Page 15 of Taken By the Dangerous Duke

The duke looked down at the pack on the ground and then up at the horse. “I know you have a horse, but if you need a ride back to town, I would be happy to take you.”

“Thank you,” said Margaret. “But, no. I am not going back to London. I am never going back there.”

“Running away?” asked the duke.

“No!” spat Margaret. “You make it sound so childish. I am leaving London and not going back. That is my decision.”

“It is a few hours from London, and the sun rises early at this time of year. Did you run away under the cover of darkness?”

“I am not running away,” repeated Margaret. “And, yes, not that it is any of your business, but I did leave when it was dark. And, before you ask, no one knows that I am gone. No one except—” Margaret had been about to mention Cynthia, and she quickly shut her mouth to not give her friend away.

“It is none of my business,” affirmed Arthur. “But, if you are leaving London, perhaps I can give you a ride in the other direction. I am on my way to York, and I can give you a ride anywhere in-between. The sun will be high in the sky soon, and it is not healthy to ride in that sort of heat, not for you or the horse bearing you. My carriage is shaded, and I have wine.”

“You mean to get me drunk?”

“No, unless it would make you less argumentative. I have water also, so I will keep the wine to myself.”

“And, I suppose you want to leave my horse out here?” asked Margaret.

“I would not dream of it. I can tether him to the carriage and he can ride alongside us.”

“The horse is a she, by the way,” said Margaret, trying to find something to argue about. The duke was being far too nice to her, and it was disconcerting.

“Perhaps you should check again.” The duke pointed to the horse's rear. “I mean, female horses don’t have big—”

“All right!” shouted Margaret. “Why do you have to have an answer for everything?”

“Do you want me to answer that?” asked the duke.

“You are insufferable,” commented Margaret.

“I will assume that means you want to come with me,” said the duke. “I will try to be more sufferable on the journey, and I promise to not give you a drop of wine. I also have some French chocolate I picked up in London, but you would not want any of that either, would you?”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” said Margaret. She realized too late that the duke had tricked her into accepting hospitality from him. She looked back the way she had come, watching the man slowly grow smaller and smaller. Her past was quite literally behind her now. She looked the other way and could not see anything—it mirrored exactly how she felt about what was to come.

“I will choose to come with you, but only because my horse could do with some rest, so you may tether him to your carriage.” And, it would be much safer to travel these roads with a man, and she wanted to ride by a carriage and not a horse, but she would not tell the duke that.

The duke ordered one of his footmen to take care of the horse, and he offered his hand to Margaret to help her up into the coach, but she declined it and entered by herself. When she looked out, she saw the cat looking up at her.

“Oh, and the cat comes too. If he is not allowed to ride in the carriage, then I will not either.”

“I am afraid he cannot. I am deathly allergic to cats, so you will have to make your own way.”

Margaret was shocked, but she was rooted to the spot. She had made a grave error in judgment, and she did not know if she could go back on it.

“I am only teasing you, Margaret. I love cats. Go on, call your cat by name and we can get going.”

Margaret was sure that he knew it was not her cat, but she needed to do this to prove a point, even if she had no idea what that point was.

“Jester!” she called, patting the seat beside her. She hoped with all her heart that the cat would take the hint. Thankfully, it did—on the second pat of the cushion, the cat leaped into the carriage and rubbed itself against her again.

The duke got into the carriage after the cat and closed the door. He sat across from Margaret and the freshly-named “Jester.” Margaret looked across at the smug smile on his face. She was glad to have some company on the ride, even if she did hate the man. She wondered how far they would get before she finally snapped in his presence.

CHAPTER7

The Long Ride To York

“So, why are you running away from home?” asked the duke.

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