Page 8 of The Duke Says I Do
“No.”
“It’s only for one night.”
“Ye…es.” That emerged less emphatically.
“And we can’t let him fend for himself.”
“No.” Stouter tone.
“So what else can I do?”
A tentative smile softened that cursed tempting mouth. If anyone had told him this morning that he’d be in a lather to kiss Portia Frain, he’d question their sanity. Now all he could think about was how those full lips would taste beneath his. “Thank you. I’m sure you won’t be sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said shortly.
“Sorry?”
“Sure.”
She spread her hands. “I’m very grateful.”
He ground his teeth. “That’s nice to hear. You’re also going to be very useful. You’re coming back to Dempster House to settle him in. And you’re going to call tomorrow to take him away with you. I know you want me to adopt him, but that’s not going to happen.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She looked appalled. “I can’t come to Dempster House. My reputation will be in shreds.”
Given she wandered around the East End without a hint of a chaperone, her reputation was likely to be ruined anyway. “I’m not dealing with this animal alone. That’s my condition for looking after him tonight. Take it or leave it.”
She sighed and regarded Granville with familiar displeasure. She’d been turning up that pretty nose at him since he’d started courting her sister. “You leave me no choice.”
“Very sensible. Now we just need to find my carriage and we’ll head off.” So far, he knew that he was going to upset his valet and his butler. Phipps would be offside, too, once a dog badly in need of a bath invaded the ducal coach’s luxurious interior.
Portia eyed Granville with a lack of faith that stung. “Do you know the way?”
“If we angle toward the river, we should be fine.” The river was always easy to find. It stank.
He hoped to Jericho that the carriage wasn’t far away. He’d told Phipps to walk the horses while he completed his business with the shipping agent. He presumed his coachman had been looking for him ever since. Their paths should cross sooner rather than later.
He gestured for Portia to turn down a side street. “My lady?”
Only as they left the square did he realize that in his attempt to best her, he’d made a disastrous error of judgment. Even worse, he had nobody to blame but himself.
He was attracted to Portia Frain, mad as that conclusion might be. He needed to un-attract himself and soon, or he was doomed to nothing but frustration. A virgin of Portia’s class only came to a man’s bed after a wedding. However much he might fancy the chit, no amount of desire convinced him that she’d make a suitable duchess.
That was if the impossible happened and she agreed to have him. Jupiter would start conjugating Latin verbs before that happened.
Granville had to nip this madness in the bud, before it took over his life. The best strategy was avoiding the lady’s company until balance was restored.
Yet here he was inviting her into his house and enlisting her aid and extending a contact that could only prove calamitous. By all that was holy, he needed to have his head fixed.
Chapter 3
Across the maroon leather interior of the coach, Portia watched the Duke of Granville stare out the window with a pensive expression. Like a perfect gentleman, he sat with his back to the horses. Hewasa perfect gentleman. He’d even taken Juliet’s rejection with notable gallantry.
She wished to heaven that she knew why his refined manners irked her so much.
They still drove through the East End. They’d stumbled on the duke’s carriage soon after she’d obtained his reluctant agreement to take Jupiter in. From there, they traveled to the rendezvous point that Portia had set with Rankin, her coachman, so he knew she was safe.
Portia had a lot of respect for a good coachman. She couldn’t manage her rescues without Rankin, and he took charge of her menagerie if she was absent. The duke’s coachman was clearly another paragon. Phipps hadn’t raised an eyebrow when his passengers included a disheveled lady and a dog of doubtful breed.
