Page 9 of A Duchess Bound
Shecould not do this.
It was impossible to say what caused the change, but it was as if the sun had suddenly risen and cast her misdeeds into horrifying clarity. Dorothy jerked her head back, glaring at him.
What had she been thinking? Had she let her bodily wants make her take leave of her senses?
“How dare you?” she hissed.
“How dareI?” He laughed incredulously. “Do not chastise me for my behavior. You were more than ready to accept my affections. Otherwise, you would have fought.”
He was right.
Dorothy’s face burned with shame and anger. She pulled her wrist free from his grasp. “This is your fault!”
He smirked at her. “I daresay we share the blame. Again, if you were a respectable lady, you would have alreadyleft.”
She bit back her protests. How could she possibly explain the truth, which was that she had found herself feeling charmed by him? That she had been unable or unwilling to fight him? Those excuses sounded ridiculous even to her, and she could imagine too well how His Grace would laugh at them.
Unthinkingly, Dorothy raised her hand and slapped him hard. The sound was startlingly loud, and her hand burned from having struck his cheekbone. Her breath came in ragged pants as the reality of what she had done sank into her. “You should not have—you should not have done this!” Dorothy exclaimed.
But what manner of justification wasthat? She had just struck a man! And not just any man. A duke!
Worse—or was it better?—he did not even seem particularly wounded. The Duke of Greenway merely lifted a hand to his cheek and smiled at her, looking at Dorothy as though she had performed some amusing trick for him.
“Well, this has been an interesting surprise,” he drawled. “I suppose you will be accompanying Lady Bridget to all the events this Season? I would very much like to argue with you again.”
She curled her hands into fists. “The onlyinterestingthing about this encounter is learning that you are far more of a rake than the rumors said!” Dorothy exclaimed. “I think it best that you stayfar away from my family, Your Grace. I will not let my sister fall to your rakish charms, and nor will I.”
She stormed away, accompanied by the ringing sound of his laughter. Dorothy knew that if she had tarried longer, His Grace would have likely noted that she had not exactlyfoughthis charms.
And why not? She had acted against all reason and self-preservation. Dorothy pressed her hands against her face and found that her skin was hot. She was likely blushing as red as a sunset! Someone would notice how flustered she was, but there was no help for it.
It was better to be flustered inside the ballroom than to remain outside in the gardens, where she might fall prey to another detestable rake. Or worse, the one she had just left.
Remember why you are here, Dorothy! You are to see Bridget married, not to find some fleeting pleasure with a man.
She breathed in deeply. Then out. If she just kept breathing and thinking of Bridget, she would survive.
CHAPTER 4
“How was the first ball of the Season?”
Gerard offered a light shrug. “It was as expected. Lavish, decadent, lively.”
Gerard was seated in his favorite club with his dearest friend, Louis Pontoun, the Duke of St. Claire. Something about Pontoun—maybe his sharp eyes, pale brown hair, or finely-boned face—had always reminded Gerard of a songbird, perhaps a sparrow. The impression was made all the more apparent when Pontoun whistled and cast Gerard an amused, sideways look.
“Such high praise,” he said loftily.
“It was not particularly exciting,” Gerard offered by way of explanation. “There were no new scandals, and nothing went awry.”
“Unfortunate that there was no chaos for you to enjoy.”
“I know,” Gerard drawled, gesturing with his glass of brandy. “The least our fine host could have done was arrange some entertainment for me. Because he did not, I was forced to seek it out myself.”
Pontoun took a hearty swallow from his own glass of brandy. “I am unsure that I want to know what manner of entertainment you found.”
Gerard shook his head. “It is a great pity that you were unable to join the clergy. You are as chaste as a vicar.”
Pontoun shook his head. “I never had any interest in being a clergyman. Not even for a second.”
