Anna Campbell: What a Duke Dares

“So she’s a sacrificial lamb.” Poor Sophie. The dance finished and her brother returned her to a group of grandees including, he noticed, Desborough.

“Sacrificial virgin, more like.” Beswick’s voice lowered. “Desborough’s a lucky dog. Brass doesn’t usually come in such an appealing package.”

“Watch your mouth, Beswick,” Harry snarled.

Even without looking, Harry knew his friend regarded him like he was going mad. The way he felt, perhaps his friend was right. “Steady on, man. She’s a pretty girl who’s completely out of reach. We’ve admired plenty of those in our time.”

The Thornes were inclined to sudden, but lasting passions. Sophie Fairbrother had no idea what she’d sparked tonight. As if she sensed his thoughts, Sophie looked up sharply and immediately found him. Even across the room, he saw the hectic color in her alabaster cheeks. Dear Lord, she was a peach.

Harry held her eyes. He meant to make her his. Let the rest of the world go hang.

Val d’Aosta, February 1828

Very carefully, Pen inched open the door from her chamber on the upper floor. Despite exhaustion, roiling turmoil had stopped her sleeping. Grief for Peter. Anger that he hadn’t confided in her about his illness. Resentment at Cam’s arrogance. Impatience with herself for finding Cam as compelling as ever, even when she burned to crown him with the nearest stewpot.

Just seeing Cam confirmed that agonizing truth. She hated to admit that she was still that most pathetic creature, the lovelorn female yearning after a man who would never love her back.

Since refusing his proposal, she’d done her damnedest to forget Camden Rothermere. Her aunt had led an active and interesting life, mixing with people who found English manners too restrictive. In the past nine years, Pen had met poets and painters and musicians, wandering aristocrats and antiquarians, travelers and scientists.

She’d learned that her idiosyncratic character, too individual to meet approval at home, appealed to those who appreciated intelligence and spirit. Her broken heart had found some small solace in the admiration of brilliant, sophisticated men. Cam didn’t want her, but that didn’t mean she was undesirable.

Occasionally she’d wondered if someone might usurp Cam’s place in her affections. But to her despair, she was a true Thorne. She loved once and she loved deeply.

Which meant she couldn’t bear to spend the next weeks cooped up with Cam. Last night, she’d told Giuseppe and Maria to be waiting at five, whatever the weather. Luckily, the storm had died overnight and when she checked out her narrow bedroom window, the road from the village looked passable. Even if it wasn’t, she’d damn well walk rather than suffer Cam’s company all the way back to England.

Now that Peter wouldn’t meet her in Paris—she stifled a pang, she’d grieve once she was out of this pickle—she’d go south as Cam suggested. Then she’d make her way to London.

The corridor outside her room was black as a cave in Hades. She edged forward. Once she made it downstairs and outside to the stables, she was on her way.

“Going somewhere?”

She jumped and dropped her bag to the wooden floor. Gasping, she whirled toward the shadows near the door. “You scared me.”

“Not enough, apparently,” Cam said drily.

She ignored the remark. “What are you doing outside my room?”

“What are you doing dressed for travel?”

“How do you know I’m dressed for travel?”

“Aren’t you?” he asked coolly. “Shall we continue this discussion in private?”

“We have nothing to say to each other,” she said crisply, marching past.

“After so long? You wound me.” He caught her arm and bustled her into her room.

“You have no right.” She struggled to break free. He’d touched her too often since he’d saved her. And every time he set her pulse racing.

“Perhaps not. Will you stay and listen?”

“You’re such a bully,” she said sullenly.

“Sticks and stones. Do I release you?”

She wanted to kick him. “Yes.”

Cam let her go and moved past. He paused before the window, his tall, lean shape silhouetted against the light reflected from the snow outside. After some clicks and scrapes, the candle on her nightstand bloomed into light.

“I hate to mention your dignity again, but isn’t it degrading for a duke of the realm to sleep across a lady’s threshold like a servant?” she asked with pointed sweetness.

He glanced up with a faint smile. Despite her irritation, her heart lurched. How she wished he wasn’t so beautiful with his narrow, intense face and his glinting green eyes and his level dark brows. After nearly ten years without him, he still dazzled her. It just wasn’t fair.

“I didn’t have to prostrate myself on your doorstep.” He paused. “Giuseppe told me your plans.”

Blast Giuseppe and his flapping gums.

She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Cam laughed. “You should give him his marching orders. He’s worse than useless.”

“Perhaps you should offer him a place in your household,” she asked with more of that dangerous sweetness.

“Not on your life. I value loyalty too much to employ that weasel. Pen, do you really want me trailing you all the way back to Dover?”

He made her sound absurd. “You’d do that?”

“I would.”

Of course he would. He’d accepted the obligation of her safety and he wouldn’t relinquish the burden short of death. Cam’s principles were a deuced nuisance. She released a long-suffering sigh. “Were you always this annoying?”

“Probably.” He glanced around. “Shall we go?”

“Now?”

He lifted the candle. “Your carriage awaits. I paid the landlord last night.”

“What about your carriage?”

“I rode.”

Aghast, she stared at him. “Through the snow?”

“Through the snow.” He paused. “You’ve put me to a deal of trouble, Pen.”

Her lips tightened even as guilt pricked her. It had been a horrific winter. He’d faced weeks of peril on her behalf. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

“Perhaps not, but set aside your stubbornness and admit that you’ll be better off with a man to ease your way.”

Patronizing swine. She left the bedroom and gingerly descended the insecure staircase, careful not to grip the makeshift banister too hard. “What a typically male thing to say.”

“Which makes it no less true.” His voice warmed a fraction. She wished to heaven she wasn’t so attuned to every nuance. She wished to heaven she’d never met him again.

On the ground floor she faced Cam, illuminated in candlelight at the top of the stairs. God save her, could he look any more appealing? She bit back a bitter laugh.

If he’d suborned her coachman, she didn’t have much choice about going with him. Still, she didn’t like to admit defeat any more than His Grace, the Duke of Sedgemoor. “We need to set some rules.”

He cocked his eyebrow with familiar mockery as he descended, carrying her bag. “That’s not like you, Pen. You usually prefer everything free and easy.”

Ouch. “Just because I didn’t settle into middle age before I hit twenty doesn’t make me a complete flibbertigibbet. I’ve traveled for years without major problems.”

“Yesterday was a close call.”

She wished he hadn’t arrived to find her at such a disadvantage. On the other hand, without his intervention, she doubted that she’d be here this morning. “Are you going to dine out on that rescue all the way to England?”

“You’ve got a nasty tongue, my girl.” He sounded like he appreciated her barbed responses.