Carole Mortimer - Some Like It Wicked

‘We appear to have arrived at my home, your Grace,’ Pandora realised thankfully. She sat forwards eagerly with the intention of alighting from the now-stationary carriage as the groom hurried to open the door for her. ‘Once again, I am grateful to you for coming to my aid this evening.’

‘I will call upon you tomorrow.’

‘For what purpose?’ Pandora, having just stepped down from the carriage, now turned sharply.

The Duke’s teeth flashed a white smile in the moonlight as he stepped down beside her. ‘Why, for the purpose of assuring myself as to your having fully recovered from this evening’s ordeal, of course.’

There was no ‘of course’ or anything else about it, where this arrogant and disdainful gentleman was concerned. Nor did she wish for Rupert to call on her tomorrow or any other time.

She suspected, despite their efforts for it to be otherwise, that the news of the cloaked lady leaving Sophia’s ball this evening in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage, would be all over London by the morning, without adding to that gossip by him being seen calling at her house the following day!

‘I assure you I am already fully recovered, thank you, your Grace.’

‘Nevertheless, having rescued you, I now feel honour-bound to call upon you tomorrow to assure myself of your well-being,’ he insisted.

Pandora looked up at him with frustration, very aware that he had only moments ago denied the existence of any such finer feelings in regard to his character, but at the same time aware of the restraint put upon her answer by the presence of the quietly attentive groom. Just because the man gave every appearance of being totally deaf to their conversation did not mean that he was not listening and remembering every word they spoke, in order that he might relay that gossip to the Duke’s other servants once released from his duties later tonight.

It was pure arrogance on the part of the nobility to believe that their servants were not fully conversant with all their actions. And their foibles …

Pandora drew herself up to her full height before speaking coolly. ‘You must do as you see fit, your Grace.’

‘I usually do,’ Rupert replied mockingly even as he lifted her hand to his lips, his intent gaze deliberately holding her startled one as he placed those lips upon her gloved knuckles. ‘Until tomorrow, Pandora.’

She snatched her hand from his grasp as if burnt. ‘Goodbye, your Grace.’

‘Merely adieu, I assure you, my dear Pandora,’ he murmured throatily, watching closely as she hurried up the steps to the front door of the mansion house, that door opening as she reached the top of those steps to slip silently inside without so much as a backward glance.

A scowl creased Rupert’s brow as he now considered returning to his own London home.

And to the woman who would no doubt have made sure she would be awaiting him there …

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