Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (10 page)

“Oh, I have no intention of letting you leave … not when I had hoped we would encounter each other again,” he said, extending his hand in a sweeping motion toward one of the sofas. “Please. Sit.”

“It might be for the best if I leave.”

The duke smiled with a confidence that made Grace grind her molars. “Not for me. I thought I might have to bribe every coachman in London to discover your whereabouts.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Her unfriendly tone managed to startle him. “You never gave me a chance to introduce myself.”

“An introduction is unnecessary. I fear, your reputation precedes you. You are Nicolas Stuart Towers, Duke of Huntsley.”

Grace almost ruined her cool announcement by grinning at his look of astonishment. Oh, he had not been expecting her to know his name.

Granted, he recovered from his shock rather swiftly. “Who told you?” he harshly demanded.

“Why do you believe someone told me your name?” she asked, feigning puzzlement. “After all, I was exploring the market when you stumbled across me and my servants.”

“Do I know you?”

“No,” she replied, confident that he could detect her sincerity. One thing was certain. The Duke of Huntsley did not know her at all. “As I said, you have a rather notorious reputation. Your Portia is proof that the rumors about you were not exaggerations.”

Whether or not she agreed with his method, Frost had done her a favor. Before she left town, she might even thank him for it.

“Portia doesn’t belong to me,” he said, his voice edged with annoyance. “We are old friends. She is married to Lord Cliffton.”

Grace glanced away. She had been introduced to Lord Cliffton. He was an older gentleman who appeared to be in his early fifties. She wondered if he suspected that his wife was in love with another man.

“I see. Well, I have tarried too long and should return to my friends.” She hoped Lady Netherley’s coach was waiting for them just beyond the front door. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

The duke was at her side before she could take a single step.

“You’re slippery, but I don’t mind putting my hands on you,” he said, proving it by grabbing both of her wrists.

“Release me” was her haughty reply.

He lowered his head until they were nose-to-nose. “Give me one good reason why I should.”

Oh, she had one guaranteed to ruin his evening.

Her upper lip curled into a sneer. “My name is Lady Grace Kearly. And I am the last woman in London you want to be touching.”

Huntsley released her as if her flesh had burned him.

It was the final insult. “I thought so.” She expelled her breath with a soft huffing noise, pivoted, and walked away before she did something truly outrageous.

“Grace!”

He roared her name, but she had no intention of sticking around to find out why he sounded so furious. Why was he angry at her? She was the one who had caught him fondling another woman.

A
married
woman!

She shivered in disgust. Ugh, and he had touched her. When she returned home, she would have to order a bath so she could scrub the filth of him from her body.

“Do not take another step!”

Grace had already reached the stairs. “I have nothing more to say to you!” she shouted back, startling the couple who were sitting on the bench.

Her skirt limited her pace, but she made her way down the steps as swiftly as she could. She was not surprised to see Frost leaning against the balustrade where she had left him.

“Trouble, darling?”

“I am not talking to you, either!” she said, not bothering to stop. She would deal with Frost later. Or worse, she would allow Juliana to mete out the punishment he richly deserved.

“Darling?” Hunter echoed his friend’s false endearment. “How long have you known Frost?”

Although he did not deserve an answer, Grace whirled around and gave one to him anyway. “Long enough for him to kiss me in the garden.”

There. It was the least both of them deserved for embarrassing her.

In the distance, she could hear the duke growl, “You kissed her!”

She did not linger to hear Frost’s reply. If there was any justice, Huntsley would knock some of the arrogance out of the earl.

Both men had played her for a fool.

Grace realized she was muttering to herself when Regan’s face came into focus as she blocked the way. Standing beside her was a tall gentleman with light blond hair and blue-gray eyes. The man was likely her husband, though everything was not as it seemed in London.

“What happened?” Regan demanded, glancing at the man for support. “Did you find Hunter?”

“Oh, I found him,” Grace managed to say between clenched teeth. “Where is Lady Netherley?”

She had to leave this house.

Grace was prepared to walk if necessary.

Regan frowned. “She is outdoors, waiting in the coach. Can you tell me what happened?”

She shook her head. “Another time. I—”

“Lady Grace Kearly, I am far from finished with you!” the duke shouted over the din of the ballroom, which abruptly quieted at his outrageous declaration.

Regan and her husband audibly gasped. Grace cringed. Thanks to the horrid man, the gossips would be speculating on what she and the duke had been doing outside the ballroom.

“If you have any affection for Huntsley, you will detain him so I can take my leave,” she whispered to the couple. “Otherwise I cannot be accountable for my actions.”

Regan briskly nodded. “Go.”

Grace did not need a second invitation. She fled the ballroom, trusting her new friends to calm the irate duke.

Chapter Nine

She did not cry on the drive home.

Nor was she waiting for the fussing Lady Netherley to depart before she succumbed to her tears. While Rosemary and the marchioness mumbled excuses about preparing some tea, in truth, they were talking about what had happened this evening.

For the first time, the Duke of Huntsley saw
her.

It was not the romantic encounter she had dreamed of as a child. Nor was it the chillingly polite introduction she had practiced in front of her looking glass.

Alone in the drawing room, she had managed to curl up into a small ball at the end of the sofa with her knees brought up to her chest. She was exposing an indecent amount of leg, but there was no one to witness her careless pose of misery.

There had been revulsion in his expression.

Grace closed her eyes in an attempt to banish the image from her brain. His reaction had cut her to the quick, but how could she expect anything more from a man who took married women for mistresses?

A soft sound of disgust was expelled as she exhaled. It was not for the duke, but for herself.

She should have demanded her freedom years ago.

In the distance, someone was pounding on the door. It was probably Lady Netherley’s coachman inquiring after her. She had insisted on returning with her. The poor lady blamed herself for the debacle this evening.

There were voices in the hall. The coachman, Grace thought. Although she could not overhear what was being discussed, it sounded as if the marchioness was reluctant to leave. She lifted her cheek from her forearm and tilted her head to listen. Instead of feeling sorry for herself, she should go out into the hall and assure everyone that she was fine.

Before she could straighten, the double doors burst open and the Duke of Huntsley was striding into the drawing room.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Rosemary said, her eyes burning with indignation. “His Grace insisted on seeing you.”

Grace straightened, allowing her bare feet to touch the rug as she sat up. The proper thing would have been to stand and greet the duke with a curtsy. However, the man had entered her residence after midnight. She was too tired to be respectful or polite.

Lady Netherley entered the room, leaning heavily on her walking stick. “Hunter, be sensible. This is not the hour to be calling on—”

“We are betrothed,” he said, towering over her. Perhaps it would have been more prudent to stand. “And I do not give a damn what anyone thinks. Leave us.”

“My lady?”

Grace refused to place Rosemary in an awkward position. If she was disrespectful to the duke, he might sack her, and she could not bear losing her dear friend.

“I will be fine,” she said, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. She cleared her throat. “It’s late. Lady Netherley, I have kept you from your bed. With your permission, Rosemary will summon your coachman and he will see you home.”

Lady Netherley seemed reluctant to leave her in the duke’s care. She also appeared to be sorely vexed at the man she thought of as a son. “Hunter.”

“I think you have done enough this evening, Lady Netherley,” he said coldly.

At the elderly woman’s gasp, the duke scowled at Grace—as if she were responsible for his harsh outburst—then shoved his hand through his hair. “Forgive me, Lady Netherley. It is not my intention to lash you with my temper. Go home. You have known me for most of my life. No harm will come to Grace. You have my word on it.”

Grace was not convinced, but his words appeared to mollify Lady Netherley.

“Very well.” She sighed. “However, I expect to see you tomorrow afternoon in my drawing room. I wish to discuss your recent actions and propensity to be—oh, what is the phrase my son has often used of late—yes, a boorish arse.”

To her amazement, the duke winced and gave the marchioness an apologetic look. “I will be happy to call on you, my lady.”

“See that you do,” Lady Netherley said crisply. “Grace, I will leave you my walking stick, if you require it.”

“I do not believe that will be necessary, my lady.” If she needed to defend her virtue, there was enough marble and pottery on hand to crack a man’s skull.

Guessing the lady’s thoughts, the Duke of Huntsley’s gaze narrowed.

“Good evening, then.” Lady Netherley took her leave.

Rosemary glared at the duke’s back. “I have polishing to do just beyond the door. If you need anything, my lady, just call out my name.”

“Thank you, Rosemary.”

Huntsley glanced at the doors after Rosemary shut them. “She polishes silver in the middle of the night?”

Grace shrugged. “I suppose it’s as plausible as you desiring a congenial conversation after you bullied your way into my residence.”

He jammed his fists into his hips and stared down at her. “Nineteen years have passed, and my opinion hasn’t changed. You were put on this earth to torment me, Lady Grace Kearley.”

*   *   *

Grace might have been sitting, but she did not have a submissive bone in her slender body. Dry-eyed, she stared up at him with defiance and something else he couldn’t quite define.

“What a dreadful thing to say!” She pointed a finger at him. “Not five minutes in my presence and you lose all civility.”

“You would provoke the devil himself to violence,” he grumbled, walking to the table against the wall and picking up the oil lamp.

“What are you about, Your Grace?”

“As my betrothed, you are permitted to call me Huntsley, though I prefer Hunter.” He placed the lamp on the table next to the sofa. “As to what I am doing … I thought it was obvious. You dashed out of the Lovelaces’ house so quickly I never got a good look at you.”

“Why are you suddenly curious? You’ve had nineteen years to study me and could not be troubled to send me a single letter.”

Unhappy with the sudden brightness, Grace shifted a few inches away from the end of the sofa. He thought about sitting next to her on the sofa. It would be the easiest way to make certain she remained seated. Instead, he chose one of the chairs directly across from her. It bordered on rudeness, but he wanted an unfettered perusal of this woman.

“You were a beautiful child,” he said absently. “My grandmother predicted your beauty would garner the envy of queens.”

“And what would she say of you, Your Grace?”

“Hunter.”

She ignored his prompting. “If she were alive, would she be proud of the man you have become?”

Hunter might have been angry when he had arrived, but her efforts to provoke him were amusing. She assumed erroneously that he had little control of his emotions. On the contrary, he excelled at tethering his feelings. He prided himself in his ability to not allow his emotion to rule his actions. If he did not, Grace’s rash attempt to incite a fight between him and Frost by claiming that his friend had kissed her might have succeeded.

Jealousy was one emotion he had never experienced, and refused to indulge.

All those years ago, when Portia told him that she had planned to marry Cliffton, it was guilt and sadness that had driven him to plead with her to reconsider. At her refusal, he had buried even those feelings under layers of icy control.

His control served him well when dealing with women. Unfortunately for them, he could not be manipulated as easily as other men. He also could walk away when a lover grew tiresome. No anger or guilt.

Or that had been the case until the lady who had caught his interest had blurted out her name. It surprised him that his initial reaction was a feeling of betrayal. How could this beautiful lady be the one woman he had rejected years ago? The next emotion to bubble through the cracks of his control was anger.

Hunter did not want to be attracted to the lady his grandmother had handpicked for him. He also sensed that Grace was equally unsettled by his proximity.

If Dare and Sin had not held him back after Grace’s hasty departure, Hunter was still unsure what he might have done had he caught up to her before she reached Lady Netherley’s coach.

Paddling her backside was the least she deserved.

Although his friends begged him not to follow their coach, he ignored their sound advice, telling himself that the ladies needed his protection while they traveled the streets of London.

As he prepared to knock on the front door, he had convinced himself that he was doing her a favor by confronting her. He had envisioned the poor girl sobbing in the marchioness’s arms.

However, the lady staring back at him had clearly not shed a single tear. According to Regan and the others, Grace was eager to sever all ties to him. If she had put her request into a letter, he would have considered accepting her offer.