Free Duty Before Desire by Elizabeth Boyce Page B

Keeping her eyes downcast, she curtsied. As her knees bent, the strength sapped from her fatigued legs. Head suddenly swimming, she sank lower and lower, until her nose nearly touched the walk.
    “Gracious me, I’ve never felt so distinguished in all my life.” His cultured voice was rich with dry sarcasm.
    Why must her body refuse to behave in front of this man? Humiliating herself in front of him once was enough for a lifetime, yet it was happening again. She’d known seeing him would be trouble. Cringing, Arcadia palmed the ground to push herself back up. Strong hands cupped her elbows as he assisted her. She swayed on her feet, her legs refusing to cooperate.
    His brown eyes roved her face. Fine lines around them creased. “By Jove, you
are
ill. When I saw you out and about, I thought you’d been having a bit of fun at my expense.”
    Shaking her head, Arcadia pressed gloved fingertips to eyes that were burning, with fatigue or impending tears of embarrassment, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t understand. Whatever do you mean, my lord?”
    Gently prising her hands free of her face, he tucked her arm into his and pulled her close to his side, subtly lending physical support as he strolled on toward the corner, where Poorvaja engaged in conversation with one of the carriage drivers. Arcadia kept her eyes downcast, allowing the brim of her bonnet to shield her.
    “I’ve never had to put quite so much effort into seeing a woman,” he said. “I’d begun to think I had imagined finding you in the park.”
    Startled, Arcadia glanced up at the nobleman. He had a proud bearing, fully at ease in his surroundings and the slightest bit haughty. And why not? He was a man of importance in this city. That he should expend any effort to see anyone was a surprise, much less go to trouble on her behalf.
    “About that, my lord,” she started, then pressed her lips together, uncertain what to say. The attack in the park was shocking, completely beyond anything she’d ever experienced. In the matter of seconds, she’d been robbed of her most valuable possession, become violently ill, and intimately handled by a strange man. Everything about it was twisted up inside her in a knot of fear and pain and the tiniest bit of pleasure. She had no idea how to begin to unravel that morass of emotion, or whether she should even attempt such a thing.
    Instead of anything sensible, she blurted, “I do wish you had retrieved my property from that thief, as I asked you to do, instead of tending me, which my ayah could have done better.”
    He suddenly stopped, jerking her to a halt at his side. For a moment, he stared straight ahead. Then he looked down at her. “Did you just say all the words I think I heard? Surely, my ears must deceive me.”
    “I hesitate to complain, my lord,” she rushed to assure him, “as I’m sure you did what you thought best. But Poorvaja could have taken care of me while you apprehended the criminal.” She blinked against the sun, surprised to find that it—so much less intense than in India—pained her eyes.
    “Miss Parks,” the gentleman said, his polite tone a thin, icy crust over a lake of vexation, “I understand you are recently come to this quaint little island of ours. I don’t know how you were raised in India, but here in jolly old England, a gentleman values the life of a lady above a reticule. Furthermore, most of us were taught from the cradle to thank those who have rendered us service, not to berate them for it.”
    Arcadia’s mouth popped open in a surprised
O
. She’d meant to thank him; she had! She was building up to it, offering some constructive criticism, in the event he ever again found himself in a similar situation.
    Before she could speak a word in her defense, he barreled on. His voice raised a notch in volume; the skin around his nose whitened. “
Further
furthermore, you have wandered onto St. James’s Street, a bit of pavement entirely
verboten
to the gentler sex. Owing