Page 71 of To Dare a Duke

Robert felt foolish, and rather like he was standing before one of his old schoolmasters for some misdemeanour or other as a boy. Sitting a little straighter, he reminded himself he was a bloody duke and refused to allow the blush that was threatening to crawl up his neck at any moment.

Mr Richardson glanced up from the papers before him, a look of mild surprise glinting in his eyes, nothing more.

“So, you don’t mean her any harm? You’ll not retaliate for the story she wrote?”

Robert quirked one eyebrow, trying to hold on to his usual arrogant persona, the trace of a sneer at his lips. It had been a damn sight easier when everyone believed him a villain. “Considering half the ton is now in love with me, I don’t see why I should be the least bit dismayed by her story, but as you can see… my intentions are honourable. Otherwise, I’d hardly write something like….” He waved a hand at the papers on the table by way of illustration, fighting the urge to wince with embarrassment.

His fame had ratcheted up another notch since The Damned Duke had gained his happy ever after. Women fluttered and batted their eyelids in full view, sighing and flirting if he gave them half a chance, which he hadn’t. He’d avoided society unless it was to do with gaining information on Prue’s whereabouts, but the blasted woman had disappeared off the face of the earth. He’d always longed to be a hero instead of a villain, but at this precise moment he couldn’t fathom why. Perversely, he rather longed for the good old days.

“Well, your grace. I hope that a declaration of marriage is what I hold in my hand, for if not, you’d best rewrite it.”

Robert felt the flush prickle a touch more insistently at the base of his throat but held Richardson’s gaze, unblinking. “It is,” he said, rather pleased that he sounded bored and ready to be done with this interview when his heart was jolting about like a March hare.

“An Apology from a Hero to a Villainess,” Richardson read aloud, quirking one eyebrow. “You sure about that title?”

“Quite sure,” Robert replied, biting off the words with impatience. Damn the man, he would agree to publish the piece if Robert had to buy the bloody magazine to make him do so.

Mr Richardson sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers over a generous stomach that spoke of too much time sitting on his arse. He also bore a ruddy countenance that pointed the finger at a half empty decanter on the bureau to the left of his desk. Robert forced himself to keep still and not rise to pour out a generous measure.

“I don’t let just anyone publish in the magazine, your grace,” Mr Richardson said, a shrewd glint in his eyes.

“I’m the Duke of Bedwin,” Robert replied with icy civility. “Not just anyone.” He wasn’t certain if behaving like an arrogant bastard was the best course of action towards getting what he wanted, but he was too close to losing his bloody mind for anything subtler. He needed to find Prue, find her and tell her he didn’t give a tinker’s curse about the bloody story so long as she knew the truth of him now. That truth being he wanted her, wanted to know her, and love her, and do his damnedest to make her happy if he could.

“Normally there is a selection process to go through,” Richardson carried on, with a faintly paternal air. “However, seeing as it is yourself, your grace, I suppose it might be possible to persuade me to… er, circumnavigate the usual procedures.”

“How much?” Robert barked, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair to stop himself from reaching over the desk and giving the blasted man a hard shake.

Mr Richardson smiled.

***

9th June. Beverwyck. London. 1814

Robert had to kick his heels for a further ten days before the story made its appearance.

“It’s there!” Helena squealed, after rifling through the magazine to find the article and almost upsetting her teacup over it. They were sitting at the breakfast table, though Robert hadn’t eaten a bite while they awaited delivery of the magazine.

He let out a breath, torn between gut wrenching relief and utter mortification. Everyone would know it was him who’d written it, he felt sure, even though it was anonymous. He’d put a few details in that Prue would recognise, just enough for her to be certain and, if it worked, he wouldn’t give a damn if the whole world thought him a hopeless sap. If it didn’t, however, and people guessed it was him, he’d be humiliated before the ton. He shuddered at the idea and snatched the magazine away from Helena as she bent her head to read.

“That’s private,” he muttered, setting it down on the table beside him and out of her reach.

Helena stared at him incredulously, and then lifted one elegant eyebrow just a touch.

Robert sighed. “I don’t care if it’s being read by thousands of people, it’s still—”

His sister got to her feet, leaned over the table and snatched the magazine back again. Robert glowered at her, but there was really no point in arguing. She’d only buy another copy. He folded his arms and assumed a mutinous expression, refusing to meet her eyes when she looked up a few moments later.

“Oh, Robert,” she said, laughing and teary all at once, her voice choked. “She’ll come running back. She’ll have to after reading that. It’s… it’s perfect.”

He allowed his gaze to flick to hers, frowning a little. “You think so?”

She reached out and squeezed his hand. “The only problem is she must hurry. I’ve never been so popular as these past weeks, but I know all too well every woman of my acquaintance is just angling to meet you. Now they know how you’ve been wronged, there are bleeding hearts all over town. They’ll trample me in the rush, given half a chance. Now this is out, it will be even worse.” Helena gave a dramatic sigh. “For heaven’s sake, Robert, marry her as fast as you can, or I’ll never have a moment’s peace.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said, smiling at her. “I can promise you that.”

***

12th June. A cottage in the country. Location undisclosed. 1814