“If you please.” Kendall motioned back down the dark hallway.
With an Italian curse, Lady Allegra pushed past him, head held high, silk skirts rustling as she retreated.
Kendall stared at the candle in Ethan’s hand for a long moment, his breaths labored, hands clenched at his sides.
It was odd to see the duke so motionless.
Mentally, Ethan equated Kendall with a temperamental stallion—a volatile animal best handled with caution.
And possibly sugar cubes and the occasional carrot.
Given the taut tension in the air, Ethan scarcely breathed, fearful that his slightest gesture might elicit a sharp response.
Though only an inch taller than Ethan, the duke loomed. The man’s preternaturally gray hair glowed in the dim light, contrasting starkly with his youthful face and dark eyes. It was said his sire, the former Duke of Kendall, had sported a shock of white hair by the time he was thirty. The current duke appeared on track to perhaps best his father’s record.
Swallowing hard, Ethan handed Kendall the still-lit candle in its elegant brass holder.
“Your sister is . . .” Ethan trailed off, desperately searching for an innocuous adjective.
“Elegance and poise?” Kendall finished for him, the words clipped.
“Aye,” Ethan agreed, thankfully erasing any trace of sarcasm from his tone.
“Lady Allegra is the soul of discretion and all that is proper in one of genteel birth,” Kendall continued, glancing back at his sister’s retreating shadow. “As I would hope you yourself to be, Mr. Penn-Leith.”
Ah.
This, Ethan understood. He hadn’t survived Eton and Oxford by being a lackwit who disregarded clear warnings.
“Of course, Your Grace. I am a gentleman to my core.” Lady Allegra might hate Ethan for interfering with her escape into the streets of London, but he did not regret his decision.
Besides, it never hurt to have a carrot to dangle when hoping to coax Kendall into a certain course of action.
The duke wasn’t the only one capable of Machiavellian stratagems.
“If you will excuse me.” Kendall dipped his head at Ethan, pivoted, and walked a wee bit too quickly after his sister.
3
Allie could feel Kendall seething at her side as he escorted her down Lord Aberdeen’s front steps toward the waiting town coach, their family coat of arms gleaming on the door.
Oh, her ducal brother hid it well behind a banal expression, but the clenched fist against his thigh gave him away.
He was furious over her attempted escape.
Good.Bene.
Let him stew, the blackguard.
“I sent Lady Whipple home ahead of us,” he saidsotto voce, words clipped. “You will not need her chaperonage for this.”
This, Allie suspected, was to be a thorough dressing down.
“Yes. Let us spare dear Auntie Whipple having to witness a scene.” Allie’s own tone was as dry as day-old toast.
Lady Whipple adored a scene—the louder and gossipier the better. Assuredly, she had vehemently protested being sent home alone.
Reaching the carriage, Kendall motioned for Allie to precede him. He might be holding her prisoner but heaven forbid his manners slip.
