Free The Duke and the Lady in Red by Lorraine Heath Page A

clenched. She locked her knees, ensuring she remained upright.
    Because of his blasted hat, the upper portion of his face was in shadow as he looked down at her. She wanted to knock it off with one quick swipe, see his eyes clearly, know his thoughts, his feelings, his desires. With his thumbs, he stroked her ribs, once, twice, thrice before finally releasing his hold, stepping back, and gathering up the reins for both horses, holding them loosely in one hand before offering her his free arm.
    It would be wiser to ignore it, but she couldn’t deny her fingers the luxury of the firmness in his muscles. Against her better judgment, she nestled her hand in the crook of his elbow.
    While she was not particularly diminutive in height, she was well aware that he shortened his steps to accommodate her as they walked leisurely along, leaving Rotten Row behind. At first he acknowledged a few ­people with a nod, a touch to his hat brim, but then he seemed to grow bored with it. No one approached to speak with him. He somehow managed to give off the aura of a man not wanting to be disturbed.
    Any hope she might have held for an untarnished reputation fluttered away like the butterflies that frolicked around them. She was well aware that he was claiming her here. In the afternoon sunlight, in the crowded park where those with leisurely lives strolled about, making note of who was spending time with whom. With his demonstration of possessiveness, her options became fewer.
    But then if she were honest with herself, they had diminished to one the moment she turned to find him extending a flute of champagne toward her. She might as well enjoy his company for as long as she would have it, as far as they would take it. Although not as far as he insinuated.
    She had spoken true last night. She did hold the cards. While she had nothing on which to base her judgment other than her assessment of him, she knew he was not a man who forced a woman into doing something to which she objected. They might kiss, they might touch, but ultimately he would be left wanting. She wondered at the regret that filled her with the thought.
    â€œHow many estates do you have?” she asked.
    He glanced down at her, and she shrugged. “I’m curious about you and you seem hesitant to discuss anything too personal. I can ask around to find out about your estates. I daresay the solicitor seeing to my husband’s estate could tell me. He seems to know the well-­heeled and the aristocracy quite well.”
    â€œWho’s your solicitor?” he asked.
    â€œBeckwith.”
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œDaniel.”
    â€œThe youngest.”
    â€œYou’re familiar with Beckwith and Sons?”
    He gave one curt nod. “Their father handled much of my business until he passed it on to his eldest. The other two sons have solid reputations. I don’t know that you could have gone to anyone better.”
    â€œI fear he’s finding it a bit frustrating to settle everything. My husband did not leave his affairs in good order. Beckwith is having a time of it straightening things out. Meanwhile I rely on the kindness of strangers. Although I do worry that those to whom I am in debt will soon lose patience.”
    â€œIf anyone can hold them at bay, Beckwith can.”
    â€œI shall depend on it. So your estates?” she prodded, wanting to get them away from discussing Beckwith. She wasn’t too concerned about Avendale approaching the man about her business, as it was obvious that he was more interested in his own.
    â€œTwo plus my residence in London. Ghastly large, but it came to me through my father. I suspect I shall always have it.”
    â€œYou mentioned that he died when you were four. Have you many memories of him?”
    â€œVery few, none of them worth your time.”
    â€œAnything about you is worth my time.”
    He released a dark laugh. “Not that. Why all the questions,