Page 12 of The Duke’s Guide to Fake Courtship (Daring Debutantes #1)

D eclan was still struggling with his rage when Grace stumbled. He saw the way her body jerked, but had no time to do anything more than lift his hands before she careened into him. He kept himself upright, his hands gripping her waist, even as her head bumped hard against his chest.

She found her footing quickly once she’d gripped his arm. Indeed, he felt her muscles adjust as she straightened her slender frame.

‘I am so sorry,’ she breathed, her face inches from his own.

He stared at her, moved by her beauty despite the ugliness raging inside him. His hands spasmed, unwilling to release her, and then, to his shock, his index finger slipped through the thin seam of her gown. He had been holding her tightly, but a well-made gown would not have given way so easily. He touched warm flesh, his finger sinking into the space between two ribs. He shifted his finger just to be sure, and felt the seam give even more.

Then he saw her eyes widen as she too realised that her dress had ripped.

‘Good God, Declan,’ his cousin drawled. ‘Cease man-handling the girl.’ Then he took hold of Miss Richards’ arm, his dark, thick hand wrapping like a stain around her skin.

‘Don’t touch her,’ Declan said, his voice hard and menacing.

The sound of his own voice shocked him, but there was nothing he could do to stop the deadly threat in it.

His idiot cousin didn’t hear it, of course. The man had always been oblivious to his own stupidity.

‘Come away, Miss Richards,’ his cousin continued. ‘The Duke is a clumsy oaf. I should not like him to hurt your gown with his bumbling.’

‘I am fine,’ the woman said, her voice soft as she turned her eyes towards Cedric.

Of course she was fine—not that his cousin had asked about her welfare. No, he had addressed her gown, which Declan had, in fact, already damaged.

‘Step away, Cedric,’ Declan said.

His cousin had not released Grace’s arm, and Declan’s fury was pulsing on its leash. It was an irrational fury, burning through him as it sought a target.

‘Let her go,’ Declan repeated, doing everything in his tone and body to warn his cousin.

Cedric’s expression darkened. ‘You arrogant—’

Declan struck. A single fist straight to Cedric’s jaw. His cousin’s head snapped round but his neck did not break, thank God. It did nothing to ease the black lava in Declan’s blood.

Cedric stumbled backwards, but didn’t fall. All too soon his shoulders squared, and his fists were quickly raised.

‘Stop this!’ Lord Wenshire bellowed. ‘This is London! You’re English!’

The other Miss Richards cried out as well. She reached a hand out to Cedric, but thankfully was clever enough to keep out of the way.

Declan noted these things in the way of a man hearing a distant noise. His attention was focused on the red mark on Miss Richards’ arm. Cedric had hurt her, and for that there would be retribution.

Some part of him recognised his rage. Some tiny piece of his mind registered that for all his smug assurance that he had the Byrning legacy under control, it was here now—in full control of him. And it had decided to strike down any soul who dared defy him. In this case, his own cousin. It would not just strike Cedric down, but destroy him in the most primal way.

He stepped into Cedric’s reach, already knowing his cousin would take the bait. Cedric did, putting power into his blow, but no real skill.

Declan had spent years since Italy learning how to defend himself from footpads and worse. He blocked it easily, and then he struck again. Blow after blow while his cousin struggled. He didn’t care, and he didn’t hear. All he did was feel the impact of his fist on Cedric’s flesh.

Rage. Hatred. How it burned.

Until someone else’s elbow hit his face, jerking him around.

As he wheeled back his arm was pulled hard with his momentum, and brought abruptly up and behind his back. It was a shocking change, since he was sure there had been no other attacker at hand. Not someone who could hit that hard nor manoeuvre him so easily.

Then white-hot pain cut through his focus.

He tried to jerk away, but the grip on his arm didn’t tighten. No, it shifted, raising his arm more painfully until he was stooped over from the agony. He tried any number of manoeuvres, but he already knew it was useless. He was caught fast. Whoever held him kept the pressure strong, while around him was...noise.

So much noise.

Voices. Gasps.

He blinked as he looked around. Hyde Park at the fashionable hour was filled with all the haut ton . And every lord, lady, and miss was staring at him in shock.

‘Are you calm?’ came a voice behind him.

Miss Grace Richards.

He took a heaving breath. Had he been panting? Blood still coursed hot in his body, but his mind began to clear. He looked down to see Cedric on the ground, his face a bloody mess as he sent Declan a seething glare.

‘Cedric?’

The man didn’t acknowledge the question. Instead, he straightened to his feet to stand tall before Declan.

‘I told you to let go of her,’ Declan growled.

‘I didn’t hurt her,’ Cedric snarled. He was always one to bluster when faced with a difficult situation. ‘You, on the other hand—’

‘Miss Richards?’ Declan interrupted, alarm shooting through him. Had he hurt her? Where was she?

‘I am well,’ came a quiet voice behind him. Not just behind him, but right at his shoulder.

‘You are the one restraining me,’ he said.

It wasn’t a question. He could plainly see the other Miss Richards, and her father too, both watching him with guarded expressions.

‘Are you calm enough to be released?’ she asked.

Was he? In truth he wasn’t exactly sure. Rage still seethed inside him, but he thought it was under control. He took another full breath, using it to slow the heavy thud of his heart. His shoulders were still tight, his jaw still clenched, and all the people staring at him did not help. Nevertheless, he nodded.

‘I will not hit him again, provided he keeps his hands off you.’

He felt the angle of his arm ease and breathed a sigh of relief despite the throbbing pain.

Miss Richards stepped around to face him. ‘Why did you attack your cousin?’ she asked, her expression almost bland.

‘He hurt you,’ he said.

‘I did not!’ Cedric snapped. ‘You did.’

Declan’s gaze dropped to Miss Richard’s forearm. He remembered Cedric’s hand there, he remembered a red mark, but there wasn’t one there now. Her skin was flushed, but unmarked. And the more he stared, the more her skin remained smooth and clear.

‘He hurt you,’ Declan repeated, but there was fear in his tone.

Had he imagined it?

He looked at Miss Richards’ face. She was watching him with a steady, clear gaze.

‘I have run the sails in a storm,’ she said softly. ‘I am stronger than I look.’

Of that, he had no doubt. He touched his throbbing jaw. She’d effectively stopped him, and even his own father had been unable to do that.

‘Look at her dress, you idiot!’ Cedric snarled. ‘You did that.’

Declan quickly scanned her body. She stood straight, with no marks, no injuries. It was only her dress which... He flinched. Bloody hell, her dress had a gaping hole in the side where the seam had ripped.

He frowned as memory crystallised in his mind.

He’d put his fingers through her dress. Oh, God. What had he done to her reputation?

With quick movements, he stripped off his coat and extended it to her.

She frowned at it. ‘I am not cold.’

‘You are in dishabille,’ he whispered.

How had this happened? Panic was beginning to thrum in his veins. He knew that shame would come in an overwhelming cascade soon. His only defence, and the only way to keep the legacy in check, was to regain his full faculties.

But, oh, the pain in realising that he had not only failed to control himself, but he had also lost his temper so viciously in front of her. In front of everyone. She was the one he’d most wanted to show the best of himself. Instead, she’d seen the worst.

God, he was a disaster.

And it wasn’t over.

He had to recall himself to the present, so he strove for rationality.

He started by pulling in his memories. He recalled that she’d stumbled sideways. But she was more sure-footed than a cat, which meant she hadn’t tripped. Her action had been deliberate. She’d meant to fall into his arms...she’d meant to have him catch her and rip her dress.

His eyes narrowed as he remembered. ‘You did this on purpose,’ he said. ‘Why?’

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? He was a duke. She was an unwed miss. Many had done worse to trap him into marriage. But he couldn’t believe it. And yet he couldn’t make sense of the situation any other way.

‘What?’ she cried.

And yet he couldn’t stop seeing it in his mind’s eye. She’d jerked sideways, right into his arms. He’d grabbed her and her dress had torn—in front of everyone in the haut ton .

Meanwhile, her father cursed and shrugged out of his own coat. Knocking aside Declan’s offering, he gently set his own coat around Grace’s shoulders. Then he put her hand on her dress and spoke softly to her. ‘You need to hold the seam together.’

She nodded, her gaze downcast as she gripped the side of her dress. Then she turned to her sister. ‘Come along, Lucy,’ she said, defeat in her tone. ‘We should go home.’

‘No,’ Declan said as he straightened up to his full height. ‘No, you and your father will ride with me in my carriage.’ Then he glanced about at the assembled gawkers, spying the sister of one of his oldest friends. ‘Lady Bowles, would you mind escorting Miss Lucy Richards back to her home?’ He cast a dismissive look at his cousin. ‘I believe my cousin is indisposed.’

His cousin was bloody, one eye already swelling. His nose didn’t look broken, but it was hard to tell as the man pressed a handkerchief to his eye.

Meanwhile, the lady stepped forward, her expression equally guarded as she turned to the younger Miss Richards.

‘Hello, dear,’ she said kindly. ‘Let’s step away from all this. Men can be such children sometimes.’

The disgust was heavy in her tone and Declan felt his blood heat again. She was right. He’d thought he’d outgrown his legacy years ago. Hadn’t he said as much to his mother that morning after his birthday when this whole thing had begun? And now he was once again a ten-year-old boy, with aching knuckles and a growing, crushing shame.

He fought it the way his father always had—by putting on a ducal air that was a hideous lie. ‘Commentary is not necessary, my lady. I merely require your assistance.’

‘Oh,’ the lady retorted as she gently guided Miss Lucy Richards out of the park, ‘commentary will most certainly be made and not only by me.’

She was right, of course. He could already see the scandal whipping through the ton . Every tongue here was wagging, even as the onlookers waited to see if there would be more spectacle.

‘Cedric,’ Lady Bowles called. ‘Do come and escort us, will you?’

His cousin had been fingering his split lip, but after another dark look at Declan he stomped away. Which left Declan with Lord Wenshire and Grace.

Lord Wenshire arched a brow. ‘I believe,’ he said darkly, ‘your carriage is this way.’

Yes, it was. As was his doom.

How the hell had this happened? How had he allowed Cedric to goad him again? How had he not changed from when he was twelve and they’d brawled over toy soldiers. But Grace was not a toy. She was a debutante. And he had torn her dress in full view of the haut ton .

Was he now honour-bound to offer marriage?

He shook his head, clenching and unclenching his fists as he trailed behind Miss Richards and her father. Good God, he couldn’t think straight. He shouldn’t have come here this day. He should have realised that he was in no mood to control his temper. He should have realised the moment Cedric appeared that he could not stay vigilant against his legacy. It was always there, ready to destroy him when he let down his guard.

Had he ruined Grace? Had he destroyed his cousin’s face? Why had he allowed Cedric to get to him? Hadn’t he learned by now? God, he should not have come this morning. Hadn’t he said that he faced something both troublesome and distressing ?

He was such an idiot!

And now he was honour-bound to marry Grace.

And why did that idea not bother him, when he had just this morning decided she was unsuitable?