Free An Unlikely Duchess by Mary Balogh Page B

who cared to raise a hand in farewell. They were all smiling in sympathy—she had told them about the stolen jewels.
    “That rascal will never spend another night in this hostelry, mum,” the innkeeper had assured her.
    “Not unless ’e wants ‘is ears to meet in the middle of ’is ’ead, mum,” Sam had added with menace in his voice.
    The head ostler had winked and grinned at the Duke of Mitford, and identical grins had been painted on the faces of all the other grooms, every one of whom had lost interest in the task at hand; they were all leaning on their pitchforks to witness the indecorous departure.
    They might as well have had flags attached to the curricle and strings of bells to pull behind, the duke reflected.
    So here they were, headed north instead of south, for all the world as if they were making a dash for Gretna Green. He supposed that he should keep a wary eye over his shoulder for ferocious looking older gentlemen brandishing pistols.
    “Perhaps it would have been as well,” he suggested, “if we had left quietly, drawing as little attention to ourselves as we possibly could.”
    “But then,” she said reasonably, “we would not have known, would we, that Mr. Porterhouse came north instead of going south. We would have been going in entirely the wrong direction. Had you made any inquiries of your own, sir?”
    “No, I’m afraid not,” he had to admit. “I assumed he must be heading in the direction of London.”
    “And there,” she said. “You would have taken me all that way and doubtless spent days there searching for him with me, and it would all have been in vain. I would have wasted all that time for you.”
    “And so you would,” he said.
    “And now,” she said, “if he decides to play a trick and turn back again and we do not see him, that Sam will have an eye out for him and do nasty things to him, no doubt. And his carriage is very distinctive. I secretly thought it rather tasteless, to be honest with you. Though I would not have said so for worlds while I thought Mr. Porterhouse to be a kind man. But now I do not mind speaking my mind on the subject.”
    “I suppose you realize, do you,” he said, “that you have now blazed a very clear trail for your father to follow if he returns to that inn?”
    “Perhaps it is just as well,” she said. “For Papa will be very severe with Mr. Porterhouse. Papa cannot abide thieves. Of course, he will insist that I go back home again and marry that obnoxious Duke of Mitford, but perhaps by that time his grace will be tired of waiting for me and will have taken himself off home again. You should just see his valet, sir.”
    “Should I?” the duke asked, noting that she was clinging to a fistful of his coat sleeve with one hand and the rail on the outside of the seat with the other. “Am I driving too fast for you?”
    “Oh, no,” she said. “I wish you would spring the horses, for Mr. Porterhouse has a great start on us. It is just that I have never ridden in a curricle, and I feel as if I am suspended over space. It is rather exciting actually. Oh. Do you mind my holding on to you?”
    “Not at all,” he said. “You may link your arm through mine if you wish. Why should I have seen Mitford’s valet?”
    “Oh,” she said with the greatest scorn, “he is just what one would expect of the servant of a duke, sir. His nose sniffs at the air as if it is not clean enough to be breathed by such an exalted personage.”
    Mitford repressed a chuckle. Yes, the description did rather fit Henry.
    “You can just imagine what his grace must be like,” the girl beside him said, her scorn intensified.
    “Yes,” he said. “Earth is doubtless far too lowly a planet for him.”
    “Exactly,” she said with enthusiasm. “And Papa and Grandpapa think I should marry him! I would rather marry a toad.”
    “An admirable sentiment,” he said. They were passing a southbound stagecoach; on top of which a merry band of dandies were