Page 16 of Taken By the Dangerous Duke

Margaret shot him another look. They had only been on the road for ten minutes, and he was already questioning her. She was already on her guard, but that raised her defenses.

“I am not running away from home,” she said.

“All right, I won’t say it like that again, and you don’t have to talk until you want to. At least tell me where you want to go. You must have had a town in mind if you were riding off on a horse.”

“Of course, I did,” replied Margaret.

“So, where do you need a ride to? We might not take the road that leads to your destination, and I don’t want to take you in the wrong direction. I don’t mind a detour.”

“Just….” Margaret poked her head out of the window and looked ahead. She brought her head back in. “Just keep going the way you are going, and I will let you know if we need to take a detour.”

“Very well,” said the duke. He reached into the small fabric container to his left and pulled out a handful of cherries. He popped one in his mouth, chewed it a little, and then spat the pit out into a paper bag.

Margaret watched him eat. His pink lips held the ruby-red cherry for a moment before taking it wholly, manipulating it with his tongue, and dropping the brown, woody pit into the bag. A drop of the cherry juice rested on his lips before he licked it off.

“I would offer some, but I don’t want to be presumptuous,” said the duke with a smile.

Margaret realized she had been staring, and she quickly moved her gaze from his soft lips to his emerald eyes.

“I don’t think I have ever had cherries before,” she blurted.

“Well, try some,” said Arthur, handing her a few.

Margaret did not have time to think about refusing, and she found that she was hungry, and her mouth was watering at the thought of this new fruit.

“Spit the pits in here,” added the duke, handing her a fresh paper bag.

Margaret took that too, and she appreciated it when the duke looked out the window as she ate. It did not feel ladylike to be spitting pits into a bag, not that she considered herself a lady. As she bit into the first cherry, a wave of ecstasy ran through her body. It was sweet, juicy, and… a flavor she had not come across before. They must be more expensive than apples or her father would have bought them at some point in their lives.

The duke continued to stare out of the window, and that gave her a chance to steal some glances at this man. From their first meeting, she had remembered the rich, green eyes, but all she could remember apart from that was the scowling face. He did not have that anymore.

He looked comfortable in his own skin, almost happy—as if he needed one more small thing in life to be completely happy. He sat with a straight back, as a soldier would, or so Margaret imagined. And, thinking back to their interactions, whether happy or irritated, the duke held himself well.

No, he could not be a soldier, she thought. His blonde hair was too long for the military, bordering the line between need and free-spirited. Margaret finished the last cherry and spat the pit into the bag. Not only did she like the taste, but the ritual too.

“Thank you,” Margaret said. “I… I did not treat you with enough respect back in London. I don’t get to mix a lot with lords and ladies, and the titles can get confusing. If you would like me to call you ‘Your Grace’ or ‘sir’,” please let me know.”

“Titles can be a burden unless you levy them for business. How about Arthur?”

“You want me to call you by your name?” asked Margaret.

“As long as you are comfortable with it. I have been calling you by yours after all.”

“Arthur,” Margaret said quietly, turning the word over in her mouth. Just saying it felt intimate. It was almost too much of a juxtaposition. The duke had treated her unfairly, and that was stuck in her mind, but he had also saved her. And, now she was to call him by his first name. She did not know what to think about that.

“Arthur?” asked Margaret, trying the name out for size. “Why were you in London? You saved that boy and”—Margaret did not want to concede it, but they both knew it was true—“you saved me. Do you go around saving everyone?”

“No,” laughed the duke, and Margaret got to see him smile for the first time. “I was here for a whist tournament with my friend Parker. Incidentally, I did save his life, but that was many years ago, and I don’t make a habit of it. I am sure you would have been fine if I had not turned up.”

Margaret was not sure if he was making fun of her or not, but she was sure she would not have been fine. It was the most fearful she had been in her life. He had saved her life, and she would be eternally thankful for that, but he had also treated her poorly for no reason, and that gave her some insight into the man he truly was. She could feel safe with him, but she could not trust him.

“Did you win the tournament?” asked Margaret.

“We placed second, which was very respectable.”

“My father would sometimes play whist,” commented Margaret, not adding that he was awful at it and had lost a lot of money playing cards.

Margaret looked out of the window, hoping to put an end to the conversation. She did not want to talk about her family. The duke took the hint, and he fell silent too, staring out the window on the other side of the carriage.

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