Page 15 of An Innocent Maid for the Duke
‘No, no. He didn’t do anything. It was me.’
Flo’s gaze went back up the alley. ‘Blasted toffs.’
‘Please, Flo. I want to go. Now.’
Clearly torn between wanting to seek out the man and needing to help Rose, Flo hesitated.
‘Flo, I need to go home.’
With a curse, Flo put an arm around her shoulders and turned down the street heading for Cheapside.
Chapter Three
Heavy-eyed and muzzy-headed, Jake lifted his gaze from the numbers dancing across the page of the ledger and stared at the straw bonnet sitting on the corner of the desk.
What had he been thinking? He was the Duke, not the carefree second son any longer. He had responsibilities and, as his father had reminded him with his dying breath, a duty to the Westmoor name. A duke didn’t go about importuning ladies in a hidden garden. Surely even he had too much pride to abase himself before an unwilling woman. His brother would never have considered such a thing.
Besides, even if she was not a member of theton, Rose was innately a lady in every respect. The rake in him had recognised her innocence from the first and he had come so close to scaring her to death, she’d had to run from him. It did not bear thinking about.
After swearing to his father to do his duty by the title, at the first temptation to come his way he’d returned to his old careless impetuous ways. Shame flooded him to the core of his being.
Thank heavens Rose had more sense.
And yet something inside him kept urging him to seek her out.
He could do it. He could find her. A widow or wife living on the edges of society in search of a bit of harmless adventure would be known to someone. As a duke, he had unlimited resources. And he could bend her to his will, make her want him if he put his mind to it, too. He’d charmed enough ladybirds and widows in his salad days to know his appeal to the ladies. A charm he’d never given a second’s thought. Until now.
Not that he would. It wouldn’t be honourable.
He really ought to apologise, though.
Those last moments with his father floated through his mind.
‘You swear you will give up your rakish ways and give the title its due? For my sake.’
‘No!’he’d yelled.‘You are not going to die. You must not. I do not want this—’His voice had broken.
A heavy sigh.‘Do your duty, my son. That is all I ask. Care for Eleanor and my mother.’
Fingers, clammy and cold, had clenched on his hand.
‘Swear it.’
His throat had felt raw. His eyes had burned.
‘I swear it, Papa. On my life.’
‘I trust you, my son.’
The grey eyes had closed for the last time.
Trust was a heavy burden. Jake squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for respite, for an hour or two of sleep before he returned to the house where his father had placed a life of duty and honour upon shoulders ill-prepared to bear them. Burdens he had never wanted.
How many times during his youth had he rejoiced that the dukedom was his brother’s destiny and not his, while he went his merry way.
‘You here again, Westmoor?’
He looked up at the impatient tone.
