The animal skidded to a stop only inches away. Its tail immediately began wagging. Amelia blinked. The dog blinked back. Then it enthusiastically licked her hand.
“Oh.”
The enormous beast wagged harder.
“You are significantly friendlier than your entrance suggested,” Amelia said.
The dog seemed pleased by the observation.
A deep male voice spoke from behind her. “He likes you.”
Amelia spun around to respond. The words died in her throat. The man standing there was unlike anyone she had ever met. He was exceptionally tall with broad shoulders and a powerful athletic build. Dark hair framed a striking face made even more intimidating by stern grey eyes. His clothing was elegant. Everything about him radiated authority.
Good heavens.
Amelia promptly forgot every sensible thought in her head. For a moment, she simply stared at him.
Is this the man who rescued me?
It seemed like the same deep voice she had heard through the haze of fear and fading consciousness the previous night.
“I suppose I owe him my thanks as well,” she said, gesturing towards the dog with a small smile, “though mostly I owe them to you.”
“There is no need,” the man replied, his expression remaining completely unreadable as the dog trotted toward him.
“There absolutely is,” Amelia insisted, taking a few steps towards him. “I remember very little after striking my head, but I remember enough. You rescued me from that vile carriage driver.”
The man inclined his head once. “The incident occurred near my estate,” he said simply.
Amelia waited. He appeared finished.
“That was your reason?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It was,” he replied without hesitation.
She blinked at him. “You rescued a helpless woman because she happened to be near your property?”
“I could hardly allow such a scandal to occur near my land,” he said, his voice perfectly serious. “People gossip enough already.”
Amelia stared. That might have been the least romantic explanation in the history of mankind.
“You are a remarkably practical man,” she observed.
“So I am told,” he replied.
Not the slightest hint of humor crossed his face. Amelia suspected she could announce that the house was on fire and receive precisely the same reaction. Oddly enough, she found the discovery fascinating.
At last, the man straightened fully and inclined his head. “I am Gabriel Warring, Duke of Anderton.”
Amelia nearly choked at the realization that followed almost immediately after his introduction.
A duke. Of course, he is a duke.
It felt entirely consistent with her luck that the man who had rescued her from one disaster would turn out to be the sort of man who could elevate it into something far more socially complicated.
“Miss Amelia Shirley,” she replied, recovering just enough composure to perform a proper curtsy despite the surprise tightening her chest. Something in Gabriel’s expression shifted at that, his attention sharpening in a way that made her suddenly aware of how closely she was being assessed.
“Your relations are likely searching for you by now,” he said, his tone even as he studied her.
