Page 7 of A Duchess Bound (Dukes of Dominance #2)

W hen the Duke of Greenway had accused her of wounding him, Dorothy’s knees had gone weak.

The remark had not really moved her. In truth, Dorothy had not been particularly impressed by that.

Rakes were known for being dramatic and saying sweet words, which they never really meant.

She would not have been surprised to learn that His Grace had expressed similar sentiments to other ladies.

Dorothy sighed and shook her head. The encounter at the park had happened the day before, and Dorothy had been unable to stop thinking about their verbal sparring ever since. The conversation kept running through her mind, as though it were a play that she was watching.

“Sister?” Bridget’s voice came from behind. “Are you still awake?”

“Yes.”

Dorothy sat at her desk, which was littered with scandal sheets. She had already begun compiling a list of all Bridget’s potential suitors, of which there were many. She was doing her best to sort them all into acceptable , unacceptable , and those to be considered at a later date .

The Duke of Greenway was the name at the very top of Dorothy’s unacceptable list. She had written his name with unnecessary fury, nearly tearing the paper in her haste to make certain that man was deemed unacceptable.

“Dory,” Bridget said, her steps light as she approached. “Even the most dedicated mama would not spend so much time and effort exploring suitors.”

Dorothy drummed her fingers on the wooden desk. Bridget’s voice seemed to have awakened something in her, for a wave of exhaustion swept suddenly over her. Dorothy’s eyes burned, and a strange fog seemed to settle over her senses.

“We must ensure that you marry the best possible suitor,” Dorothy said.

“But you have been at this desk all day,” Bridget said, striding around the desk and perching in a nearby chair. “My dear sister, I appreciate your efforts, but you must rest on occasion.”

“I am not tired.”

Bridget was likely right, but Dorothy had failed Catherine when she went on the marriage mart. Catherine had managed to marry a respectable man anyway, and she was happy with him. But that had been due to chance, rather than to Dorothy’s efforts.

What would happen if Bridget was not so fortunate? It was better to work hard and guarantee her sister’s success, rather than face a potential failure.

“You have not even opened your mail,” Bridget mused. “Someone has sent you a letter.”

Dorothy hummed. She had vague recollections of receiving a letter, but she had been too invested in investigating Lord Hart to give it more than a glance.

“I am certain that the letter is not nearly as important as your marriage,” Dorothy said. “If it is any consolation, my hours of work have not been in vain. I have considerably limited the number of prospective suitors for you.”

Bridget raised an eyebrow and read the list upside down. “Was it truly necessary to add the Duke of Greenway? It is obvious to everyone that you detest him. I daresay we do not need a reminder of his unsuitability.”

Warmth rushed to Dorothy’s face. Bridget made an excellent point.

“I suppose I just wanted the satisfaction of rejecting him,” Dorothy said. “He is the most insufferable man I have ever met. Worse, I am certain that he delights in being insufferable. He has made a sport of tormenting me, and that is quite vexing.”

“I am certain it is,” Bridget said, although she sounded like she did not really understand. “Perhaps, you provoke him, though.”

“Provoke him?” Dorothy asked. “Whatever do you mean? I am quite certain that I have done nothing to encourage the man’s attention.”

But she had . Dorothy inhaled deeply and fought to control her quickly beating heart.

If she had behaved as a proper lady during their encounter in the garden, His Grace might have lost interest in her.

While Dorothy could not claim to be an expert on the ways of rakes or men in general, it seemed obvious that the Duke of Greenway enjoyed her defiance and anger.

“I do not mean it quite like that,” Bridget said, sounding uncomfortable. “But you do seem to enjoy arguing with him.”

Dorothy laughed at the absurdity of the statement. “I most certainly do not! I would prefer not to speak to the man at all, but because he insists on speaking to me, I must offer some defense of myself.”

“Right,” Bridget said. “But you look as though you enjoy it.”

“If I enjoy arguing with him, it is only the satisfaction that comes from besting an opponent in argument.”

“So you say.”

“What else could it be?”

Bridget sighed and tossed her head back, a smile twitching at her lips. “I am thinking that it sounds very romantic. I am reminded of Queen Guinevere and how she would sometimes be so cruel to Sir Lancelot, who loved her all the more for her fury.”

“The only resemblance His Grace bears to Sir Lancelot is his penchant for infidelity,” Dorothy said dryly. “The man is utterly faithless and cares only about his own desires.”

“You are not thinking romantically!” Bridget exclaimed.

“Because I am not living in a romance,” Dorothy countered. “Men in the ton are not like those in novels.”

“No? But it does seem quite like Pride and Prejudice ,” Bridget continued. “That novel was written by a lady who was quite aware of how gentlemen behave.”

Dorothy had never read that novel. She had considered it, but the arrival of the Season had made it difficult to think of anything except finding a suitable husband for Bridget.

Well, that, and the Duke of Greenway. She had never before encountered such a distracting man.

“You must promise me that you will not entertain his affections,” Dorothy said. “The Duke of Greenway.”

“Of course not,” Bridget agreed. “I would never entertain the attention of someone whom you loathe so much.”

Dorothy sighed, her breath shuddering in her chest. Bridget’s promise should have been a comfort, but Dorothy found herself simply feeling uncertain.

After all, Dorothy was a respectable woman, and she found His Grace consuming nearly all her waking thoughts.

What defense did someone like Bridget, who was so young and trusting, have against such an insatiable creature?

Bridget idly picked up the letter Dorothy had received earlier, holding it between two fingers. It was folded and tied with a midnight blue ribbon. The handwriting was unfamiliar—thin and slanting.

“How do you know this is not the letter of some besotted suitor?” Bridget teased.

“Because it was addressed to me.”

It occurred to Dorothy that one of Bridget’s suitors might write to her, though. She took the letter from her sister’s hand, her fingers tracing the edge of the paper, which was very fine.

“Curious,” Dorothy muttered.

She untied the ribbon and unfolded the letter, nearly gaping at its contents. Dorothy read the letter once. Twice.

She must have misunderstood, for there was no conceivable reason for her to be reading those words .

“You have become quite red, Dory,” Bridget said. “What does the letter say?”

“It says that if I wish to argue further, his door is open to me.”

Bridget gasped. “His door? Has the Duke of Greenway sent you a letter?”

“Yes,” Dorothy said between clenched teeth. “Doubtlessly, he means to mock my efforts. That is to be expected of a man like him. After all, he can hardly understand how difficult it is to secure a respectable marriage for a young lady.”

“Or maybe he is besotted with you,” Bridget suggested, her eyes gleaming. “Maybe he just has difficulty expressing his feelings.”

Given how he had handled her in the gardens, His Grace certainly did not have any difficulty expressing his feelings. If anything, the man was in sore need of restraint.

“That man does not know what it is to be besotted,” Dorothy said heatedly.

If she pretended that the thought of him being besotted with her did not make her feel so alive, maybe that feeling would vanish.

“He only feels base desires,” Dorothy added. “And I cannot imagine that he even feels those towards me. I am a spinster, after all. No man in the ton would find me desirable, especially not when there are beautiful, unwed misses like you.”

Her protests felt like lies. She had noticed how he looked at her with that dark heat in his eyes.

His Grace gazed at her as if she was something he sought to devour, and worse, Dorothy had nearly let him.

What would she have done if their encounter in the garden had not been interrupted by those ladies?

Would she have let him do more than touch and kiss her?

“Are you going to respond to him?” Bridget asked.

That would be a terrible idea.

“I am undecided.”

She was tempted, though. His Grace had said that his door was open to her.

What would the man do if she simply entered his townhouse, stormed into his study, and just began arguing?

Such brazen actions were not expected of a lady, and she might manage to catch him unaware.

How satisfying it would be to remove that oily smirk from his face!

“Maybe you should tell Elias,” Bridget said. “I am certain that he could speak to His Grace, and maybe then the man would leave us both be.”

That was an entirely reasonable solution to Dorothy’s dilemma, but it was also one she had no interest in pursuing.

“I do not want that.” Knowing that Bridget would want an excuse, Dorothy added, “Elias is already so busy managing the dukedom and attending parliament meetings. I can manage a rake on my own.”

That was a plausible explanation, wasn’t it? Dorothy glanced fleetingly at her sister, searching Bridget’s face for any sign that she doubted the offered explanation. If her sister thought she was being lied to, she gave no indication of it.

“Very well,” Bridget said. “If you are certain about this, Dory.”

“I am,” Dorothy said. “Quite certain.”

Besides, it would not really be fair of her to send Elias after the Duke of Greenway when Dorothy herself had not behaved appropriately around him. How hypocritical would that be?

Yes, Elias, this rake is tormenting me. I did, admittedly, let him kiss me, but we can just overlook that.

“I will decide how to manage our rakish duke in the morning,” Dorothy said, standing.

She stretched her arms above her head, wincing as the muscles in her back protested from the sudden movement after a long period of remaining seated.

“That is probably for the best,” Bridget said. “I know you have not said it, but you must be very tired. It is best to make decisions when one is well-rested and awake.”

“That is entirely true.”

Dorothy doubted that she would wake well-rested, though. Already, she foresaw a long and painful night, her mind awhirl with thoughts of the devilishly handsome and cruel Duke of Greenway. She felt instinctively as though that man would be her ruin.

Worse, she was not immune to his charms. If she was, she would not let her thoughts linger on him. The kiss and the arguments would have already faded into the recesses of her memory, as her interactions with gentlemen often did.

The garden could not happen again, though.

She must assert herself and show His Grace that she would not be swayed by him.

Dorothy would never give in to that man, no matter how hard he tried to seduce her.

She would go to his townhouse straightaway and give that wretched man a piece of her mind.

Dorothy would ensure that man never interacted with her or Bridget ever again.