Page 15 of Dukes All Night Long

G regory found her at the end of a long line of carriages. Lamplight traced her auburn curls. She flicked them off her shoulder as if their length was a burden. A pelisse draping her arm, she waited. A conveyance or two rolled by. None collected Miss Pryce.

Where was she going? Home?

He checked the road. Coachmen and other attendants hung dutifully near their vehicles.

Some diced, nursing a pint. Others traded jests.

Violins stummed pleasantly inside, their notes floating through open windows.

Despite having snatched Lord Wentworth from his seat, the evening’s entertainment carried on. No one fled the ball.

Except his pretty instructress. And she deserved an explanation.

Gregory had given his regrets to his host, even offered to pay for damaged furniture.

Lord Aldsley, who was half in his cups, seemed oddly cheerful about the ruckus.

Gregory didn’t hesitate then. He’d hied off to the nearest discreet exit.

The servants’ quarters, as it were. He’d shucked his coat and asked two wide-eyed maids if they knew Miss Pryce’s whereabouts. They couldn’t tell him.

Jeremy, however, had been two steps ahead of him. He met his former shipmate in the mews. In the not-so-distant privateering days, the mews was their standard rendezvous should trouble arise. Gladstone was the usual culprit.

The man was grinning from ear to ear when he found him. “At least it wasn’t me causing trouble.”

Gregory brushed that off. “Where did she go?”

The she in question was understood.

Jeremy pointed in the general direction. “A servant told me she went that way. To the carriage line.”

“Are you sure? Why would she leave now?”

“I’ve a multitude of answers. Want to hear them?

” Jeremy planted a hand on a post and crossed his legs at the ankle.

“I’d say Miss Pryce is fleeing a disaster.

She worked hard to help you. And look what you did.

Wentworth deserved a thrashing, mind you.

But where’s your subtlety? And kissing her hand in the middle of the ballroom? Even I know better than that.”

“Heard that, did you?”

“From a scullery maid. The gossip is all over the kitchen. No wonder you decided to play faro.”

Male pride swelled his chest. He’d put his mark on Miss Pryce for all to see. “I don’t regret kissing her hand.”

Jeremy whistled slowly. “Got it that bad, have you?”

Gregory’s knees locked. Miss Pryce? With him, forever?

The thought made him sway like a man almost struck down.

Women were jewels meant for appreciation.

Some, a passing fancy. Others, worth lingering over.

None made him think or feel as though he’d barely recovered from a bolt of lightning. Not until Susan Pryce.

“You’re a man of substance now.” Jeremy shifted, his face somber. “You’ve been given a golden goose. Don’t piss it away.” He jammed both hands in his pockets. “Even if you did lose all the gold in England, it wouldn’t matter. You’ve found a woman who wants you.”

Profound tenderness settled on Gregory. He touched his pocket. Her gloves.

“Make her your duchess, and I’d wager Lord Wentworth will say her name. Eloquently.”

His duchess. The words landed in his solar plexus. He squeezed the pocket over his heart, his path decided. He bristled a little. He knew. Of course, he knew. Jeremy was the one who had a way with words. Gregory had always been better with his fists. It might be time to expand his skills.

He smiled. It just so happened, he knew an excellent instructress.

Jeremy opened a candle lamp and touched his cheroot to the flame. “Have I said enough?”

“You have.” He was resigned in the best possible way.

Off he went, darting around Aldsley House unnoticed. No need to draw a crowd. He preferred it this way. And really, there was only one person he owed an explanation to. Yet, his feet were heavy, approaching Miss Pryce. She deserved better.

On the sidewalk, a twig crunched underfoot. She swung around, unsurprised.

“Your Grace.”

Lamplight glanced off half her face. Curls landed on her bodice and her neck, the sight enticingly messy. He could feel her gaze wander over him. Searching.

“I’m sure you heard about the game room and the unfortunate incident.” He ambled forward, finishing off his half-undone cravat. “I am unscathed,” he said dryly.

Her little laugh charmed him. “I wouldn’t dare think otherwise.”

“I appreciate your belief in me.”

She pulled back to regard him. “That you’re capable of thrashing a man at a ball? Of course, Your Grace.”

What an artful salvo. The sarcasm, pitch-perfect. Teeth gritting, he deserved her jibe, but he wanted her respect. Her love. Thinking that, an arrow pierced his heart. A profane word wanted out. He held it in.

Winning her was going to be bloody hard work.

“Just so you know, Miss Pryce, I no longer think first with my fists. I haven’t for a long time. Mind you, I was free with them in my youth. It was a necessary skill, but I’ve learned much since then.”

“Is that so?” She was eyes on the road, and he was aware he didn’t ask permission to stand with her. He simply took his place beside her like he took so many other things.

“An instructress took me in hand. Very helpful.” He was eyes on the road with her.

In his side vision, he witnessed a ghost of a smile on her face, and he decided it was going to be a long night.

Groveling might be necessary. They settled in, side-by-side.

His arm near hers. Her scent, comforting.

Warm. If he turned just so, the crown of her head, and the curls piled there, would touch his nose if he bent a few inches.

Contemplating that, he asked, “Why are we waiting here?”

“I am waiting for a hack.”

“Why not take my carriage?” It was only natural he offer it.

She pinned him with sage eyes. “That would be unwise, Your Grace. For me, at least.”

Of course. A late-night carriage ride alone with him. Should anyone find out, his reputation would be sterling. Hers? Tarnished.

“I’m fine. Really. This is typical for daughters of government officials.”

“Waiting? Or the lack of a conveyance?”

She huffed, impatient, and odd though it was, his reason for being hinged on her answer.

They both knew this was more. They were more.

He loved her, and that breath-stealing realization still struck him, hard.

The thudding in his chest was his heart reminding him that she could send him packing. And she might. What a sobering thought.

It wasn’t as if he’d made her life easy. Not this past month. Certainly not tonight.

Steeling his spine, he asked, “You’ve nothing to say?”

There was an edge in his voice. He was a fighter by nature.

“About your offer?” Her eyes gleamed. Offer was a loaded word.

He hesitated. Had she heard all that was said in the game room? As an unwed woman, Wentworth had reduced her to three roles in life. One of them didn’t deserve to be mentioned. He straightened in gentlemanly fashion and plowed on.

“I would see you safely home.” He was a brute, but never a beast to women. “My carriage is ridiculously large and comfortable.”

“Yours is an excellent carriage, Your Grace. I’ve seen it. But no thank you.” She faced the road. “I prefer to wait.”

For what, exactly? A hack that might not come?

He grunted and hooked a thumb on his waistband.

They weren’t talking about carriages or hacks.

Miss Pryce was waiting for something better.

She lifted the hair off her neck and leaned into a breeze like a nymph.

Her neck was a sensual column. Her side glance touched him and lingered.

Embers flared under his skin.

His brain cautioned him, There’s more being said.

What was she waiting for?

“Since no hack is forthcoming, would you consider an evening walk?” he asked.

Miss Pryce let her hair drop. “Your Grace, my duty is done. Our time together has ended.”

That was a spear to his heart. He was tempted to say he liked having her near. Wisdom warned him, the time wasn’t right.

“Tonight was a failure,” he said gruffly. “And that burden is on me.”

“Not entirely.”

A vague, cryptic answer. It puzzled him. Still, her shoulders sank, the same as when they were alone on the balcony. His mouth pinched. Disappointing her ravaged him.

“Invitations will pour in. You’ll have ample opportunity to undo any scandal from tonight.” She hugged the pelisse draped over her arm. “You are the Pirate Duke. Do what you want.”

Her nonchalance grated. It was a wall, and he’d break it down, stone by stone.

“What about you?” he asked forcefully. “What do you want?”

The look she gave him could’ve punctured armor. He studied the fire in her eyes. The sharpness…as though she’d wound him if she could. She couldn’t sustain it. Susan Pryce didn’t have an unkind bone in her body. She wilted some, and a primal need to protect her seized him.

He grasped her shoulders. “Susan…”