A Dangerous Beauty Read Free Page B

“I told you we did not want to hear another word from you with the exception of ‘yes.’ After which you shall go upstairs, have one bag packed and prepare to leave for London. I’ll not have you waste another moment of His Grace’s time.”
    The duke replaced his hard expression with one of boredom, disgust and a banked anger that made Rosamunde’s nerves desert her.
    “Your Grace,” said her father, “I must apologize for my daughter’s behavior—again.”
    The duke turned his cold gaze on her father. “It is rumored she is the most spoilt female in the county.I do hope you will have her better trained before she is under my roof. There is little tolerance for coddled females there. Ah, but my son knows well how to mete out lessons in good behavior.”
    A chill swept through Rosamunde. The duke’s pale green eyes looked like the dangerous thin ice on the pond during winter. She glanced down at his hands and they appeared peasantlike, brutish and thick-skinned. She shivered once.
    “But what has happened? Why is Lord Sumner being forced to ask for my hand?” she whispered, her eyes trained on the corner of her father’s desk.
    His Grace banged his walking stick on the floor. “I’ll tell you why, you thoughtless girl. Your chance to say ‘no’ was left on the beach. If you had had the sense to say ‘no’ then, and hadn’t lured my son to that private cove, and enticed him with your wiles, then he would not be here now, forced to solicit the hand of a conniving chit. Do you think I will enjoy seeing the Helston bloodlines tainted by a—a gel of such questionable character? Do you?” His voice had grown in pitch until the last was said with a roar.
    “But, noth—nothing happened. We raced, and I’m sorry if it was slightly improper. It was just a race…” Her voice trailed off as she watched a large vein in the center of the duke’s forehead beat a wild tattoo.
    “And did you not ask him to kiss you?”
    She jerked her face toward Lord Sumner and saw him close his eyes and shake his head. The coward. What had he done? Why wasn’t he coming to her defense? He didn’t want her, he implicitly told her he lov—
    “Well?” her father demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself, Rosamunde?”
    “But, he doesn’t like me—”
    “Not according to the Miss Smithams and the bishop,” her father interrupted.
    The blood in her head rushed to the ends of her fingers and she thought she might just faint for the first time in her life.
    “Are you actually suggesting you did not behave with the utmost lack of propriety whilst hiding yourselves near the beachhead?” asked the duke from behind her.
    She whirled to face him. “Of course we didn’t, Your Grace.”
    “Your impertinence is insupportable.” He stepped so close to her she could smell traces of stale cheroots and overly sweet cologne.
    Her father’s eyes narrowed and she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She had chewed her inner cheek to ribbons.
    “Then why is there sand and wrinkles on the back of your gown, and your hair tumbled down?” His Grace demanded.
    Rosamunde instinctively touched the back of her head and felt the tuft of a sea oat in her hair. Bile rose in her throat.
    “I’ve been riding along the downs, and stopped to rest a little before returning home.” She brushed the back of her blue velvet riding habit. “It’s just a bit of dirt from the place I chose to sit.” She wasn’t going to admit to crying for long minutes in a small hollow.
    The duke snorted and turned to face her father. “I thought you said your daughter was a well brought up, clever thing who would be able to adjust to her new role. The chit cannot even lie intelligently.”
    Rosamunde turned to Lord Sumner and hoped he would see her desperation. He turned away.
    “But, he—he loves another.”
    Lord Sumner twisted back toward her, his face contorted in agony.
    “My son knows his duty. He doesn’t love anyone except his father, girl.