Page 19 of A Duchess Bound
Warmth rushed to Dorothy’s face. Bridget made an excellent point.
“I suppose I just wanted the satisfaction of rejecting him,” Dorothy said. “He is the most insufferable man I have ever met. Worse, I am certain that he delights in being insufferable. He has made a sport of tormenting me, and that is quite vexing.”
“I am certain it is,” Bridget said, although she sounded like she did not really understand. “Perhaps, you provoke him, though.”
“Provoke him?” Dorothy asked. “Whatever do you mean? I am quite certain that I have done nothing to encourage the man’s attention.”
But shehad. Dorothy inhaled deeply and fought to control her quickly beating heart. If she had behaved as a proper lady during their encounter in the garden, His Grace might have lost interest in her. While Dorothy could not claim to be an expert on the ways of rakes or men in general, it seemed obvious that the Duke of Greenway enjoyed her defiance and anger.
“I do not mean it quite like that,” Bridget said, sounding uncomfortable. “But you do seem to enjoy arguing with him.”
Dorothy laughed at the absurdity of the statement. “I most certainly do not! I would prefer not to speak to the man at all, but because he insists on speaking to me, I must offer some defense of myself.”
“Right,” Bridget said. “But you look as though you enjoy it.”
“If I enjoy arguing with him, it is only the satisfaction that comes from besting an opponent in argument.”
“So you say.”
“What else could it be?”
Bridget sighed and tossed her head back, a smile twitching at her lips. “I am thinking that it sounds very romantic. I am reminded of Queen Guinevere and how she would sometimes be so cruel to Sir Lancelot, who loved her all the more for her fury.”
“The only resemblance His Grace bears to Sir Lancelot is his penchant for infidelity,” Dorothy said dryly. “The man is utterly faithless and cares only about his own desires.”
“You are not thinking romantically!” Bridget exclaimed.
“Because I am not living in a romance,” Dorothy countered. “Men in the tonare not like those in novels.”
“No? But it does seem quite likePride and Prejudice,” Bridget continued. “That novel was written by a lady who was quite aware of how gentlemen behave.”
Dorothy had never read that novel. She had considered it, but the arrival of the Season had made it difficult to think of anything except finding a suitable husband for Bridget.
Well, that, and the Duke of Greenway. She had never before encountered such a distracting man.
“You must promise me that you will not entertain his affections,” Dorothy said. “The Duke of Greenway.”
“Of course not,” Bridget agreed. “I would never entertain the attention of someone whom you loathe so much.”
Dorothy sighed, her breath shuddering in her chest. Bridget’s promise should have been a comfort, but Dorothy found herself simply feeling uncertain. After all, Dorothy was a respectable woman, and she found His Grace consuming nearly all her waking thoughts. What defense did someone like Bridget, who was so young and trusting, have against such an insatiable creature?
Bridget idly picked up the letter Dorothy had received earlier, holding it between two fingers. It was folded and tied with a midnight blue ribbon. The handwriting was unfamiliar—thin and slanting.
“How do you know this is not the letter of some besotted suitor?” Bridget teased.
“Because it was addressed to me.”
It occurred to Dorothy that one of Bridget’s suitorsmightwrite to her, though. She took the letter from her sister’s hand, her fingers tracing the edge of the paper, which was very fine.
“Curious,” Dorothy muttered.
She untied the ribbon and unfolded the letter, nearly gaping at its contents. Dorothy read the letter once. Twice.
She must have misunderstood, for there was no conceivable reason for her to be readingthose words.
“You have become quite red, Dory,” Bridget said. “What does the letter say?”
“It says that if I wish to argue further, his door is open to me.”
