In Bed With The Duke

He sat back then, a thoughtful expression on his face.

‘How much money, exactly, will you receive when you marry?’

Or was it a calculating expression, that look she’d seen?

She lowered her eyes, feeling absurdly disappointed. If he suddenly started paying her compliments and...and making up to her, the way so many men did when they found out about her dowry, then she would...she would...

The way she felt today, she’d probably burst into tears.

Fortunately he didn’t notice, since at that moment a serving girl came in with a tray bearing a teapot, a tankard and a jug. He was so keen on getting on the outside of his ale that she might have thrown a tantrum and she didn’t think he’d notice.

She snapped her cup onto its saucer and threw two sugar lumps into it before splashing a generous dollop of milk on top. She removed the lid from the teapot and stirred the brew vigorously.

‘What will happen,’ he asked, setting down his tankard once he’d drained it, ‘to the money if you don’t marry?’

‘I will gain control of it for myself when I am twenty-five,’ she replied dreamily as she poured out a stream of fragrant brown liquid. Oh, but she was counting the days until she need rely on nobody but herself.

She came back to the present with an unpleasant jerk the moment she noticed the pale, unappealing colour of the brew in her cup. She’d put far too much milk in first. Even once she stirred it it was going to be far too weak.

‘And in the meantime who manages it for you?’

‘My trustees. At least...’ She paused, the teaspoon poised in mid-air as yet another horrible thought popped into her head. ‘Oh. Oh, no.’

‘What? What is it you’ve thought of?’

‘Well, it is probably nothing. Only Aunt Charity remarried last year. Mr Murgatroyd.’

She couldn’t help saying the name with distaste. Nothing had been the same since he’d come into their lives. Well, he’d always been there—right from the first moment she’d gone to live with her aunt. But back then he’d just been one of the congregation into which her aunt had introduced her. She hadn’t disliked him any more than any other of the mealy-mouthed men who’d taken such delight in making her life as dreary as possible. It hadn’t been until he’d married her aunt that she’d discovered how nasty he really was.

‘He persuaded my trustees,’ she continued, ‘that he was a more proper person to take over the management of my money once he became the husband of my guardian.’

‘And they agreed?’

‘To be honest there was only one of them left. They were all older than my grandfather when he set up the trust in the first place. And the one who outlived him wasn’t all that...um...’

‘Capable?’

‘That’s a very good word for it.’

He looked into his tankard with a stunned expression. ‘I always thought drink addled a man’s brains. But this ale appears to have restored my intellect. That’s the first time since I awoke this morning that I have been able to come up with an appropriate word.’

‘Good for you,’ she said gloomily, then took a sip of the milky tea. Which wasn’t strong enough to produce any kind of restorative effect.

‘And your uncle—this man your aunt has married—is now in charge of handling your inheritance? Until such time as you marry? Do I have it correct?’

‘Yes.’

He set his tankard down on the table with a snap. ‘So when shall I expect him to come calling? Demanding I make an honest woman of you?’

She shrugged. ‘I would have thought he would have done so this morning, if he was going to do it at all. Instead of which he left the inn, taking all my luggage with him. You’d better pour yourself another tankard of ale and see if it will give you another brilliant idea, Mr—’ She stopped. ‘You never did tell me your name.’

‘You never asked me for it.’

‘I told you mine. It is only polite to reciprocate when a lady has introduced herself.’

He reared back, as though offended that she’d criticised his manners.

‘A lady,’ he replied cuttingly, ‘would never introduce herself.’

‘A gentleman,’ she snapped back, ‘would not make any kind of comment about any female’s station in life. And you still haven’t told me your name. I can only assume you must be ashamed of it.’

‘Ashamed of it? Never.’

‘Then why won’t you tell me what it is? Why are you being so evasive?’

He narrowed his eyes.

‘I am not being evasive. Last time we came to an introduction we veered off into a more pressing conversation about bread and butter I seem to recall. And this time I...’ He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘I became distracted again.’ He set down his tankard and pressed the heels of his hands against his temples, closing his eyes as though in pain.

‘Oh, does your head hurt? I do beg your pardon. I am not usually so snappish. Or so insensitive.’

‘And I am not usually so clumsy,’ he said, lowering his hands and opening his eyes to regard her ruefully. ‘I fear we are not seeing each other at our best.’

He’d opened his mouth to say something else when the door swung open again, this time to permit two serving girls to come in, each bearing a tray of food.

Prudence looked at his steak, which was smothered in a mountain of onions, and then down at her plate of bread and butter with a touch of disappointment.

‘Wishing you’d ordered more? I can order you some eggs to go with that, if you like?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose I could eat them if you did order them, though it is very kind of you. It is just the smell of those onions...’ She half closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. ‘Ohhh...’ she couldn’t help moaning. ‘They are making my mouth water.’

He gave her a very strange look. Dropped his gaze as though he felt uncomfortable. Fumbled with his knife and fork.

‘Here,’ he said brusquely, cutting off a small piece of meat and depositing it on her plate. ‘Just a mouthful will do you no harm.’

And then he smiled at her. For the very first time. And something inside her sort of melted.

She’d never known a man with a black eye could smile with such charm.

Though was he deploying his charm on purpose? He certainly hadn’t bothered smiling at her before he’d heard she was an heiress.

‘Are you ever,’ she asked, reaching for a knife and fork, ‘going to tell me your name?’

His smile disappeared.

‘It is Willingale,’ he said quickly. Too quickly? ‘Gregory Willingale.’

Then he set about his steak with the air of a man who hadn’t eaten for a se’ennight.