Free Dukes Prefer Blondes by Loretta Chase Page B

Indignant women had hit him before, for much smaller cause.
    He lifted her ladyship’s unresisting hand. She was too shocked to resist, no doubt. He brought it not an inch below his lips, as was proper, but to his mouth. And he kissed—­not the air, as politeness required, but the unresisting hand. Lingeringly. And drank in the tantalizing trace of scent that was her and nobody and nothing else.
    â€œFarewell, dear, dear lady,” he said. “Thank you for a most entertaining morning. With any luck, we’ll never meet again.”
    He released her hand and stepped calmly out of the carriage, still smiling.
    He closed the door and his smile faded. He thrust a coin at the dilatory coachman, warned him not to charge the ladies, shooed him back to his box, and stepped back onto the pavement.
    Radford watched the coach trundle along Broad Street, and cursed himself.
    C lara stared at the hand he’d kissed.
    When she’d touched him, the whirl of feelings startled her so, she’d almost pulled away. She didn’t know what to call them. All she knew was that it felt as though she’d come in from the cold and reached out to warm her hands at a fire.
    And then. And then . . .
    She was not a child, and she wasn’t as innocent as she ought to be, but when his hand closed over hers . . .
    Longing and longing and longing.
    She’d longed for things before—­freedom, adventure, forbidden books and places—­but never for a man’s company. And this wasn’t like the other kind of wanting. Those were perhaps no more than wishing. This was deep and aching and bewildering.
    Stay , she’d almost said.
    He’d stayed only another moment, only time enough to kiss her gloved hand and shatter her world.
    It was the warmth of his mouth through the thin leather. That was all it took. She’d felt it race to her heart and make it beat faster, and she didn’t know how he could do that and she couldn’t ask him because he’d gone.
    She remembered the boy, so long ago, who’d said, “Stay.”
    â€œIt seems as though I did,” she murmured.
    â€œMy lady?”
    Clara looked up to find Davis watching her. “Nothing.”
    Davis smoothed her gloves. “Well, if nobody kills him soon, he stands a chance to be a judge or Lord Chancellor, or even a duke, and I daresay you can make something of him.”
    â€œAs though I’d want to.” Clara looked out of the window. Not that one could see anything through the scarred glass.
    â€œCertainly not, my lady, of course. Not wise at all. Better to put the likes of him out of your ladyship’s life. And easily done. Parliament’s up today, and you’ll be leaving for Cheshire the day after tomorrow.”
    â€œDavis.”
    â€œTonight will be the parties, and nearly everything is packed, everyone expecting it. Day after tomorrow we leave, and no danger of seeing him again.”
    Clara turned away from the window to scowl at her maid. Not that it made an impression. Usually, Davis kept strictly to her place and held her tongue, not wanting to set bad examples for lesser servants. But she’d been with Clara through any number of crises over the years. In private, or if under undue emotional strain, she allowed herself certain liberties associated with longevity, seniority, and the many confidences reposing in her bosom.
    â€œI’m not going to Cheshire,” Clara said.
    â€œI didn’t think so,” Davis said.
    â€œStop acting like him —­all-­wise and all-­knowing. It’s tiresome.”
    â€œYes, my lady.”
    â€œI will see this thing through.”
    â€œYes, my lady.”
    â€œTell the driver to take us to Kensington. I need to talk to Great-­Aunt Dora.”
    â€œNot in that dress,” Davis said. “My lady.”

 
    Chapter Four
    On Thursday, the King went in state to the House of Peers to prorogue