Page 36 of Distracting the Duke

“My friend Lord Snettisham and I came upon the information in London last week. Don’t worry, we were quite discreet and didn’t tell a soul. A mutual friend, Lord Stranraer, had also taken a passing interest in the canal scheme and very nearly became one of the subscribers. He backed out of it before any money had changed hands but decided to watch developments anyway. Your brother’s name was on the list of subscribers.”

“You discovered Philip’s weakness and manipulated him,” she said, her earlier charitable feelings quickly fading. “Typical.”

“Ah, the note of censure I was expecting. I’m sorry the means don’t please you, but I was hoping the end would.”

Had Ulvercombe and Snettisham deliberately sought information about her brother? About her family?

She told herself not to be angry. Any man in the duke’s position would be cautious when pursuing a bride from an unknown family.

She shivered. But what else had Ulvercombe found out while pursuing his investigations?

About her?

“You’re cold.”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

A new thought struck her. “Would I be right in assuming you paid Philip somewhat more than the shares are actually worth?”

The duke prodded at the leaf mold with his walking cane. “I won’t deny it.”

Not only had he given the Pajou statuette back, he had also given them a much-needed increase in funds. All done discreetly without any embarrassment to the family. Was he truly being kind…or just cunning, to get what he wanted?

She shivered again. What would it feel like to be the object of his desire?

“You’re definitely cold. Here, take this,” he said, removing his jacket.

“No, I assure you, I’ve warmed up considerably.”

“Don’t lie to me, Clara. You’re shaking.”

Much to her consternation he pressed the jacket upon her again, but also used it as an excuse to draw her against his chest and wrap his arms about her.

“There’s no point wriggling,” he told her. “I won’t release you until you stop trembling.”

They might be here a while, then. The tremors she was experiencing had nothing to do with the cold.

“Ulvercombe, let me go. I don’t like to be held tightly.”

“Correction. You think you don’t like it, because you had a blackguard of a husband who knew nothing about how to handle a woman.”

She froze. What did he know about her marriage? Had his investigations penetrated her own—very private—history, as well as Philip’s?

“You presume too much.” There was a shameful wobble in her voice.

He merely held her closer. “I know,” he whispered, his mouth close to her ear. “But I fear Lord Tinniswood has done you a great deal of harm, God rot the man.”

If only he knew. Those hours of being locked in darkness because she’d gainsaid her husband, those cruel words, those angry, bruising shakings when her response to his violent lovemaking had been to weep from the pain…

She didn’t want to be reminded. She never wanted to go through any of that again. No man would ever get close enough to hurt her, no matter how alluring, how handsome, how eligible or rich.

Not even the Duke of Ulvercombe.

Unfortunately, the warmth and pressure of his muscular body was having a peculiar effect on her. She wanted to hate him, to fight him, to use all the ploys that she’d used with Simon to deflect his physical interest in her. But instead, her feet had taken her closer to him, her hips were now pressing against his, and she was pushing herself deeper into his embrace rather than away from it.

His hand came up beneath her chin, and, in one swift movement, he untied her bonnet and placed it on a rocky shelf in the sandstone.

“Still cold, I think,” he murmured, lowering his head until her own was tucked beneath his chin. “And in need of comfort.”