Page 33 of A Duke in the Rough

Charlotte huffed as she rejoined them. “Duke or not, that man is most disagreeable. I would caution you, Honoria, if you are considering him as a husband.”

“As long as she’s not considering Mr. Merrick,” Anne said, then sighed dreamily.

“Did I hear that odious man’s name mentioned?”

Honoria jumped at her father’s tenor. “Father, Mr. Merrick isn’t odious.”

“He really isn’t, Lord Stratford,” Anne said, the dreamy look swimming in her eyes again. “I find him wonderful.”

“Hmph. Then may I suggest you bring him up to scratch and keep him away from my daughter?”

Miranda and Charlotte exchanged a glance, indicating they would have questions later.

Questions Honoria truly didn’t want to answer.

“Father, did you want something?” The question snapped out more forcefully than she intended.

He cast his gaze toward her companions, then, perhaps reconsidering chastising her in front of them, shook his head. “Only to suggest your time will be better served in the company of Burwood and not his man of business.”

“It was at Burwood’s request Dra—Mr. Merrick and I sing the duet. I could hardly refuse him.”

Her father grunted again. “Nevertheless, take care not to be drawn into bad company.” With that, he turned and left them.

Anne stared at his retreating back, her eyes wide. “Whatever on earth does your father have against Mr. Merrick?”

Miranda met Honoria’s gaze directly. “Anne, would you please go tell my brother to stop making a display of himself in front of everyone?”

Everyone in their little group, including Honoria, turned their attention to Lord Montgomery as he toyed with a lock of Lady Montgomery’s hair, his fingers trailing along her neck.

“Why should I do that? He’s your brother.”

“Because he won’t listen to me,” Miranda said with enough assurance that, after blinking twice, Anne strolled over to the piano where Lady Montgomery continued to play. She frowned as she cast a glance back at them over her shoulder.

“Now,” Miranda said. “What is this about Mr. Merrick?”

CHAPTER 10

Drake slammed the door of his bedchamber, then stomped to his bed. After making several circular passes next to it, he allowed his body to fall onto the soft mattress.

“Simon, you cur!”

His hands curled into fists, and he punched the pillow next to him. Feathers flew out and floated down, one landing on his nose.

“Achoo!” No doubt to taunt him, the feather flew upward only to land again on his nose. With his forefinger and thumb, he picked it off, only to be fascinated with its softness. He rolled the delicate fluff through his fingers, remembering something even softer.

Unable to resist, he rose from the bed and strode to his dressing table. Retrieving the locket, he opened it. For eight long years, a piece of auburn hair had rested inside. Coarse string tied the precious keepsake together at one end, the rough texture’s contrast only enhancing the silkiness of what it held. He pulled the soft red strands through his fingers.

With no effort, the memory rose as clearly as if he were experiencing it that very moment, and a dull ache gripped his chest.

They’d been riding as usual, stopping under a shady group of talloaks. She’d been singing softly as they rode, her voice so sweet, he thought he’d never heard anything quite so beautiful.

Her cheeks grew rosy when she caught him staring at her.

When he helped her down from her mount, he’d held her waist a little too long. “You sing like an angel.”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head, the color on her face deepening further. “I didn’t realize you could hear me.”

He said something stupid then. What was it? Oh, yes. “I have the ears of a fox.”

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