Chapter 2
A young lady with a mangled accent that was neither quite American nor quite English, who spoke out of turn and adored curricle racing, was not duchess material.
And yet as Rufus studied the young lady, he found himself immediately considering her.
He wanted a wife this Season; it was time. He needed to produce an heir. That’s what dukes did. It was necessary. It was incredibly important to ensure the continuation of his line, and the one thing he wanted, contrary to what ton mamas believed, was a woman who was not afraid of him.
His mother had been afraid of his father, and before that, his grandmother had been afraid of his grandfather. There was a certain tradition of ladies, in general, being afraid of dukes. Oh, they all wanted dukes…but they all seemed too terrified to speak to them.
People, in general, were afraid of dukes. But this lady? She was different.
Granted, she was only Miss Portia Miller, but her uncle was the Duke of Westleigh, and her cousin was going to be the next duke. It was clear she was accustomed to the life associated with dukedoms, and she was not at all intimidated.
Whether it was because of that close association or being raised partially in America, he did not know, but it was damned appealing.
His hands played easily with the reins, keeping his fiery horses in check. He swung his gaze over to the two young men who he admired. The Briarwoods were not nearly as old as his family line, the Barrets. Even so, it was impossible not to have some liking for the family that took duty so seriously that a good number of them were fighting on the Continent, making certain Napoleon did not cross the English Channel and take over all of Europe.
They were fighting for the liberation of many countries from that tyrant. How could that not cause him to like them well, even if he might find some of their behavior outside the bounds of what a noble family should engage in?
If he could have, he would have gone to war, but he had a great deal to protect here in England, and then there was the need to ensure that the idiots who thought that supporting Europe wasn’t worthwhile did not gain power in the House of Lords or the House of Commons.
“I think your cousin should ride with me. Otherwise, it won’t be a fair race,” Rufus stated suddenly. He did not know why he said it, but the words came out all the same.
Lord Huxton’s brow shot up. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
“Well, if the three of you are sitting in that curricle,” he pointed out, realizing that for all his logical words, what he wanted was Miss Miller’s lush body beside his, “and I’m alone in mine, then surely it will not be a fair race. So let the lady come and ride with me. It should be us against you.”
“I could never go against the Briarwoods,” she insisted, though her gaze was dancing as if she enjoyed the whole exchange. “I am a Briarwood through and through,” she replied.
“Of course, you are, Miss Miller,” he said. “But you would not wish them to lose just because you wouldn’t ride with me, would you?”
She tsked. “That is not a very nice invitation to change sides, Your Grace. Surely, you could do better.”
A laugh burst past his lips. There it was, that thing that made him think she was indeed duchess material, not a cowering little violet. “All right then,” he allowed. “My dear Miss Miller, it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would come and sit beside me during this race. Cheer me on and lend me your clearly superior knowledge of racing.”
She folded her arms underneath her breasts for just a moment, causing them to press against the soft pink bodice of her gown.
He forced himself not to linger on her soft curves, and he waited with surprisingly bated breath for her answer.
“What an intriguing invitation. You’re saying you’ll take my advice, Your Grace?” she asked playfully.
“How could I not?” he returned. “You’re obviously so willing to give it.”
Her smile only deepened with her amusement. “Well, this I must see! A duke who will take advice. Hand me over,” she instructed to her cousin.
Her cousins let out murmurs of protest as if they were afraid that they had gotten her involved in something that they should not have.
But then the twins exchanged a look.
Lord Calchas shrugged.
“Right,” Huxton gave in. “If this is how it’s to be, who are we to stand in the way of such a fascinating and sudden alliance?”
Rufus pulled his vehicle up directly beside Huxton’s.
Both men kept their horses steady.
Lord Calchas passed Miss Miller over into Rufus’s curricle. She moved with surprising ease, negotiating the transfer in her pink skirts as if she was a mountain goat rather than a delicate lady.
Holding his horses with one hand, Rufus took her small one with his free appendage. Their hands connected for a moment, and he gripped her fingers in his, swallowing hers up in his big grasp.
“Now, now,” she said. “Don’t crush them. They’re surprisingly delicate.”
“You? Delicate?” he drawled, finally releasing her. “Never.”
“I know,” she replied, smoothing her skirts. “Shocking, but I am a lady. And you are a good foot taller than me, and I’m sure you could crush me if you fell upon me.”
“Fell upon you,” he breathed.
If he fell upon her, there were certainly other things he would do than crush her, but he kept such sentiments to himself. The thought was far too tempting.
Instead, he waited as she settled down beside him, moving her skirts this way and that. It was impossible not to notice the way her thigh pressed against his, or the way her hip occasionally managed to bump into his own, or how her arm brushed along his side.
“Ready?” he asked, surprised by how a young lady could cause him to burn with a slow-building desire.
“Always,” she replied. “Now, I’d like to see my cousin beat you,” she added, waggling her brows.
“Wishful thinking.”
He and Huxton both took up their whips. They moved side by side, eyed the long road, and then, without any need for silly roars, they both snapped their teams to attention and headed off.
Miss Miller seemed completely at ease. He kept waiting for her to grab his arm or hold onto the seat and let out a peep of feminine dismay. She did not. As a matter of fact, she leaned forward, and he spotted it immediately—her competitive edge.
Though they were her cousins he was attempting to beat, she began coaching him. “Your Grace,” she said, “they are going to pass you. Their curricle is lighter.”
“Yes,” he pointed out, “but so are you.”
She swung her gaze to him, her cheeks blooming pink. “Have you noticed my figure then?”
“How could one not, Miss Miller?” he rumbled as a strong wish to see her figure without linen obscuring it raced through him. “You have a fine one. The exact sort that a gentleman might hope for.”
“And are you hoping for it?” she said, pursing her lips. “This seems scandalous ground. I should command you to pull over at once and allow me to escape your clearly salacious company.”
Salacious. He’d never been accused of that by a young lady before. But she brought something out in him, something he liked a great deal and had never experienced before.
He’d, of course, spent much time in the demimondaine. His father had encouraged it. He was supposed to be a gentleman of knowledge and exposed to the culture of the day.
But she? She made him wish to speak, to say more than he usually did, and certainly in a way that he never did.
“All right then, what do you suggest?” he asked, realizing that he couldn’t exactly say he hoped to one day see her without her clothing on.
As if she knew that she’d caused him to lose his usual cool demeanor, she leaned in and placed a gloved hand atop his. “Your reins. You’re holding them too tightly.”
“I am not,” he countered, her scent wafting towards him, far more appealing than the summer flowers filling the park.
“You must ease your grip. You must relax,” she instructed. “The horses know that you’re tense and the line…”
For a single moment, he felt himself slip back to another time when he had held the line too tight and then let go. “You’re mistaken,” he growled. “I am holding it just right.”
“Oh, there it is, the duke,” she drawled, “who cannot take advice. I never should have trusted that you would listen.”
He snorted. “I will not be accused of lying, Miss Miller.”
“Then don’t,” she said simply. “I would hate to find you disappointing so quickly.”
He swung his gaze to her. “That intimates that you have hopes of your own for me,” he replied.
“What young lady does not have hopes for a duke?” she teased back.
And with that, he did exactly as she suggested. He eased his hold on the reins and the horses seemed to take flight.
“That’s it, my darlings,” she cried out to the horses, continuing to let her hand rest atop his. “What beauties you are!”
The horses seemed to take pride in her pleasure and her praise, and they suddenly danced forward.
“I say,” he blurted, still captivated by the feel of her so near to him. “Can you talk to animals?”
She laughed. “Oh, the Briarwoods are full of all sorts of remarkable accomplishments. I am convinced my Aunt Perdita speaks the language of all beasts. Animals do whatever she bids.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, I am familiar with some of the whisperings about your people.”
“My people,” she said with mock horror. “How ever can you say such a thing when you are clearly so enamored?”
“Do you think so?” he asked, as he guided the curricle to begin to overtake her cousins.
“Of course,” she announced, gesturing with her chin to her cousins. “Otherwise, I would be sitting over there and not over here. Are you in want of a wife, sir? Is that why you have invited me?”
For a moment he fumbled the reins. “You are bold.”
“Yes, and again, that is why I’m sitting here, isn’t it? Not over there. My boldness is exactly what you’re looking for. You are bored. You’re bored of all the people bowing and scraping. And I? I promise you this. I shall never bore you as long as we know each other.”
“Perhaps we shall not know each other long at all,” he pointed out.
She cocked her head to the side, clasping her bonnet to the top of her head as the horses picked up speed. “Who knows what the future will bring,” she said. “Forever could be just tomorrow or years and years and years, Your Grace. The only way to find out is to live.”
To live , he thought to himself. What a unique concept . Most people were just getting by, but not Miss Portia Miller. What a fine duchess she could make, if she but learned. Could he teach her? Could he instruct her on how to be a great duchess? Yes, he rather thought he could.
“I will continue to take your advice,” he said softly, his words nearly eaten up by the beat of the horses’ hooves, “if you will take mine.”
She turned her head towards him. “And what is it that you wish to advise me upon?”
“Oh,” he said, eyeing her lips, then yanking his gaze to her mischievous eyes, “for that, you’ll have to wait and see.”