She’d never viewed him with anything else.
“It seems your horse has the same opinion of you that I do,” he said blandly.
“Howdrollyou are, my lord.” A brittle smile thinned her lips. “The matter was well in hand. There was no need for your intervention. In fact, you made things far worse.”
Ellis bowed, a convenient way to hide his irritation at her words. “Gracious, as always. But you were seconds from being thrown and breaking your neck, Your Grace.”
They glared at each other in silence. Ellis’s dislike of her was, in his opinion, justified. Haven might have called it wounded pride that not every woman considered Ellis to be worth her adoration.
Finally, he took a step forward. No matter his feeling about this particular duchess, the decent thing, thegentlemanlything, was to offer assistance. Leaning over, Ellis extended a hand.
Her Grace regarded Ellis as if he were holding out a hissing snake.
“I almost didn’t recognize you, my lord, without your parade of admirers.”
A slow roll of annoyance filled him.
“Aren’t they usually about?” she said blithely. “Giggling and cooing at you in worship?” Her lips pouted. “Acolytes of a sort, I suppose.” Her words dripped with disdain.
Ellis had always been pursued by females. It was the truth of his existence. Why it bothered the duchess that he was sought after was anyone’s guess, as she was cut from the same cloth. But her opinion of Ellis, and any young woman who followed him about, was well known. Her Grace wasn’t shy in voicing it. Through gossip, mostly. Never to Ellis himself. Their conversations in the past had been brief.
“I don’t bring my admirers to the country,” he said carelessly, retracting his fingers. She could bloody well get up on her own. “Too much trouble to feed them all.”
Rolling to the side, the duchess made a soft grunt while spinning about like a turtle on its back.
Vastly amusing.
Finally, she managed to haul herself to her feet, wobbling with arms out, cursing again when the heel of her boot caught in her skirts. Her Grace had never been one to utter such vile epithets before. Marriage to Castlemare was likely the cause. The velvet made a ripping sound.
“Oh, dear. However shall you find a modiste out here?” He clasped his hands.
“Perhaps I’ll simply have it sent to the Duchess of Granby for repairs.”
A snap of anger touched his skin, followed by the sharp bite of arousal. They often accompanied one another when in her presence.
“She’s a bit busy, at present, with Granby’s heir.” A thin smile crossed his lips. “Oh, and beingblissfullyhappy. Not so unusual for a love match, I suppose. But then, you’ve little experience in that regard. None at all, I imagine.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Charming as ever, I see,” she murmured.
“And you arestilla delight, Your Grace.” A flood of conflicting thoughts shook Ellis as he looked at her, the fact that he still wanted her naked beneath him not the least of them. That the duchess was anawfulcreature clearly did little, unfortunately, to dissuade his cock.
She tilted her dainty chin. “I never did understand your appeal, my lord. I confess, I still do not.” The cobalt of her eyes slid over him with little interest. “Your vanity, barely deserved, can’t possibly endear you to anyone.” The duchess walked a few steps from him, keeping her face in profile so that the sun lit a halo around her stunning features. A practiced move, no doubt.
“You might be speaking of yourself, Your Grace.”
The line of her jaw hardened. Even that was beautiful. “You actually form thoughts? How unexpected. I hadn’t thought you capable of stringing so many words together.”
Ellis’s lips tightened at the insult. The duchess wasn’t the only one who assumed him to be far too affable to be remotely intelligent. What was it about handsome, charming men that immediately made others think them stupid? As if you were given an appealing countenance or brains. Never both.
“No groom with you this morning, Your Grace?” He gave no indication her slur had disturbed him. “Or perhaps the duke will be by soon?” Castlemare, the lady’s husband, wasn’t known for his affection or good humor. One didn’t wed a duke for his amiability, especially not one like Castlemare.
Her shoulders braced at the mention of the duke before she tipped to brush the grass lingering on the velvet of her skirts. “No, my lord. I’m quite alone. If you wish to commit murder, you’ll have no witnesses to the act.”
There was something disquieting in her reply. It pulled at the innate protectiveness Ellis had for all women, a feeling he didn’t wish to have for her. The lust tormenting him was bad enough. But—
“Are you injured?” Ellis inquired softly before he thought better of it, wondering at the sudden paling of her cheeks.
“I’m quite well, my lord,” she snapped back. “Aside from being forced to endure your company.”
