Page 63 of The Courtship Dance

A faint smile touched his face and was gone. “True. As you have seen the worst of me.”

His remark brought a smile to her face. “Have I? Then your worst must be a trifling thing.”

“As is yours.”

Her heart warmed within her, and she had to swallow hard to suppress her emotion. She turned away, clearing her throat and saying, “Well, I learned to economize—you would be most surprised to see me shop.” Looking away from him as she was, she did not see the pain and regret that colored his features. “I have managed to get by. But now Perkins—”

“What the devil does Perkins have to do with anything?”

“He won my house from Andrew in a card game!” Francesca whirled back around, rage rising up in her all anew. “That…bastard threw away my home on a hand of cards!”

A red light flared in Rochford’s eyes, and he let out a string of curses. Francesca was not certain whether they were directed at Perkins or her late husband. She knew only that they made her feel strangely better.

“Perkins told me that if I repaid the money Andrew owed him, he would tear up the paper Andrew signed giving him ownership of the house. I have sold what I can, but it is completely beyond my means. But if—”

She swallowed, not daring to look him in the face. What she was asking was completely improper. A woman could not take such a large amount of money from a man without compromising her virtue, and she feared that he would think terribly of her for doing so. For a moment, she thought she could not go on.

Then, in a rush, she said, “If you would but loan it to me, I could give him the money. I would pay it back, I promise. I will sell the house and that will give me enough money to—”

“You will not sell your house,” Rochford told her flatly.

“It is either that or lease it during the Season, but it would take me years to repay the loan then, and, truly, if I sold it, I could repay you and purchase a smaller house.”

“You are not leasing it. You are not selling it. And there will be no loan.”

Francesca turned to stare at him, her stomach clenching in despair.

The duke’s face was so stony, his eyes so flat and cold, that any words she might have spoken died. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let that bloody ivory-turner have your house. Cranston will call the carriage and send you home.” He started toward the door.

“Rochford! What are you doing?” Anxiously, Francesca started after him.

He turned and said shortly, “I am going to see Perkins.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“SINCLAIR! NO!” Francesca ran after him, grabbing his arm and tugging him to a stop. “What are you going to do? I won’t let you simply pay off my debt for me.”

“Do not worry yourself about that. ’Tis highly unlikely that there will be any exchange of money involved. It is my opinion that Perkins will find he needs to return to the Continent forthwith.”

“Sinclair!” Francesca’s eyes widened in alarm. “You mean to go over there to fight him? No, you must not. Truly, it is not worth it. You will get hurt.”

The duke cocked an eyebrow at her. “Are you suggesting that I cannot take care of a weasel like Perkins?”

“He killed a man!”

“I am considered something of a shot, as well—in my own humble way.”

“I know that.” Francesca grimaced. “But you are a gentleman, with a code of honor, whereas Perkins is not bound by any such rules.”

“Quite frankly, where Perkins is concerned, I don’t feel particularly bound by the rules, either.”

“No, please…you must not get involved in a duel. I would never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

“Your faith in me is a trifle underwhelming, my dear.” As she started to protest again, he shook his head and placed his forefinger against her lips. “There will not be a duel. I can promise you that. I can deal adequately with Perkins without that.”

Francesca released his arm, though she still frowned. “He will not fight fair. You cannot trust him.”

“Believe me, I do not intend to.”