Page 17 of Wicked By Design

“I’m going to be horribly anxious, and I may cry more than once, but you are right, Eustacia. It’s a masterpiece. It will make your name, and you must not hide it from the world. The woman you painted looked brave, she looked as if she could survive just about anything. I wish, more than anything, to live up to this image of myself.”

Eustacia reached out and took her hand, squeezing her fingers tightly. “Oh, love. It is you. It’s already you.”

Clara nodded and squeezed back. “Yes. Yes, I think perhaps it is.”

The Duke of Hawkney reached down and patted Sultan’s glossy black neck. He was hot and rather sweaty after taking Sultan for a long, bruising ride. The big stallion needed working hard, however, or he got restless. Hawkney rather understood how he felt. He was out of sorts himself, but he didn’t know why. Guilt, probably—the knowledge that he had once again shirked his duty and not announced his betrothal. He ought to be marrying this autumn. He ought to be setting up his nursery, and he didn’t understand why the idea made him so bloody wretched. No, not wretched precisely. It made it want to jump on the nearest packet boat and run far, far away. Damned coward.

“Easy there,” he said, tightening the reins a little as Sultan picked his way down the hill. It was remarkably steep, but worth it for the splendid views over the sea and the town. He could see his grandmother’s house from here. Hatherley Hall looked elegantly time worn. It was the closest thing he had ever known to a home, and he smiled, experiencing a flood of warmth towards it and his grandmother, dreadful creature that she was.

They were perhaps a quarter of the way down the hill when Sultan’s head came up and he stood stock still, refusing to take another step.

“What is it, lad?”

Hawkney looked around and finally spied Miss Halfpenny a little farther along the road, and another woman he believed was a Miss Foxworthy. The latter had her arm about Miss Halfpenny’s waist and was supporting her.

“Ow! Oh, drat it.”

“Clara!”

Hawkney dismounted at once and hurried to them, his arrival met by wide eyes. Too late he realised his exclamation was rather too intimate for a woman who was hardly in his social sphere, let alone an intimate friend of the family.

“Miss Halfpenny,” he amended, praying her friend had not remarked his slip. He found for the moment that he hardly cared, for Miss Halfpenny’s eyes were red from weeping, her nose a matching shade. “What has happened? Are you hurt?”

“Oh, nothing at all, just my own clumsiness, I fear,” she replied hastily, gazing at him like he’d just appeared in a puff of smoke. “I twisted my ankle a little, that’s all.”

She attempted to take a step forward and sucked in a breath, her face turning such a dramatic shade of white that her nose shone like a beacon.

“More than a little,” he said curtly. “If you would allow me.”

Clara looked at him, nonplussed, but her companion understood at once and stepped aside. Hawkney bent and swept her into his arms. She made a little squeaking sound but no other protestation, so he walked back to Sultan. To his surprise, she was more solidly built than he might have guessed, though her waist felt so tiny he wondered if he might span it between his fingers.

“Hawkney!” she whispered furiously in his ear, and though it was hardly an intimate term, being his title, the sound made him feel a little peculiar. “This… you can’t—”

“What, ought I to leave you lying at the side of the road? Do use your head, Miss Halfpenny. I’m a gentleman. I come to the aid of ladies in distress.”

“Even if they wish you wouldn’t?” she said crossly.

He stilled, troubled now, gazing down at her. “You truly wish me to leave you here?”

Her green eyes softened and she gave a little huff.

“No. Who am I to stand in the way of your heroic tendencies, and… and I am horribly ungrateful. Thank you for your kindness.”

Hawkney’s lips quirked into a smile. “I think I prefer it when you are scolding me.”

“That can be arranged.”

He chuckled and paused beside Sultan, at whom she was gazing with disapprobation.

“Come, come, Miss Halfpenny, you know Sultan is every bit the gentleman I am. Surely, you are not afraid?” he asked.

She put up her chin, as he’d known she would. “Certainly not. It’s only… I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

“Ah. Well, no time like the present. Just grab hold of his mane until I get up behind you.”

He helped her to settle in place and then turned to Miss Foxworthy. “I shall take the young lady to my grandmother and have a physician check that she has done no serious harm.”

“Oh, but—” Miss Halfpenny began, only to fall silent as both he and Miss Foxworthy glared at her.