Free To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield by Bronwen Evans Page B

He was a gentleman. Only the hoyden standing in front of him ever made him forget that. Why was it so easy for her to bait him? He never usually cared what women—or for that matter, anyone—thought of him.
    By the time she’d donned her cloak, Henry’s butler announced her gig was ready.
    “I’m sure you’ll have better luck with the cake baking, Lady Southall,” Henry said as he helped her into the driver’s seat.
    Caitlin patted Henry’s hand and nodded goodbye to Marcus. Harlow secured Champers to the back of the gig before joining her.  
    The night was dry and warm, with a full moon above—the perfect setting for seduction and a romantic carriage ride with a beautiful woman. Except, of course, the woman was feeling anything but romantic.
    The first mile flew past in stony silence with Caitlin sitting as far away from him as possible. He moved his leg sideways until it brushed hers, and felt her shiver at the contact. Whether in pleasure or dislike he wasn’t sure.
    “Do you have to take up so much room?” she snapped at last.
    Dislike. “Tsk. I’d never have thought you a sore loser.”
    “Just because I do not wish to rub against your person does not make me a sore loser. Besides, I’m not stupid. You touched me on purpose.”
    “Why do you have to make everything a battle, Caitlin? I did not challenge you to this wager. You approached me. I also did not have to accept your challenge. I won Mansfield Manor fairly.”
    “Why?” The word seemed to sigh from her. “I do not understand why you hate my father. You don’t need Mansfield Manor. You deliberately went after it. Why? That’s all I wish to know.”
    Harlow’s jaw clenched. What did he tell her? He’d promised Jeremy that he would never reveal the truth of Jeremy’s parentage to her. The boy was adamant. “You need to ask your father that question.”  
    “My father?” Caitlin gave an unladylike snort. “He won’t tell me either. Besides, my father rarely speaks to me unless it is to berate me. I’m a disappointment. He wanted a son.”
    Harlow tried to keep the anger out of his voice. “If he wanted a son why did he not remarry? Your mother died when he was still in his prime.”
    She finally faced him. “I don’t know. I’ve often asked myself that question. He was always looking for a wealthy heiress, or someone with a large dowry. Perhaps they saw that all my father was really after was money. A woman with means is unlikely to waste herself on a man who sees her as nothing but a way to procure a fortune.”
    “You don’t like your father much.”
    “How can I like him when I don’t respect him? He’s done nothing with his life. And now he’s taken from me the one thing that was supposed to be mine.”
    The pain in her voice was a living thing. “Why is the house so important to you? You are young and beautiful. You could marry and leave your past behind you.”
    She laughed, and the desperation in the sound sent shivers down his back.  
    “How, Your Grace? How would I meet these men who may wish to marry me? Me, with nothing. My father forbade me a Season, because it was a waste of money. I’m sure he is already planning to auction me off to the highest bidder. His decrepit friend, Viscount Bassinger, has been sniffing around my petticoats almost since I left the schoolroom. Father is simply trying to wear me down into accepting him. He thinks that now Mansfield is gone, and I have nothing, I’ll surrender. If I had my home, if I had a way...”
    He stiffened. Horror cloaked his skin in a slick sweat. This was why she wanted the house so desperately. Knowing Viscount Bassinger he could well understand it. The man was a pervert of the highest order and riddled with the pox.  
    His mouth firmed into a grim line. Bassinger would offer indecent amounts for an untouched beauty like Caitlin in his bed, and neither Bridgenorth nor Bassinger were beneath kidnap and coercion.
    Now, more than ever, he needed to persuade