The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife

long hesitation, “Has the duke proposed to this lady or not?”

Griffin’s face darkened. “No. Never.”

His aunt sputtered in denial. “His brother’s factors pursued a match between them, and when Griffin inherited the dukedom, he inherited the promises and duties that go with it.”

“I haven’t even met her properly,” Griffin said, folding his paper in half. “It is entirely possible that she will hate me on sight.”

Harriet doubted that with all her heart. The duke might have a nasty reputation and he might make a forbidding first impression. But if any lady bothered to look past his portentous facade, she would find herself in the most pleasant sort of trouble, if not half in love.

She glanced up guiltily as she realized Lady Powlis was talking to her again.

“My nephew is behaving like a spoiled… rogue,” her ladyship said with a deep sigh. “I can’t understand what has come over him. Last night he made the biggest fuss in creation over a waltz-”

“Reel,” Harriet murmured. “A Scotch reel.”

“You made the fuss,” Griffin pointed out, propping his legs up on the chair at the opposite side of the table. “You embarrassed Miss Gardner to no end. You didn’t have to make a case of her in front of everyone just because Edlyn disappeared for a few moments. I could have found her by myself.”

“Did I embarrass you, Miss Gardner?” Lady Powlis asked with pursed lips.

“Nothing embarrasses me, ma’am.”

“Just wait,” Griffin said.

His aunt frowned at him. “Look at the way he’s sitting. That isn’t embarrassing?”

Harriet blew out a quiet sigh and sank back into her chair. This was fun. When would the fireworks begin? Fortunately, the heated interlude gave her a little extra time to finish her itinerary. Handwriting had never come easily to Harriet. She labored twice as long as anyone else in the academy at the task.

“Make up a list of eligible brides while you’re at it,” Lady Powlis instructed her with a grim smile. “If the duke does not think he and the lady chosen for him will suit, then let him choose elsewhere.”

Harriet shook her head. “Madam, I wouldn’t have any notion of where to begin. I am a mere-well, until yesterday, I was an instructress. I haven’t-”

“There must be one or two academy graduates who are still unwed,” Lady Powlis said. “She doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Griffin glanced at Harriet. “But it wouldn’t hurt.”

She swallowed a laugh and reached for a fresh piece of paper. She wrote down the name of the butcher’s daughter, who had a beefy hand when it came to dealing with unwanted customers. Then there was the Yorkshire graduate at the academy. Surely her parents wouldn’t complain if their girl landed a duke instead of an earl. The third-she blinked, appalled to realize she’d started to write the name of her beloved fiend’s inventor, Frankenstein. She crossed it out, immediately applying her pen to the paper to turn the F into a lumpy oval shape. The next thing she knew, the oval had a forked tail and cloven-soled boots.

Her breath froze as Griffin suddenly leapt up from his seat and leaned over her. “Auntie Primrose,” he said with a low laugh, “your new companion is drawing something impolite.”

Harriet gasped. She almost slapped the white-cuffed hand that reached down to confiscate her paper from the desk.

“Stop pestering the poor young woman,” his aunt said sternly. “I can’t remember when I have seen you behaving in such an off-putting fashion.”

“Make her show it to you,” he insisted. “She’s drawn something with ears.”

Harriet narrowed her gaze. “Those are petals, your grace. Forgive my lack of skill, but it was supposed to be a flower.”

“A primrose?” Lady Powlis asked with a flattered smile.

The duke examined the sketch with a critical eye. “Only if primroses are grown with barbed lines through the stems.”

“That would be one of the roots,” Harriet said tightly.

Lady Powlis glanced up. “What kind of flower is it, Harriet?”

“A demonic variety by the look,” Griffin answered, squinting one eye.

Harriet smiled, using her elbow to delicately dislodge the manly hand that had settled on the arm of her chair. The hand came right back. “It’s a new breed from China,” she said, adding tuberous roots to the rectangular forehead. “They’re grown in hothouses all over England.”

Griffin blinked. “That looks like me when I get up in the morning.”

His aunt shook her head in despair. “This is why you aren’t married.”

“Not because insanity runs in the family?”

Lady Powlis gave Harriet a distressed look. “Do you understand now what I must live with? Go and fetch our cloaks, dear. If we have time, we will see about your new wardrobe. Perhaps we can find something prettier to entice Edlyn. She can’t stay in mourning forever.”

She rose. “Yes, madam.”

“Oh, what I endure,” her ladyship said with a moan, closing her eyes.

The duke made a face. “And what you inflict.”

Harriet curtsied, slipping her scribbled paper into her pocket before she escaped the combative atmosphere. She had no intention of leaving behind evidence that would incriminate her. If the duke recognized himself in her drawing, he was more perceptive than she’d realized. And if he never found the perfect wife he deserved, she doubted it would be for lack of willing candidates.

Griffin stared at the closed door until his aunt’s voice intruded on his silence. What kind of fiend had Primrose employed? What anarchy had he sanctioned under his authority? It was bad enough that Harriet’s presence in the house virtually guaranteed he would never enjoy a good night’s sleep again. But that she felt at liberty to mock him with a ridiculous drawing-well, it appeared he would have to put down his foot before she became the devil’s apprentice.

“Do you find her attractive, Griff?”

He pivoted and gave her a blank stare.

“Attractive, Griff. I asked an ordinary enough question. Do you think my companion is appealing to the eye, with her vivid coloring and pretty face?”

“I do understand what attractive means, Aunt Encyclopedia of Unsolicited Knowledge.”

“Dear me. I’m beginning to think you are the one who should become a student in the academy. Your manners have lapsed appallingly since… well, since you’ve assumed responsibility for your own life.”

“Yes. Yes, I know. You remind me every chance you get, no matter where we are or who else might overhear.”

“You will not forget that at the end of the week we are taking your betrothed to the park? And that two nights later the marquess is hosting another ball in our honor? This is to be a more intimate affair.” He groaned.

“Or that Edlyn has been invited to a breakfast party, which naturally we shall chaperone?”

“Naturally.” He edged toward the door.

“With my attractive companion.”

“Am I too old to run away from home?” he asked under his breath.

“Dear Griff, I know I’m a bit of a bother, but please give London a chance.”

And life, she might as well have said.

Chapter Twelve

What is this world’s delight? Lightning, that mocks the night.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY