“Your Grace,” she at last ventured. “Would you like assistance in extricating yourself?”
He trudged forward two steps and up onto the bank.
“Ah. I see you are most capable.”
“I am impervious to wind and water, Lady Beatrice.” He towered over her, water dripping. “And ladies who shout at me in the park.”
She cleared her throat, and for a single moment had the good grace to look flummoxed. “Forgive me. I had no idea my salutation would result in such surprise ablutions.”
Ablutions. Now, that was a word for it. “Your apology is noted.”
Her face did the strangest thing, as if she longed to make comment but thought better of it. And he found himself liking her for that play of emotions and her self-control as well as her amusement. She was a merry creature. And life was full enough of sorrow. Yes…he admired her. Far more than he wanted to admit.
…
“It is most early for a walk, ladies.”
Beatrice cleared her throat, pleased and surprised the duke was laughing and not thundering about with indignation as she’d expected of him. “We like a good walk.”
Margaret’s lips twitched. “Are you hurt, Your Grace?”
“I am made of a mettle stronger than earth, Lady Margaret.” The duke then did something else Beatrice had not expected: he winked. “No harm done except to my reputation as a rider. And since no one is about but you two, I needn’t fear. Need I? You won’t tell anyone?”
Lady Beatrice grinned, again surprised by his joviality. Where was the crusty, implacable, impervious duke she’d built up in her imagination? Gone. Almost everything she’d imagined, except his power and avoidance of working with her on her cause, was gone. “In this, your secret is safe. And you see, I was most amazed that you were awake at all, Your Grace. I would have thought you were still lounging about in your bed. That is how I imagined you spending your mornings.”
A mischievous look danced across his face, and for a single moment, there was a spark in his gaze. “You imagine me in my bed, Lady Beatrice?” he teased.
She arched a brow, tempted to cut him down with a scathing reply, but then much to her horror…she suddenly did envision him in bed. His long limbs sprawled out over tousled linen sheets.
She swallowed and blinked. Chagrined, she found herself thinking of dry political texts opposing the so-called “wandering uterus” to drive the extremely invigorating image from her brain.
Even so, she couldn’t quite stop the burning of her cheeks as she choked out her reply. “Not at all, sir, but I do imagine that you sleep a good deal.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said, peeling off his coat. “I sleep but little and rise from my bed early.”
“As do I,” she replied, skeptical. Surely, a man so handsome, so wealthy, and so used to being fawned over lounged about?
For the first time in his presence, she felt off foot. Because her gaze kept wandering to his wet linen shirt plastered to his chest.
The magnificent sight was doing the most irritating things to her usually highly rational thought process.
“Do you?” he asked. “That does not surprise me. You seem to have the constitution of a general.”
She narrowed her eyes, and Margaret coughed.
“Was that meant to be a compliment or an insult?”
“A compliment, Lady Beatrice, a compliment,” he assured quickly. “I think if we did send you abroad, you should have the whole world sorted in but a moment.”
She did not feel convinced that he wasn’t subtly mocking her.
Their gazes held for a long moment, and then he abruptly looked away.
She, too, suddenly felt as if she needed to look anywhere but at his entrancing form. For her mind was wandering back to that exceptionally unruly thought of him sprawled in his bed.
Her body heated despite the crisp morning air.
He, too, seemed…odd. His languid, arrogant stance appeared somewhat tense as his gaze lit with unknown emotions.