Carole Mortimer - Regency Scandal

‘Indeed?’ His nostrils flared. ‘And did you overhear anything of interest whilst standing there?’

She drew herself up to her full height of a little over five feet. ‘Not in the least, your Grace.’

He quirked a mocking brow. ‘No?’

‘No.’ Pandora had no intention of admitting to overhearing this man’s conversation regarding his stepmother. The remarks about herself, on Dante Carfax’s part at least, had not been too insulting, and the Duke’s less-than-flattering opinion of her had, as with so many of the ton , been formed on hearsay rather than personal knowledge of her.

Or, at least that had been the case before Rupert Stirling had been forced to rescue her from the unwanted attentions of Lord Sugdon!

She sighed heavily. ‘I think it best if I leave now, your Grace.’

‘I think so, too,’ he agreed. ‘The Duchess’s butler has arranged for the carriage to be brought to the back of the house rather than the front so that we might leave through the servants’ hallways and kitchen rather than run the risk of running into any of the Duchess’s other guests, and so cause them to question your current … appearance,’ he added drily as Pandora gave him a startled glance.

‘“We”, your Grace?’ she repeated slowly.

Ah, her surprise was not, as Rupert had believed, caused by their means of leaving the house, but more by the fact that he so obviously intended departing with her. ‘We,’ he confirmed authoritatively as he took a light grasp of her elbow before opening the door and indicating she should precede him out of the room.

Something Pandora made no effort to do as she instead looked up at him with obvious uncertainty. ‘I have long been acquainted with what society has to say of me, your Grace, but I feel I should warn you—’

‘And I am only too well aware of what that same society has to say about me, madam.’

He scowled down the length of his arrogant nose at her. ‘But you may rest assured that I am in no mood this evening to confirm any of the … less-than-complimentary remarks you may have heard in regard to my conduct towards the ladies.’

Pandora was pleased to hear it, having briefly wondered if she might not have succeeded in being rescued from one unacceptable situation only to now find herself in an even worse one!

Although she seriously doubted that most women would find the interest of a man as aristocratically handsome and challenging as the eighth Duke of Stratton in the least unacceptable!

Indeed, once upon a time, before her unhappy marriage, she would have been delighted—nay—ecstatic, to have attracted the attentions of such a handsome and eligible gentleman as he. No longer. Pandora’s only wish now was to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

‘Then let us both depart, your Grace,’ she accepted reluctantly as she reached up to pull up the hood of the cloak so that it covered part of her face and all of her hair.

A disguise that proved absolutely useless in helping her to pass unnoticed through the servants’ hallways and kitchen!

How could it be any other way, when a gentleman as recognisable as Rupert Stirling strode arrogantly along at her side? Sophia Rowlands’s household staff were obviously all agog at seeing a handsome Duke marching through their midst, their gazes speculative as they moved to the cloaked woman at his side.

‘Not quite the unobserved departure we might both have wished for,’ he acknowledged ruefully as they emerged outside into the dark lane at the back of the crowded and candlelit mansion house.

‘No.’ Pandora frowned as she saw there was only one carriage awaiting them there. A fashionable black carriage, which bore the Stratton coat of arms upon the door the groom now hurried forwards to open. ‘My own carriage does not appear to have arrived as yet, your Grace—’

‘Nor will it,’ the Duke assured her briskly, maintaining that firm hold upon her elbow as he strode towards his own carriage. ‘Whatever society may say about me, your Grace, my nanny and tutors ensured that I grew up knowing my manners perfectly, even if I do not always choose to put them into practice.’ He raised an expectant brow as he waited for her to precede him into the interior of the ducal carriage. ‘One of those precepts being that a gentleman does not abandon a lady in distress,’ he added softly.

The only distress Pandora suffered at this moment was the thought of being seen driving through the streets in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage and then arriving back at her home in that so-called gentleman’s carriage rather than her own!

She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I believe I would rather this was an occasion upon which you chose to ignore the teachings of your nanny and tutors, your Grace.’

There was a stilled and expectant silence for several seconds and then the Duke gave a loud bark of spontaneous laughter. ‘My friend Carfax omitted to mention that you are an Original, Pandora Maybury,’ he finally murmured appreciatively.

‘Possibly because I am not.’ She became flustered as she recognised the speculation in the cool and assessing grey gaze now levelled at her.

‘I beg to differ,’ the Duke drawled.

‘That is your prerogative, of course.’ She nodded coolly. ‘But I really would prefer to return to my home as I arrived, alone and in my own carriage.’

‘Why?’

Her agitation increased. ‘I— Well, because—’

‘Can it possibly be that you are nervous at thoughts of travelling alone in the ducal carriage with me?’

‘Of course I’m not!’ Pandora glared up at him in the darkness.

‘Good.’ His mouth firmed with satisfaction as he all but lifted her inside the lantern-lit carriage and placed her on one of the plushly upholstered seats. He swiftly followed her inside to sit directly opposite her and nodded tersely to the groom to close the door, the movement of the carriage only seconds later evidence that they were now on their way.

On the way to where, Pandora was unsure, when the Duke had made no enquiry as to where in London her house was situated.

Rupert studied her between narrowed lids, able to take in her full appearance in the warm glow given off by the lantern inside the carriage. Her hair and lashes were of pure and deep gold, a perfect foil for those deep violet-coloured eyes, her skin the colour of ivory, her lips—full and pouting lips that hinted at the sensuous nature which had perhaps caused two gentlemen to fight a duel over her—the colour of ripe raspberries. The same colour as the nipples he had glimpsed through her chemise earlier, tipping those surprisingly plump breasts …