Page 1 of The Duke Who Dared Me (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #31)

Warwick Cottage, Kent

Some girls collect dolls. Others collect enemies. Miss Verity Baxter has always preferred the latter, especially if they answer to “Your Grace.”

- The Polite Observer

Her favorite miniatures, shattered.

Verity threw her head back and screamed, then stomped for good measure. First, he had eaten all the fresh strawberries this morning at breakfast, then let the kittens escape the kitchen, and now…

Shards of porcelain were scattered across the carpet, all too small to ever be repaired.

Miss Haverington rushed through the doorway, clutching the sage green woodwork as she struggled for air.

“Goodness child, whatever is the matter?”

Child? Verity was fifteen, only a few years away from making her debut into London society. She waved between the governess and the rubble on the floor.

The woman clasped a hand to her chest and blew out a frustrated breath.

“I apologize for interrupting your nap.” Verity clenched her hands as anger bubbled up within her. “The boys were wrestling again and knocked over my collection.”

“Miss Verity, there is no need to cause a fuss. That’s no way for a young lady to behave.”

“I wasn’t the one wrestling.”

“I was referring to the screaming and stomping.”

Ah, there it was. Verity was always expected to be quiet and well-behaved, while the boys could run around and do as they pleased. In her next life, she insisted on living life as a man.

“I felt it warranted.”

“I understand now why you’ve had nearly eight governesses in your short life.”

Verity shrugged. Being unlovable wasn’t new to her.

Her parents were constantly in Town for one ball or another, and in the summer, they attended a string of house parties across the English countryside.

Verity and her brother were left to their own devices in the Kent countryside.

And now, he’d returned from Eton with a few of his classmates.

“They escaped into the garden,” she continued. “If you’d like to have a word with them.”

“A word with whom?”

She rolled her eyes. She doubted the governess knew she was awake most days, but it did make it convenient because Verity was mostly left alone to do as she pleased.

“The boys, Miss Haverington. You are responsible for multiple children. If you are not up to your post, I will seek a replacement.”

“You’ll do no such thing. You’re a child.”

“Apparently.”

She spun on her heel and pushed through the drawing room doors as light poured in from the tall south-facing windows.

Warwick Cottage wasn’t a humble country abode, but a hulking house decorated in the French style, with gold covering nearly everything. Her parents loved to entertain, and the house was often a favorite among the London set for house parties.

It never felt like home to her, though. Everything was too…

pretty . As with much of her life, it was all for appearance’s sake.

And though the governess insisted Verity was still a child, she knew that soon she would be in the same position: dressed up and paraded about to capture the attention of wealthy men.

It wasn’t a secret to Verity that she was beautiful.

It was a point of pride for her parents.

But for Verity, it only drew unwanted attention and spurred a rebellion deep within that she couldn’t shake.

If the governess did not bring order to Warwick Cottage, then she would.

She heard them as soon as she crested the hill before they came into sight, swimming in the large pond below.

“Percy!” she screamed at her brother, who held a friend over his head, his arms shaky. He froze at the sound of her voice, then tossed the boy into the cold water, eliciting a scream.

“Go away, Verity,” he snapped. “We’re swimming.”

“You broke my Meissen porcelain collection.”

Her brother glared and swiped his hand through his blond hair. He was all legs and arms and impossibly handsome, according to Verity’s friends. She detested him.

She raced down the hill, unafraid. Let them squirm at her being so close as they splashed about in their buckskins. She didn’t care a fig for propriety when they seemed so hellbent on turning her world upside down.

“Are you going to replace them?”

His friends laughed and splashed each other, making it difficult to hear his muttered response.

“Well?” She crossed her arms, staring down at her brother. Percy neatly ignored her. “Listen, you ignoramus?—”

Suddenly, erupting from the pond’s surface to her right, Alistair popped up with a grin on his face. “That’s a large word for you, Bug.”

Her neighbor, Alistair Rutley, the future Duke of Tunstall, stood before her without a shirt on.

Water sluiced down his chest, drawing her attention to his muscles.

All sorts of muscles that, until today, she thought only statues possessed.

Judging by the smile on his face, the one that showed off his perfect teeth and his annoyingly razor-sharp jaw, made her feel as though she had swallowed a bee skep from the apiary.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You never do.”

“Maybe,” she said, stepping closer. Damn it, she was brave to do so.

Another year at Eton had treated him well.

Considering she had been his neighbor for the past fifteen years, she thought it rather inconvenient that he was both annoying and a trifle handsome.

“Perhaps because your opinions are garbage.”

“Really?” He dipped back below the surface, treading water until he was farther away from shore. Before she could think better of it, she skipped the stones by the edge of the pond and navigated out until she stood on the rock that towered over him. She wouldn’t be ignored or talked down to…

“I didn’t realize we were keeping track, but I have plenty of examples.”

He gestured for her to continue, the hint of his dimple about to emerge. Her brother continued wrestling with his friends by the shoreline, and her temper whirled within her.

“Will you stop?” she finally shouted at them.

“What an angry young woman.”

“There!” She pointed at Alistair. “That is a terrible opinion. Am I not allowed to express my frustration simply based on my sex? You punched a hole in the nursery wall last Christmastide, I recall, because?—”

“I don’t have to attend finishing school.”

She pulled her arms in tighter, furious that her cheeks were burning. “Were you responsible for shattering my collection then?”

“Why would I ever do that?”

“Why do you ever do anything?”

“I ask myself the same question daily. The answer, it seems, is I’m to be a duke. Lots of rules.”

“If you’re expecting my condolences, you may continue to wait.”

Alistair chuckled, looking up toward the late afternoon sky before swimming closer to the rock. The light washed over him, drawing out the dark navy in his blue eyes as he studied her.

“Have you finished throwing your fit now?”

Why was she expected to practice her reading and arithmetic and drawing and music and French at all hours of the day?

Horse feathers! French was an impossible language that twisted up on her tongue, and the words sounded nothing like they were written.

Her mind hated it. Her brother was allowed to run wild, and her parents could do whatever they wished.

So why must she practice being small to make everyone else comfortable?

“I’m not a child, Alistair.” Resentment swelled up inside again at the reminder of her governess implying the same earlier. “They were my favorite. It’s taken time to gather that collection and at a great cost.”

“Your parents can well afford it.”

“It’s impolite to talk about money.”

“Finishing school is serving you well.” He raked a hand through his wet obsidian hair. An errant curl sprang free and hung down across his thick brown eyebrows. “You are from a well-off family, and we all know I am no pauper.”

“No, but you certainly have a healthy ego.”

“It’s a curse, I admit.”

The other boys all laughed, and again, her cheeks burned. She despised being Percy’s little sister. Hated the way she was looked down upon and dismissed and made to feel as if she didn’t matter beyond her dowry.

“What a terrible burden to bear.”

“You’ve no idea, Bug.” He hauled himself out of the water, gripping the stone and drawing her attention to his forearms. They were fine and toned, and it only made her wonder what he did with his days now.

He loved to ride, and so did she, though she refused to ride together when he was home from school because he also loved to race.

And two summers ago, she jumped a wall she shouldn’t have, and her pony went lame.

Blast him and his forearms and whatever wicked charm he developed while away at school these past months. She hated him. Would always hate him.

Verity refused to retreat, to give up ground. Still, she wobbled, nearly losing her balance on top of the rock.

“I hate when you call me that.”

“And I hated those miniatures.”

Shock gushed from her mouth in the most hideous squeak before his hand wrapped around her ankle, and he tugged until she toppled off the rock and flailed into the water.

She struck the flat surface with a clumsy smack before water gripped her skirts and pulled her toward the mucky bottom.

She tried kicking for the surface, opening her eyes only momentarily to see the outline of his body standing nearby in the murky water.

She waved her arms, kicking, the lack of air burning her lungs until finally his hand gripped her waist and hauled her upward.

Verity vaulted through the surface with a gasp, shaking off his grip.

“Let me go, you disgusting excuse of a… you…” Words failed her. They never failed her. She swatted away the lily pad perched on top of her head like a misfit’s crown.

But his mocking grin slowly fell from his face, and she was left staring at his piercing blue eyes. Another time, she could think of all the reasons why she hated that color. But right now?

“You could have killed me,” she sputtered, still coughing up water. She chucked the lily pad at his face.

“The pond isn’t that deep.” His voice was low, tinged with a hint of disbelief, as he dodged it.

“Funny how you can find an excuse for your bad behavior so quickly. Must be habit.”

“You think so poorly of me that you believe I would watch you drown?”

She arched her brow, trying her best to find a shred of dignity, even as the side of her body stung from her impact against the pond’s surface.

“Right.” He quickly pushed her forward through the water, then let go, causing her to stumble to shore.

“Verity, leave us alone,” her brother repeated. “You don’t belong here.”

She stood tall, brushing her hand over her skirts, her eyes glaring at the collection of boys who had already moved on, playing some other ridiculous, childish game.

One day, she would have their attention. And she was determined that Alistair Rutley, the future Duke of Tunstall, would be all the sorrier for it.