“I eagerly await your decision, Your Grace,” she told him dryly.
“Eagerly, do you?”
There was amusement in his voice now, but it was dark levity.
The Duke of Ridgely’s sense of humor was perverse, his words and actions often cryptic. After all this time in his home, she should have unraveled some of the mystery enshrouding him, and yet she had not.
“Quite,” she responded, not afraid to battle him however she must. “Will you tell me, or am I left to wonder?”
Preserving Greycote Abbey was her primary objective. The estate and its people were the only family she had ever known. But because of the provisions in her father’s will, the property, which her mother had brought to the marriage long ago, was to be sold at the discretion of her guardian, the funds to be used for her dowry.
The answer to her troubles was quite simple: if she did not marry, she had no need of a dowry. And if she did not require a dowry, neither was there cause for her to wed. Hence, there was absolutely no need to sell her family’s estate. She had reasons aplenty why she wished to remain unmarried, but Greycote Abbey was chief among them. All she needed to do was persuade the stubborn duke that it was in her best interest to allow her to keep the estate and remain unmarried until she reached one-and-twenty, at which time he would be absolved of his guardian’s duties. She could have the future she had always wanted for herself, happily continue running the estate and tending to her people, and collecting the books and papers which brought her happiness.
How better to persuade him that allowing her to return to the countryside rather than enduring a year of her as his ward was in the best interest of them both, aside from causing Ridgely as much trouble as possible? In Virtue’s estimation, there was none.
“Perhaps there is somethingyoumight tellmeinstead,” he drawled, pulling her from her thoughts as he finally turned about to face her.
Virtue could not contain her gasp as she took in the swollen, red-purple bruise marring his forehead. “Good heavens, what has happened to you?”
He flashed her an ironic half grin. “What, no clever quips about irate husbands this morning?”
Yes, she had often needled him with the worst of his reputation, it was true. All as part of her carefully constructed plan to force him to allow her return to Greycote Abbey. Not that her taunts were undeserved. However, she did not relish the sight of such an egregious injury to his person.
“None.” She drew nearer, inexplicable worry tightening her stomach into a knot. “Have you seen a doctor?”
He raised a brow and then winced, as the old habit must have caused him pain. “Concerned for my welfare, o ye sharp-tongued ward?”
Yes, not that he deserved it. Particularly if it had been an angry cuckolded husband who had delivered the blow. And yet, it did not sit well with her.
She stopped near the hearth, settling her hands on the back of a chair. “I do not take pleasure in someone having done you violence.”
It occurred to her then, the reason he had taken his time in facing her. He had been reluctant to show her the extent of his injury. Why? Was he embarrassed? Was it vanity, perhaps?
He pressed a hand to his heart. “I am singularly uplifted by your tender feelings.”
His sardonic expression suggested the opposite.
They stared at one another in charged silence. His scent—the delightful blend of leather and musk with a hint of citrus—reached her. Despite the ugliness of the lump on his head, he was as alluring as ever. Little wonder he was rumored to have bedded half the women in London.
She forced a pleasant smile. “And I am happy to have been the source of your uplifting.”
“You often are,” he said.
A rather confusing remark, and she didn’t know what to make of it. For certainly, there was no double entendre. Was there?
Her smile felt suddenly tight and uncomfortable. “How pleased I am to know it.”
His lips quirked. “I shouldn’t think you would be if you understood the full implications, my dear. But that is neither here nor there, is it? I haven’t brought you here to discuss my unfortunate collision with a footpad last night. Rather, I’ve brought you here to discuss your insolence.”
At last, the reason for their audience.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” she began with a gusty sigh. “You see, I am not familiar with London life. At Greycote Abbey, we may take the air whenever we wish.”
He waved a hand at their sumptuous surroundings. “If you have failed to take note, you are no longer at that moldering pile of rocks but are instead here in the bastion of polite society.”
The room in which they stood was, quite undeniably, a great deal more elegantly appointed than all of Greycote Abbey combined. However, it was not handsome furniture that made a home.
“I am disastrously bereft of Town bronze,” she said. “If you wish to send me back to Nottinghamshire, I understand. My actions have not been a credit to either yourself or to Lady Deering. I would hate to further soil your reputation or to negatively affect your sister.”
