“So when will the engagement be announced?” She let her high skepticism into her sarcastic tone.
“I have not agreed to the match yet.”
“My sister is both lovely and bright. She would make a splendid duchess, of course, only not for you. I am relieved you lacked decisiveness.”
“Do not blame me for the delay in knowing my mind on the matter. There I was, making my decision about a lovely dove, when a black crow flew by and distracted me.”
Crow?Why, the—
“Then the crow flapped her wings in my face and turned her tail to fly away.” He walked over until he loomed above her. “I never stand down from a challenge, Lady Clara.”
If he thought she would tremble and blush, he was wrong. Except she did tremble a bit, while she noticed that his demeanor exuded a good amount of mystery and excitement and that his dark, deep-set eyes held layers that drew her in to the point of almost drowning. His proximity and his gaze left her tongue-tied for an embarrassing moment. Perhaps she did blush a little too.
“Better if you had snatched up the dove while you could,” she said. “Now I have time to remind my grandmother that you will never do.”
“I will do very well for her purposes.”
“What are those?”
“Don’t you know?” He cocked his head a fraction. “Perhaps you don’t.”
It grew awkward, standing so close to him. She experienced a mix of alarm and . . . exhilaration. She stepped back and fussed with the stack of pages in her arms. “Excuse me.”
She walked toward her horse. His tall, lean form soon warmed her side and his boot steps paced alongside her. “You are leaving without even a good day? You are determined to insult me, I think.”
“I would be within my rights to shoot you, let alone insult you. You are trespassing on this property, no matter what else my grief-stricken grandmother may have said. You crossed the border between my brother’s land and mine a quarter mile back.”
“And I would be within my rights to use my crop on your pretty tail in response to your behavior.”
She stopped walking and glared at him. “Such a threat is beyond the pale. Try that and I will certainly shoot you. Do not doubt it. I am not a woman who quakes when faced with stupid masculine bravado. Any gentleman with proper breeding would have allowed the misunderstanding regarding my brother’s instructions to pass. It is outrageous that you felt entitled to follow me and then berate me. Now, I will be on my way, and you can be on yours.”
She strode on to her horse. He paced alongside her again. She wanted to hit him with Althea’s manuscript, he annoyed her so much.
“Are you a writer?” His hand reached out and he flicked the corners of the pages. That brought his arm close to her body. An inner jolt almost had her jumping away.
“A friend wrote this. It is an essay on—” She caught herself. “I am sure it would not interest you.”
“Perhaps it would.”
“Then I am sure it isnone of your business.”
“Not a writer, but a bluestocking.”
“Oh, how I hate that word.” She stuffed the pages into the saddlebag. “You just spent years in France. They are reputed to celebrate cultural women. If you give me that moniker simply because you found me reading, apparently you did not learn much while you were there except how to be irritating.”
She picked up the reins and positioned her horse.
“Allow me to assist you.” He moved closer.
“Please, just go away.” She quickly stepped onto the tree stump. With a jump and a pull she got herself back into the saddle.
“Admirably done, Lady Clara. I see that you are independent in all things.”
She swallowed a groan at his comment. “Do you think I am so witless as to get off a horse if I had no way to get back on?”
As she turned the horse to ride away, she saw the duke’s expression. Humor softened that face somewhat, but within the mind behind those dark eyes, calculations formed.
* * *
