Free The Duchess of Love by Sally Mackenzie Page B

that lovely bench doing delightful things with their hands and lips.
    But the truth was she thought he was Nigel.
    She wasn’t stupid; she saw his answer on his face. “You, you … toad .” She snatched up her skirts and ran.
    He let her go. Catching her would only lead to more shouting. She didn’t want to hear him—and, frankly, he didn’t know what to say.
    He sat down on the bench and dropped his head into his hands.
    His life was a complete mess.
    He hadn’t lied to her; he just hadn’t corrected her. She’d been naked, for God’s sake. He couldn’t be expected to think rationally in such a situation. It wasn’t his fault she’d assumed he was Nigel.
    He leaned his head back against the tree trunk. No, he should be honest with himself for once. He had misled her—and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’d wanted her to see him, not his title.
    Unfortunately now all she saw was a lying rogue, and that bothered him far more than he could have imagined.
    Bloody hell.
    He must beg her pardon, grovel if he had to—and after their brangle just now, he’d probably have to. Today. He couldn’t put it off. If she discovered his identity at the garden party tomorrow—especially with Lady Mary watching—she’d never forgive him.
    It was getting late, but there were still some hours of daylight left. He’d ride over to the vicarage as soon as he left the maze.
    He stood, his mind made up, and strode out of the clearing. He turned right and then right again and then—damn it, he was back in the center. Very well, he’d turn left instead. Or … left, then right. Or right, left, left …
    Nothing worked. He was trapped like a rat—Venus would surely find that most appropriate.
    He stood in the bloody clearing and shouted for help.

Chapter 6
    Venus never cried. Crying was a stupid waste of energy. It made her eyes ache and her head throb.
    She sniffed. And her nose run, too, damn it. Of course she didn’t have a handkerchief.
    She stopped and took a deep, shuddery breath.
    What was the matter with her? She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. Had she completely lost her mind? She’d certainly lost her temper. Mr. Valentine had been correct. She had sounded like a fishwife. He must be laughing at her, the silly rustic who’d fallen in love with—
    Oh, God, she wasn’t in love with the villain, was she?
    Her knees folded, and she sat down abruptly on the grass.
    She couldn’t be—she’d only just met him. Yes, he was sinfully handsome with his blue eyes and wicked smile and naked—She slapped her hands over her burning cheeks.
    He’d haunted her dreams, but it wasn’t just his appearance that attracted her. It was everything about him. Just talking to him—arguing with him more often than not—thrilled her. She was always thinking of him, always wondering what he would say about something, how he would smile …
    Bah—she’d been building air castles. All this time, he’d been betrothed to Mrs. Blackburn, who must be several years older than he. Not that it was any of her business. He could marry old Mrs. Fedderly with her blessing if he wished.
    She stood up, scrubbed her hands over her face to get rid of any lingering tears, and brushed off her skirt. Enough. She must think of Ditee. She needed to tell her Lady Mary had lied: she was not betrothed to Greycliffe. Mr. Valentine had looked genuinely horrified at the notion, and no matter how slimy and disgusting he was, he couldn’t be that good an actor.
    It was past suppertime when she let herself into the vicarage.
    â€œThere you are,” Mrs. Shipley said. “Your mama has been asking for you.”
    â€œOh.” Venus sniffed and tried to smile. “I was out walking.”
    â€œBeen crying, have you?”
    She ducked her head to avoid Mrs. Shipley’s eyes.