Page 47 of To Dare a Duke

“No.”

A moment later and she was on the ground, her arms wrapped about her chest to keep the dress in place. He stared at her, flushed, her hair in disarray, her hazel eyes alight with irritation. His breath caught.

“What?” she asked, the irritation receding as doubt coloured her expression in its place. Her slender hands reached for her hair, forearms still pinning the dress as she bent her head, finding the pins escaping and her hair all tumbling down. “Good heavens. I must look a fright,” she muttered, her mortification obvious.

“You look perfectly charming,” he said, meaning it with all his heart. The unbidden thought came to him that Lavinia would always have looked nothing less than perfection. His late wife would also have been just as delighted as Prue with the dark little nook beside the yew hedge, though she would have seen it as perfect for an illicit rendezvous. Gathering a group of children together and telling them unlikely fairy stories about independent princesses would never have crossed her mind.

The dangerous realisation that this woman was getting under his skin, charming him with her peculiar conversation and frustrating him by keeping him forever at arm’s length, hit him hard and fast. She hadn’t wanted to keep him at bay when he’d kissed her, though. When he’d kissed her, she’d pressed closer; she had clung to him like ivy to a tree, as if she never wanted to let go.

The desire to kiss her again, to press his lips against that indignant little pout, was all consuming.

She made a disgusted sound of disbelief at his compliment, and he was taken aback by how determined she was to disbelieve him.

“Save your charm for someone who wants to hear it,” she said caustically. “I don’t need pretty falsehoods, thank you.”

“But it was true,” he objected, running into a cool look of disdain. “You do look—”

“I think it safe to say,” she said, interrupting him. “That any interest you may have in me does not stem from an infatuation of my great beauty.” She lifted one pale eyebrow to underscore her sarcasm. “So, don’t embarrass us both by trying to flirt with me in such a manner.”

Robert stilled, watching her, seeing both the fierce expression she wore and something else, something vulnerable. Something that would not allow her to trust him. He reached out and tucked a little curl of honey blonde hair behind her ear.

“I’m not a man who flatters women for the sake of it,” he said, holding her gaze. “I don’t dally with nice ladies of the ton, I don’t do flirtatious conversation, and my polite manners are all used up. Ask anyone. They’ll tell you I’m a cold bastard with no time for small talk, and less for propriety. They’ll tell you I prefer gaming hells to Almack’s, and I never do anything I don’t want to. I certainly don’t bother saying things I don’t mean.” He smiled at her then, allowing the warmth to show in his eyes, feeling it in his expression, in a way he’d forgotten was possible. “I said you look charming because you do. Charming and innocent and perfectly lovely. Just the kind of sweet creature a villain would enjoy carrying away from a party to ravish in private.”

He watched an intriguing blush of colour as it rose over her neck, flushing her cheeks.

“But I promise not to ravish you unless you invite me to,” he added, not wanting to give her any concerns about going with him. Robert forced himself not to allow his gaze to drop to her bare shoulders as she clutched the front of her dress to her bosom.

“Should I have a look and see what can be done?” he asked, gesturing to the back of her gown.

He watched her throat work as she swallowed, and then gave a sharp nod.

Moving behind her, he inspected the damage. The tie at her waist had only come loose, though the skirts were badly ripped in several places. He tied the loose ribbon. The top tie at the neckline, however, had snapped, the ribbon pulled completely free of the casing. There was no way to repair it.

“It’s beyond saving, I’m afraid,” he said, giving her a sympathetic smile as she huffed her displeasure. “Come,” he said, realising they’d already been missing for too long. “We’d best get you out of here.”

Prue nodded, silent now, and followed him through the orchard and over a stile. Robert glanced behind them, assuring himself there was no one about. They were out of sight of the house here and, though he could hear the children playing, they had returned to the gardens on the far side of the orchard.

Climbing the stile proved challenging, as Prue kept an iron fist clutching at her neckline. Crossing the field afterwards was not too troublesome as the grass was short yet, but there was a thin line of woodland to traverse before they came close to the drive that led to the front of the house. The muslin skirts of her dress, already having proven themselves fragile, caught and snagged on every bramble, twig and dead fern until Robert cursed aloud.

“This is taking too long,” he said, shaking his head. “Forgive me.”

Before she could open her mouth to ask what for, he’d picked her up. “It’s only for a moment,” he assured her, regretting that fact as they soon reached the edge of the tree line and the carriages lined up in front of the house became apparent. He liked the feel of her in his arms, liked the fact that, for once, he could at least try to play the hero. It made a refreshing change. That being the case, he didn’t try to hold on to her for longer than he ought but put her down. “Stay here,” he instructed. “Stay out of sight until my carriage arrives. I’ll get it to wait here and it will block any view of you from the front of the house. No one will see you get in. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“But Aunt Phyllis and Minerva,” she objected. “I can’t just disappear.”

He frowned at that, nodding. “Did I see you talking to a friend? A Miss Hunt, wasn’t it?”

She nodded, shivering now in the chill of the shadowy woods and he wished he could give her his coat, but if he was seen it would draw attention he did not desire.

“Do you trust her?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Very well. I shall have to explain the circumstances and ask her to cover for you. I will ask her to tell your aunt you have been taken unwell and she has lent you her carriage home. A megrim, perhaps,” he suggested, unable to resist quirking one eyebrow. “You seem prone to those.”

Her silence and answering look of guilt confirmed his suspicions. She’d not been ill at all, but avoiding him.

“We shall discuss your sudden ill health when you are in less danger of ruination,” he said, somewhat bitter as he realised that he’d hoped he’d been wrong. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”