Page 101 of A Scandalous Kind of Duke

But when the carriage doors opened, it was not the surgeon who jumped out, but Mrs. Prescott, followed by Juno.

Her eyes went straight to him. She stopped short, gripping the carriage door as if to hold herself up, while the mist dissolved behind her back. As their gazes tangled over the dew-covered grass, a bittersweet peace settled like a blanket around Leo’s soul.

I want you to give me a piece of you, to take with me when you’re gone,she had said.

What fools they both were. He had given her a piece of himself ten years earlier, and she still carried it with her. That, surely, was why he only felt whole when she was near.

The absence of that piece had left a hole inside him. He had tried to fill that hole with alcohol, with marriage to Erika, with pretty objects and prettier clothes, with artisans and his Foundation, and with a sensible marriage to a suitable lady, with family and duty and honor.

But when Juno was there, he had no empty spaces needing to be filled.

She was not disorder. He’d had it wrong. The whole bloody world had it wrong. For Leo, loving Juno was the natural order of things. The disorder, the chaos, the disruption: They were the result of denying his love for her, of trying to follow society’s blinkered rules.

Then Juno looked away, and reality flooded back. Only a few seconds had passed since their arrival, he realized, and in those few seconds, Mrs. Prescott had been running and shouting, charging at her surprised husband like a bull.

* * *

Juno draggedher eyes off Leo—how her heart ached at the sight of him, unshaven, tired, in yesterday’s rumpled clothes, with a gun in his hand—as Beatrice cried, “I’ll not stand for this, Prescott!” and shoved her husband so hard he stumbled backward and nearly tripped over a log.

At her shouts, the two young men dozing on the grass jumped up like startled cats.

“You’ve ruined Juno’s life, but you’ll not ruin mine nor our children’s either, nor our ball tonight,” Beatrice cried. “End this, Prescott. Apologize to the duke. Now.”

Prescott folded his arms like a sullen child. “He must apologize to me.”

Beatrice looked around, perplexed. “I cannot tell him what to do. He’s a duke. Juno, could you ask the duke to apologize?”

“I would be very glad if no one shot at anyone, but I cannot tell a duke what to do either,” Juno said. “That’s the trouble with dukes. They are terribly difficult to command.” The duke in question was advancing across the grass, his half-brother yawning along behind him. “I must note that St. Blaise did not reveal my secrets,” she added. “I spoke out loud where Beatrice could hear. It was my own doing.”

“They ruined you,” Leo said.

“I’ll still be ruined if you kill each other. We cannot change the past. Even if we want to.”

He went very still. His gaze seemed soft and full of meaning. The rest of the world disappeared.

“Doyou want to the change the past?” he asked her.

“We cannot.” She smiled sadly. “I’ve considered it from every angle, and my only conclusion is that I should not attempt philosophy.”

His eyes widened. “Philosophy?”

“Please don’t worry. It was a very painful five minutes, but I believe I shall pull through.”

A smile eased over his face then, slow and warm like the rising sun, that familiar intimate smile that made his eyes crinkle and her heart dance.

Someone cleared his throat, a reminder that they were not, in fact, alone.

Once more, Leo’s aloof mask fell into place. “Prescott: I insulted you, in defense of my friend. I apologize for that insult, at the request of my friend.”

“There.” Beatrice nudged her husband. “The duke has apologized. Dukes do not do that often.”

Prescott snorted. “He insulted us both.”

“And you both ruined Juno,” Leo said. “You ruined her for your own gratification.” With each word, his tone sharpened like an axe. Fresh anger rolled off him in waves. “How about I dedicate myself to ruining your career, the way you ruined Miss Bell? Day after day, I shall— Ah, sod it.” He aimed the gun, prepared to fire. “I’ll just shoot you anyway.”

His jaw hardened. His finger caressed the trigger. Time stopped. Juno stumbled forward, crying his name. In that same moment, Beatrice hurled herself in front of her husband, and St. Blaise hurled himself at Leo, grabbed his arm with both hands, and discharged the gun into a tree. A squawking flock of indignant birds fluttered into the sky.

St. Blaise released Leo, who shot him a dirty look and straightened his clothes, only to once more raise the gun.

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