Page 13 of Never Beguile a Duke

Mr. Dunn grimaced and mouthed a second apology, then turned, stepped aside, and held out his arm to assist Nora into the coach.

Scooting beneath the fur blanket, Nora claimed the seat beside Winifred, shoved her hands under the coverlet, and twisted around, an expectant glow lighting her eyes.

Again, Winifred shrugged. “I don’t have an explanation. However, I am grateful to Mr. Dunn—and you should be, too—for discovering the portrait miniature so quickly. Otherwise, we may have spent the remainder of our afternoon shivering as we searched through Miss Braddock’s snowy garden.”

Nora rouged. “Of course, I’m thankful for Mr. Dunn’s assistance.”

“Have you expressed those sentiments to him?” Winifred arched her eyebrows, indicating the driver with her chin.

Nora’s blush deepened to scarlet, and she turned her head toward the door. “Mr. Dunn, I do appreciate all the assistance you’ve provided today. I’ll be certain to advise the Duke of Roxburghe of your worth.”

“Thank you for that kindness, Miss Webb.” Mr. Dunn bowed low.

As he closed the coach’s door, he winked at Winifred.

Before Nora returned to the subject of the portrait’s unusual location, Winifred, forcing a bright tone into her voice, asked, “Do you know which activities the Duke of Beaufort has planned for this week?”

“I’ve been informed about a banquet this evening, but the remaining details of his schemes weren’t shared with me.” Nora’s mouth folded into a thin line. “And, before you ask, he didn’t divulge the particulars to the Duke of Roxburghe, either.”

“Why would the Duke of Beaufort keep the information from his friend?”

“Friends.” Nora's gaze flicked to the frosted window, then returned to Winifred. “According to the Duke of Roxburghe, none of the guests know what’s to occur this week.”

“That’s peculiar.” Winifred kneaded the edge of the fur.

She knew little about the Duke of Beaufort, except that he played several instruments, he lacked the serious manner that accompanied most men of his status, and he risked his own life to protect her when their sleigh flipped.

And he agreed to participate in the ridiculous wager to remain unattached.

“He’s the host, and we’re subject to his… unique whims.” Nora stilled Winifred’s fingers. “However, he is a duke and therefore understands the responsibility of maintaining respect for the title.”

Nora shivered and scrunched down under the thick coverlet. “Is there a particular activity in which you wish to participate? Perhaps a sleigh ride…”

“My last experience nearly killed me.” Winifred leaned forward and snatched a second blanket from the opposite bench.

“The Duke of Beaufort could have lost his life as well.” Nora took a side of the coverlet and pulled. “His only thought was to protect you.”

I’ve seen that meddling glow previously.

“Perhaps,” Winifred said, attempting to redirect her sister’s matchmaking intentions, “his actions were merely to preserve his own life.”

“When we flipped over the sleigh, we discovered you trapped beneath him,” Nora replied, adjusting the second fur. “How do you explain his decision to fling himself on top of your body?”

“Momentum.” Winifred leveled her gaze with Nora. “And before you begin plotting, the Duke of Beaufort has not once sought my company after the accident.”

“He’s been distracted with the engagement festivities.” Nora waved away Winifred’s concern.

“And he’ll continue to be occupied during this week.” Winifred grabbed her sister’s wrist, pinning Nora’s arm to the furs. “Swear you will not meddle.”

“It’s not med?—”

“It’s interference, and I won’t have you pushing either of us toward each other to save the Duke of Roxburghe from losing that inane wager.” Releasing Nora, Winifred raised her hand and held out her pinkie finger. “I swore I’d help you match his friends, but as I stated previously, I will not be one of those matches. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Nora wrapped her pinkie around Winifred’s, and they shook. “Since you’ve removed yourself from the list of potential fiancées, do you have any suggestions for the Duke of Beaufort?”

Myself.

Heat flooded her body at the memory of the sensation of his torso pressed against her back. Winifred frowned, taken aback by her instant, internal response to Nora’s question.