had emerged from.

“What lovely manners that young man has,” Josie commented, stopping to watch Lord Gravesend’s disappearing form. Anna followed the line of her gaze—which was focused firmly on the lord’s bottom—and elbowed her with a giggle.

“Yes, I’m certain it’s his lovely manners you’re admiring,” she laughed, as she linked arms with her.

The two women skitted and laughed the whole way back to their waiting carriage. At the sight of them, the footman sprang from his perch to open the door of the barouche, his manner much more deferential than on their departure.

Anna smiled her thanks, refusing to hold a grudge for his earlier comment. She had just experienced for herself the worry of upsetting Falconbridge and could only imagine it magnified tenfold for a servant.

“Where to, your Grace?” the driver called, once they had settled in their seat.

“Home,” Anna answered, squaring her shoulders.

It was time to start trying to think of Falconbridge House as her home. She was a duchess, she would not cower and hide from her own servants. Nor would she cower from her husband or accept him keeping secrets from her. If the duke wanted her as his wife, then he would have to learn to include her in all his dealings—including the search for her father.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE EVENING WASnot unfolding the way that Hugh had envisioned. He had returned home from The House of Lords late, his mind still filled with debates over abolition laws, only to learn that his wife had taken it upon herself to walk unescorted through Green Park.

"Alone, Thompson? They let her go alone?" Hugh's voice had risen sharply, and his valet had taken a step back.

"With her lady's maid, your Grace." Thompson had corrected carefully before defending his fellow staff. "Her Grace was insistent, despite their protests. They could have kept this from you, but believed that you would prefer to know."

“Offer them my thanks,” Hugh replied, with a curt nod.

He did not want Anna to think he was her jailer, but he could not ignore her reckless disregard for her own safety. London was not Whitby; danger lurked at every corner, especially for women.

When she arrived for dinner, Anna appeared far from contrite. She wore a splendid ruby gown that matched the fire in her eyes, her chin lifted in defiance before he’d even spoken a word.

"My dear," he said stiffly, standing as she entered the room.

He walked to meet her at the doorway, offering her his arm. Her grip was so light that he barely felt it, her gaze fixed straight ahead as if she were walking to an execution rather than dinner with her husband.

Hugh stifled a sigh of irritation—she could not be vexed with him already; he had only spoken two words.

He pulled out a chair for her to sit on and, once she was comfortable, he took his own seat.

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