CHAPTER 1
London, England
May 1824
AMBROSE THORNE, SEVENTHDuke of Huntsford, had been brazenly approached by young women all of his life. In fact, everywhere he turned, young hopefuls would pop up in front of him, sometimes dropping a handkerchief to gain his attention, other times swooning at his feet, or on occasion dispensing with such ruses and openly propositioning him. But until this moment, he had never– not ever in his entire life– been bodily tackled and brought down flat on his back amid bleached skulls and ancient bones on public display.
His head was reeling and shoulder ached from the tumble he had just taken in the Huntsford Academy’s newly opened exhibition hall. It was located across the street from the British Museum and ought to have attracted an elegantly academic crowd.
But the mad young woman with dazzling eyes and kissable lips now sitting atop him was no such thing.
Whatever possessed her to fling herself at him?
“Botheration!” she cried, her knee missing his privates by a hair’s breadth as she attempted to scramble to her feet and dart away.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He grabbed the girl’s ankle to hold her fast. He’d had quite enough of these brazen debutantes making free with him.
“Let go of me, you idiot! Can you not see that despicable toad is getting away?” She tried to jerk her leg free of his grip. But she had just called him an idiot and he was not about to let her get away with that. “What are you doing? I am not the culprit, you nitwit!”
After a moment, she emitted a soft cry of frustration and stopped struggling. Instead, she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted across the hall, “Thomas Runyon, you sneaky thief! I’ll report you to the Duke of Huntsford! You won’t get away with it!”
Ambrose, who happened to be the duke in question, rolled to his feet and now exchanged his grasp on her surprisingly shapely ankle for a grip of her hand. “Come with me,” he said with a low growl, his voice laced with as much authority as he could muster after she had flattened him in front of a throng of startled onlookers who were still gawking at them.
Without giving her the chance to protest, he dragged her out of the exhibition hall and up the stairs into the chairman’s private office. Her pretty lips did not stop moving the entire time. “You nitwit,” she called him again, obviously having a fondness for that insult. In addition, she repeated her conviction that he was the biggest idiot alive.
After slamming the door shut behind them, he plunked her down in one of the soft leather chairs. “Now,” he said, his voice laced not only with authority but with barely leashed fury as he placed his hands on the armrests to keep her trapped between his arms. “Who are you? And what were you doing charging down the exhibit halls like a rampaging bull? Do you not realize you might have destroyed valuable artifacts?”
“I never would! No one appreciates these relics more than I!” Her slate blue eyes blazed magnificently and her equally magnificent dark curls were on the verge of coming undone. He tried not to compare her hair to dark silk, but he could not ignore the fact that her mane appeared surprisingly soft and lush.
If he weren’t on the verge of throttling the impudent girl, he might enjoy running his fingers through that massive pile. It was precariously perched and threatened to tumble in gorgeous waves if he blew on it with a single breath.
“Who areyou?” she shot back, looking angry enough to pound her fist into his midsection. To his good fortune, she was not quite as bloodthirsty as first appeared. Perhaps she was afraid of him and not about to rile him further, especially since she was trapped in his office alone with him. “How didyouappear out of nowhere like a block of granite?”
No, this young lady was no shrinking violet.
Indeed, although she was small and shapely, she was also full of determination. The sort who could knock him over while running at full tilt despite her diminutive size. Well, she was of average height and rather slender except in her bosom. Yes, her chest was another magnificent attribute of hers, especially as it was now heaving. “Thanks to you,” she said with marvelous indignation, “that no-good, plagiarist lizard, Thomas Runyon, has just stolen my latest research findings. Months of work lost! Now he will claim it for his own…and it is all your fault.”
“In what way, shape, or form is it my fault? I’ve never heard of either of you until this moment. And since you seem to know the identity of this so-called thief, he is hardly likely to get away with whatever it is he took from you. What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?”
“Huntsford.”
She stared at him a long moment, and then swallowed hard as understanding dawned. “As in His Grace? The Duke of Huntsford?”
He nodded. “One and the same. Must I ask for yours again?”
She held out her hand as though he was supposed to shake it…or kiss it…or, it struck him that he would rather kiss her lips.
Lord, they were pretty.
She would probably bite him if he tried.
“My name is Miss Adela Swift.” She dropped her hand to her side when he did not reach for it. “Obviously, thanks to your meddling, I was notswiftenough to catch that crook.”
He shook his head as though not hearing right. Was she still berating him? Even now that she knew he was the Duke of Huntsford? He ought to have been outraged. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed.
The girl was priceless.
