Page 33 of Never Dare a Duke
She flinched at his harsh words, but she had her voice under control. “I have already told you I do not wish to marry you. You are the one who accepted my idea to pretend to court me. Surely you must share the blame if people’s perceptions are wrong about us.”
He said nothing, not trusting himself to speak, knowing that it sounded irrational. It didn’t matter that she was right. She was lying to him, and he desired her, and his dark confusion was twisting him up inside. He had a momentary thought that he should send her away—but he knew he wouldn’t.
“We can end this now, Your Grace,” she said firmly. “If you are suspicious of me, the plan will not work anyway.”
“No, we aren’t ending this,” he said, trying to soften his voice. “I just—need you to understand the consequences of your actions.”
“Believe me, I understand.”
She was watching him now as if he were a cornered animal of which she had to be wary. And she was right. It had been many years since he’d felt so out of control. Surely it was because of the stress in his life—his worry about Madeleine, the project that would not reveal its secrets, and now the mystery of Miss Shaw. He wasn’t sleeping well—was he even thinking correctly?
All he wanted was a kiss—one kiss. They were alone; no one would ever know. He reached out to her, then pulled back. It took everything in him to sound almost normal as he said, “Walk ahead of me, Miss Shaw. I will wait until it is obvious we were not together.”
Her little bonnet trembled as she nodded. She passed by him and began to walk back toward Madingley Court with the speed of a woman who was used to walking. She wasn’t lying about that.
When she disappeared over the next hill, Christopher pressed a hand against a tree. He bowed his head and tried to clear it of muddled thoughts. What was it about her that frustrated and infuriated him, all while he experienced a heady desire for her?
She was his opponent, he knew that now—in more ways than one.
Abigail’s heart was still pounding from the close call as Madingley Court came into sight. She would have given anything to escape to her room and collapse in relief, but Lady Elizabeth had already spotted her from the croquet game spread across the smooth lawn near the east wing. The young woman waved, and Abigail waved back, knowing she could not rudely ignore her hostess.
Where was Gwen? Abigail wondered as she drew closer. She needed to alert her friend that she’d been forced to lie in her name. But she and the vicar had not yet returned. With Abigail’s luck, they’d arrive just in time to face the duke’s questions. And he had too many of them, due to her own stupidity. She had almost ruined everything with her mission to the village. He had not believed her, and she was still trying to grasp that fact. She had seen it in his dark eyes, which had fixed on her with intent. He had played it off as worry about being discovered alone together, but she knew it was not his main concern.
He was suspicious of her.
Would he end their pretend courtship? Deny her access to him, and thereby deny her the article? She couldn’t let that happen! She would have to be more careful.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw that he was not yet in sight. Oh, if only Gwen would arrive before he did!
But Abigail was not so lucky, and soon the duke appeared from the house rather than the lane. He must have returned home a different way. Although he might be sparing her the censure of others, he was also sparing himself. Once again, they were using each other, twisting together in a tense rope of dependency. Where could it all lead?
And then her bad luck worsened, as Gwen and a lady’s maid arrived in an open phaeton driven by Gwen herself. From across the lawn, the duke met Abigail’s gaze, gave a small smile, then turned to greet them.
Her stomach plummeted to her toes. Gwen wouldn’t know what to answer. Abigail could run to intercept them, but that would betray her just as much as Gwen’s ignorance. Instead, she walked toward them sedately, letting the duke reach them first. Soon she could hear Gwen’s trilling laugh.
“Oh, Your Grace, the village is so quaint and lovely! And your parish—why, you take wonderful care of it.”
“Not just I, but all of its parishioners, Lady Gwen. You do not mind if I call you that, do you?”
Gwen only shook her head. “Of course not.”
“I heard Miss Shaw use it, and I thought it endearing, more reflective of your personality.”
He glanced over his shoulder at Abigail, but said to Gwen, “I see that Mr. Wesley did not return with you.”
“He had to visit several ill parishioners today. He promised to return tonight.”
In the bright sunlight, her faint blush was noticeable.
“Lady Gwen,” he continued in a deceptively even voice, “did your friend, Miss Shaw, tour the church with you?”
Abigail could only widen her eyes at Gwen, who spoke without even hesitating.
“She did, Your Grace.” To Abigail, Gwen said, “Mr. Wesley keeps such a clean church, doesn’t he?”
It was an inane statement, but it gave Abigail the chance to say, “He does. And if I would have known he was not accompanying you back, I would have done so myself.”
Gwen laughed and touched her arm fondly. “Oh you, I do not need time alone with Mr. Wesley. We are simply friends.”
