Hector almost turned to look behind him before he realized.
Why the presumptuous little minx! She assumed that he worked there!
It was true, admittedly, that his clothing was not the usual kind of garb for a duke. He was dressed practically for travel, in well-worn garments that had served him well for years. They were working men’s clothes, because Hector had spent nearly all of his life as a working man.
And yet, it was so bloodytypicalof her to assume that he felt his temper flare, like the forge when too much fuel had been added by a careless hand.
“Do you think me employed by this establishment, my lady?” he asked. His accent was thick with the North, his vowels rounded by the place where he had spent the better part of his life.
His tone, however, was enough to warn her off agreeing. Her dark brow furrowed, her plush lip pouting outward in consternation.
“I apologize, sir,” she said politely. “I thought I had met the proprietor coming in …”
Oh, so he had been elevated to shopkeeper? How flattering.
“You make assumptions, miss,” he said sternly. “Then again, what else is to be expected from an … aristocrat like yourself?”
He made sure that the dangerous pause in his words showed that he held no regard for her or her ilk.
She blinked, rearing back slightly.
“I beg your pardon?” The words were polite, but there was ice in her delivery.
He gave her a lopsided grin, the one that had always caused the women at the smithy to give him a second look, regardless of his damaged leg … and one that would no doubt scandalize a woman of this girl’s class.
“An aristocrat,” he repeated as though she had merely misheard him. “You know, one of the arrogant, entitled folk that run around London judging others, thinking they’re better just because they’ve a bit of scratch in their coffers?”
Briefly, her mouth dropped open in shock, but then she surprised him in turn by not walking away. Instead, she propped a hand on her hip and gave him a challenging look, her chin tipped up in defiance.
“And you would know nothing about judging people, then, I suppose? Or, wait …” She tapped her chin with her free hand. There was a stain on her glove; if she wasn’t so prim and pristine, he would have mistaken it for blood. He chose not to mention it. He hoped she discovered it later and went into hysterics over the sartorial imperfection.
She pointed at him.
“You were also judging me, were you not? At least hypocrisy isn’t one of my sins. Take care of your glass house, before you begin throwing stones, sir.”
Well, that had been annoyingly quick of her.
“Perhaps not hypocrisy,” he allowed, tilting his head in acknowledgment of her point, “but hubris, certainly.”
“Hubris?” Her repetition was tantamount to her flashing a weapon at him.
“Nobody is good enough for me,” he echoed in a high tone designed to enrage her.
Her cheeks flared pink. Ha! He barely even noticed how pretty that flush looked, beneath the surge of triumph that overtook him.
“You,” she said acidly, “don’t know what you are talking about?—”
She’d taken a step forward, as though planning to make him account for his words with fisticuffs—and wouldn’t that be a sight to see, Hector thought—but cut off when the hem of her skirts caught against the edge of his walking stick. She blinked down at the obstacle, then took a quick step back.
“My apologies,” she said hastily, and though he’d thought her vain and conceited before, he found that he hated her a bit for the sympathy that crossed her features.
Anger rose up in him, the same anger that had caused him to enter into—and bloody win, thank you kindly—countless fights with the village lads who would come into the smithy thinking that just because his leg was not quite right, Hector must be weak.
He wasn't going to prove this lady wrong with his fists, as he had those boys, but that didn’t mean he was going to stand for herpity.
He took a menacing step forward, letting his weight rest on the stick. Let her try to think him pathetic just because he walked with an aid. He’d show her how wrong she was.
He had to hand it to her; she didn’t back down.
