Page 4 of Distracting the Duke

“Great heaven, Philip, why on earth did you strike the man? You’ve bloodied Ulvercombe’s nose!” Horrified, Clara rushed between the duke and her brother, determined to prevent any further violence.

“Yes, Weston, why?” growled the duke, picking himself up from an awkward sprawl across his desk and holding a handkerchief to his nose. His blue-gray eyes burned with a cold rage, far more powerful and dangerous than the irritation he’d shown earlier with Clara.

She prayed he wasn’t the sort to settle questions of honor by dueling. And the word of a duke in the wrong ear could do all kinds of damage to a vulnerable family…and to Ellie’s chances. Clara fought down a rising panic.

Philip rubbed at his knuckles. Unrepentant, he declared, “He was manhandling you!”

“His Grace meant no harm. We were being rather childish, I confess, but you have quite misread the situation, Philip. Please apologize at once.”

Turning her back on her brother, she helped Ulvercombe to the padded chair behind his desk, wincing at the bloody stain now spreading across his white shirtfront.

He glared at her. “If that lunatic has broken my nose—”

Clara saw his jaw tighten as he looked toward the doorway. She turned to see Ellie and Sarah, her sister-in-law, frozen in shock at the scene before them.

“Don’t be alarmed,” she said quickly. “I can look after the duke. Can someone send a servant for cold water, towels, and ice?”

“A clean cravat, shirt, and handkerchief would be welcome, too, if someone can find my valet,” added Ulvercombe in a thick, bubbling voice.

As Sarah and Ellie hurried off on their errand, Clara felt an unwelcome pang of guilt. She stepped away from the duke. “Your apology, Philip?”

Her brother paused for a dangerously long moment. Then he said stiffly, “Apologies, Your Grace. I believe I misread the situation, although I’m sure you’d have thought the same thing in my place.”

Clara held her breath until Ulvercombe, to his credit, nodded his acceptance, and inclined his head toward the door.

Philip paused again, his eyes on Clara.

Exasperated, she said, “Unless you wish to mop up His Grace yourself, I suggest you go in search of his valet to get some clean things. I’m a widow, remember, not a green girl. Besides, the duke is hardly likely to do anything inappropriate in his current state.”

As the door clicked into place after her brother, the duke said, “I admire your optimism.”

She smiled, despite herself. “This is no time to tease. Tilt your head forward and pinch the bridge of your nose. No, wait, let me feel it. Good, I don’t think it’s broken.”

“I suppose you must be happy,” he muttered, “now that your enemy has been overcome.”

Enemy was a worrying word. If she wanted to save Ellie’s chances with Ulvercombe, she, too, must make her peace with him.

“Can’t we forget about earlier?” she said contritely. “I apologize for trying to keep your statuette from you and take full responsibility for the misunderstanding and Philip’s reaction. I’m truly sorry you’re bleeding and hurt.”

“Your brother packs a hefty punch. Please understand I didn’t hit him back because there were ladies present. I could have knocked Mr. Weston cold if I’d wanted to, but it’s pretty bad ton to strike a guest. Your brother’s almost as belligerent as my friend Ned Stranraer, though fortunately smaller. I wouldn’t want to take a blow from Ned.”

The blood still flowed from Ulvercombe’s nose, so Clara said, “Pray keep still, Your Grace, so the blood can clot. Here, let’s exchange handkerchiefs.” The square of lace-edged lawn she held out to him was pathetically small, but better than nothing.

As she moved closer, her foot struck something that rolled into the desk leg with a tiny clink.

The Pajou Venus! They’d completely forgotten it in the excitement. She got down on hands and knees and crawled partway under the desk to retrieve it. As she backed out, she surprised a speculative expression on the duke’s face, but it was gone in an instant as he reached out to take the statuette.

“Fortunately the Venus remains unscathed,” he announced, leaning across her to pull open a drawer. “However, it might be wise to lock it away for the time being.”

“Do I look like a thief?” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. But before she could stand up, a sharp tug on her scalp forced her back to her knees. “Ouch!”

“You might have waited till I closed the drawer,” the duke drawled. “Here, allow me.”

He reached out to help her up, but the next moment they were both on their knees behind his desk, almost touching noses.

“I’m so sorry—”

“Ow, my hair!” she exclaimed, trying to tug herself free. The duke’s hand moved with her and crashed against the leg of the table.