Page 20 of The Duke's Price
It was not until they were on the road to Carcassonne that Ruth realised that, for the next part of their journey, she and De-Ath would be alone. There was no point in wondering whether De-Ath would take advantage of that fact. Of course, he would.
Perry gavean excellent performance of a spoilt English duke to a fascinated audience of an innkeeper, more than a dozen maids and grooms, and a score or more of travellers and bystanders. He had made a spoilt duke’s attempt at disguising his name—he was the Marquess of Rich, he told the innkeeper, and the driver, and anyone who was listening. He required immediate attention, for his ward was in danger, and he had to get her out of the country.
He had played many roles in his life, and spoilt duke was one of the easiest, since it was what people expected. And perhaps it was true. Certainly, he had never wanted for material possessions. Nor for women, at least the easy sort. In his maudlin moments, he wondered if being a duke had deprived him of most of the rest of what made life worthwhile. A loving family. A worthwhile profession. Pride in self rather than simply one’s name.
He had little patience with his maudlin moments. He would rather focus on the fact that he would have Ruth to himself in private for two hours, until they reached the next change of horses. He didn’t intend for her first time to be in a moving carriage, but he did intend for her to reach the end of the day’s journey eagerly awaiting her first time.
She had waited in the carriage, supporting the impression he had been at pains to convey—that “his ward” was in there with her governess. The lure duly laid, Perry gave the driver the word to move off, and joined her.
“That should send Garcia after us. Carlos too, if he has joined the hunt here in France. When we leave the driver with his fare home towards the end of the day, I propose to double back a little by hidden ways. I have friends who will give us safe shelter for the night. I’m happy to lead Garcia and Carlos on a wild goose chase, but I don’t propose to permit them to catch up.”
“That is good,” Ruth agreed. “They are both men of violent tempers, and will have others with them. I do not wish you to be hurt.”
“I thank you for your kindness,” said Perry. “I do not wish me to be hurt, either.” If it came to it, he was more able to defend himself than Ruth might expect —or Garcia and Carlos. But in any conflict, something might happen to Ruth, and that was not acceptable.
His surge of anger at the mere thought alarmed him.I am not feeling possessive, am I?The Duke of Depravity was never possessive. No. It wasn’t that Carlos might take her from him, it was that she might be hurt.
He shot a glance at her and sighed. That wasn’t it at all. He could lie to others. He was good at it. He gloried in his reputation for debauchery. He always followed his own self-interest. But he did have standards. He never forced anyone. He always kept his promises. And he didn’t lie to himself.
Ruth Henwood had become important to him, quite without him intending it or understanding the reasons.
“Is something wrong, De-Ath?” she asked, looking at his with concern
“Not particularly. Why do you ask?”
“You sighed,” she explained.
Yes. He had. The lady was far too perceptive. “Nothing to concern yourself with, sweetheart.” He shifted to put his arm around her. “Now, Ruth dearest. Where were we two nights ago when we were so rudely interrupted.”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed red. “De-Ath! We can’t. In a carriage? Can we?”
“Oh yes, we can, my darling innocent. Let me show you.”
She regarded him gravely from those innocent brown eyes, but said nothing.
“I need you to give me permission, Ruth,” he coaxed. “I shall not take things too far, not in the coach, but I shall make you feel good, I promise.”
“You have my consent,” she said—or whispered, rather. “I promised I would be your mistress during the trip. I have not kept my promise, but it has not been my doing, De-Ath.”
He had an urge to hear his name on her lips. Perry, short for Perran. The name he used when he lectured himself. The name his grandmother had called him. The name he hadn’t heard anyone else use since Grandmama died when he was twelve.
Even his sister had called him by his title—Lockswell until he became duke, and Richport thereafter. That had been five days after the accident in which his grandmother died, for the old duke had lingered, refusing to submit to his wounds. But even the Duke of Richport was not able to force wounds to heal, or broken bones to mend, or infection, that great killer of men, to leave his rotting flesh.
Like his grandfather, the uncle who had become his guardian only ever called him Richport. “Richport, sit up straight.” “Richport, apply yourself.” “Richport, remember who you are.”
“De-Ath? Are you upset with me?” Ruth’s warm voice, recalling him to the present.
“Upset with you? Not at all. None of the interruptions have been your doing, darling. A blue moment, that was all. I am not a good man, Ruth, and I do not deserve to have your trust.”
“You are a rather bad man, in some ways,” Ruth said, judiciously, “but I trust you because you do not break yourpromises, you have been kind to Bella, and Walter loves you. You are a good man, in many ways, De-Ath.”
“Perry,” Perry said, quite without meaning to. Ah well. It was done now, and he really would like to hear her say his name. “It is what my grandmother used to call me when I was young. Perry, usually. And sometimes Perran. Will you? Call me Perry or Perran, I mean?”
“Perry,” she said, obediently. “You are a good man, Perry.”
The feeling in his chest was alarming. Was it some sort of heart attack? It felt like pain, only good—and he had never been one to regard pain as pleasure. He made a joke to lighten the moment. “Good in parts. Like an egg, that has only just begun to go off.”
She chuckled, and then said, “Kiss me, Perry, if you wish to do so,”
