Gavin pretended to frown, enjoying the moment. “If you think about taking out my tongue, then that is wishing me harm.” He had her on this one.
She started as if confused by his logic and then made a frustrated sound. “You know what I meant. I wasn’t being literal.”
He had to tease. “I’m not entirely certain I do—” His voice broke off into a grunt as she kicked him in his booted shin.
Sarah was incensed that Baynton could mock her worry over him. Had he no sense? Men died dueling.
Of course, kicking a duke was not the most mature action but there were moments when he annoyed her beyond all reason. Such as when he believed his impervious will was the only one that mattered.
Worse, kicking a man wearing boots, especially such a brawny man as the duke when one was wearing well-worn kid slippers, did not protect the toes.
The pain that shot through Sarah’s foot almost caused her to drop the Widow.
She hobbled several steps, waiting for the sharp pain to subside to a dull ache.
And, no, she was not pleased when he said with mild amusement, “Mrs. Pettijohn, have you hurt yourself?”
“No, I just jump around like this because I wish to dance.”
“That is a relief,” he said. “I would not want you to have broken a toe because you wished to ‘harm’ me.”
For one sizzling second, Sarah had the image of taking the Widow and pounding him around the ears with it.
Instead, she managed to match his overpolite tone and say, “I now understand why there are people who would adore to run you through.”
His laughter this time was full-bodied, unrestrained, and rich. However, before he could respond, someone cleared their voice from the door to announce his presence. Sarah turned to see Talbert accompanied by another, exceedingly nondescript man. He had brown hair and wore brown clothes. He was the sort one would not notice immediately.
“Ah, there you are, Perkins,” the duke said in greeting. “Please come in and meet Mrs. Pettijohn.”
“Your Grace,” Mr. Talbert said, “I need to remind you that we must leave for the Pensions vote shortly. I’m certain you wish to change. Michael is upstairs and I have your town coach outside.”
“Yes, yes, I must go, but a moment with Perkins.” The duke waved Mr. Talbert to leave them. He motioned Mr. Perkins forward. “We have a task for you.”
“We do not. Not any longer—” Sarah started to remind him, but he held up a hand to cut her off.
“We do,” he informed Perkins who bowed to the duke, a sign he was going to do anything Baynton ordered. “We need you to find two men who ran off with the money from a theater last night. The Bishop’s Hill Theater. What are their names?” He turned to Sarah.
“Are you going to duel with Lord Rovington?” If he could be stubborn, she could be stubborner.
To her joy, a look of annoyance twisted his noble lips. “Of course I am.”
“Then I don’t know which two men you are asking about.” And with those coolly spoken words, Sarah walked out of the room with great righteousness and a good amount of pride.
She doubted if anyone had ever defied him before. However, as the two of them had discussed, she had principles.
“Mrs. Pettijohn, come back here,” he said, his voice reasonable. She kept moving.
“Sarah.”
At her given name, she faltered a bit. How strange to hear him speak it. How familiar—and yet she recovered her stride, her toes still tender, and kept walking.
In the front hall, the butler and the two footmen who had tried to accost her earlier lingered by the door. Behind her, Mr. Talbert, who had been waiting in the hall outside the ballroom, reminded His Grace that he needed to dress for “the vote.” She easily pictured the officious looking secretary blocking the duke from coming after her, that is, if he was of such a mind to chase her down. She nodded to the surprised servants, opened the door and let herself out.
Rain was pouring from the sky.
She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and started walking toward home. Beneath the folds of wool she protected Widow. Her plays were all she had of value. She would see them staged. She would.
And Baynton would call off the duel. He may be overconfident and ducal, but he was sensible. She’d seen that in the way he’d let Charlene marry the man she loved. He would come around.
