What kind of measures?
The duke, who was now peering out the window on his side, nodded. “Please do.”
“Right.”
With a sudden lurch, the carriage swerved, throwing Melanie’s weight against the duke’s solid frame, closer, even, if that was possible. She felt herself flushing all over.
Ernest,she told herself, jerking back.This is for little Ernest.
Over the rumble of wheels and pounding hooves, the driver’s shouts to clear the path barely registered, and ignoring the urge to clutch the duke’s arm for safety, she kept her gaze fixed on the glass, trying not to feel overwhelmed by… all of this.
Outside, window shops and pedestrians rushed by in a blur, a smear of indistinct colors. The driver’s “measures”, it seemed, included taking whatever route he saw open, speeding around other carriages, over walkways, and even squeezing through some of the narrower alleys. They weren’t crawling along anymore.
She really, really, ought to feel afraid. But… she wasn’t.
Instead, an unfamiliar weightlessness lifted her heart, and for the first time in months, she felt… not excited exactly, but not so dead inside.
She, Melanie Rutherford, the painfully quiet and fearful second daughter of the Rutherford family, was being carried through the streets of London at alarming speeds, in this unconventional coach, with a man who struck terror in most of theton: the Duke of Malum.
AN ERROR IN JUDGEMENT
As the carriage took a sharp turn, Lady Melanie tipped into Malum’s side. Brief contact. Hardly worth noticing. Except, of course, he noticed.
It wasn’t as though he wasn’t familiar with feminine attributes, but there was something unsettling about this particular woman. Petite. Soft. Purposeful. Not a hint of chatter. No pointless observations or coy giggles to fill the space, making him more conscious of her than he’d like to admit.
And there weren’t many Mayfair debutantes, he supposed, who would risk their reputations by setting foot inside theDomus Emporium—fewer still who’d do so for the sake of an abandoned babe. Yet here she was, defying every expectation he had of her kind.
Was it all a ruse? Malum was a duke, after all, and even though he didn’t participate in the Season, he was not unaware of the lengths women were willing to take in order to win the title of duchess. Lady Melanie Rutherford wouldn’t be the first husband-hunting woman who’d risk her social standing in order to stake a claim on the title of ‘duchess’.
From what he’d heard, her mother could be behind it all…
But before the suspicion could fully settle, however, he brushed it aside.
Lady Melanie was not feigning her concern for little Ernest. And although her meddling ought to have annoyed him, he couldn’t help but be grateful for her help the evening before.
And that she’d cared enough to track him down today.
Even so, the whole situation unnerved him. He’d needed a nursemaid for Ernest. He’d hired one. It ought to have been cut and dried.
Apparently, it was not.
This whole business was a mess he hadn’t signed up for. Still, Lady Melanie had taken a risk. He’d reimburse her for that.
Malum hated feeling beholden to anyone.
“What do you want?” he said, cutting through the tangle of his thoughts.
Lady Melanie tilted her head, looking confused as she watched him reach into his coat and withdraw a compact leather satchel.
“Money?” he asked.
Before she had a chance to respond, Jensen took another sharp turn, and this time, his pretty little neighbor was thrown onto his lap.
“My apologies,” he grumbled at the same time his hands instinctively grasped her waist—to prevent any further knocks about the carriage, of course.
He couldn’t help but notice her scent—delicate roses, with just a hint of lemon.
Lady Melanie’s face was only inches from his, her crystal-clear eyes widening as a startled gasp escaped her lips. And her delicate fragrance seemed to wrap around him, unsettling and intimate…
