“Oh, very well.” She was exhausted, suddenly, and it didn’t seem worth it to fight for the chance to go back to that dreary, dingy boarding house and the inebriated Miss Flanagan—the woman who’d attempted to sell her to her sister.
Ana imagined the look on her face when a duke’s servant in splendid livery arrived to settle her debts and collect her meager possessions. She’d think that Ana had found her own protector.
He lifted her into the carriage by her waist, and she landed on the carriage seat with a thud, breathless from the relentless grip of his huge hands.
He climbed in and took a seat opposite her, his forbidding expression mirrored in the downcast sky, the driving rain that began to fall as they departed.
He’d said he’d searched for her for years. How strange to think that all this time this man who, if he were to be believed, wanted to shower her with pencils and, presumably, other material comforts as well, had cared for her welfare.
Knowing that her father had been thinking of her, had made provisions for her future, made her heart sting and ache. “I have so many questions, Your Grace. I want to know every detail of the day my father was injured. He could still be alive.” It was the slimmest of hopes, but she’d clung to it like a lifeline since the news of him being missing had reached her.
“There will be time for questions later, when you’re warm, fed, and safely installed at my townhouse. I’ll engage a chaperone for you tomorrow. Tonight I’ll sleep elsewhere for propriety’s sake.”
How neatly he avoided her questions and gave orders instead. His commanding tone made her want to challenge him. “I don’trequire a chaperone, Your Grace. I’ve been living by my own wits and means these past years.”
“You will have a chaperone. There will be no further discussion on the subject.”
No questions and no discussion. His words were edicts delivered tersely and with finality. His eyes were shadowy in the dark interior of the carriage. They sat facing each other but he’d angled his body so that the scarred side of his face was hidden.
She’d seen the scars in the lamplight. A raised red and purple crosshatching on his left cheek and jaw. It made her think of what her father might look like when she found him, having suffered some terrible head wound that rendered his mind unable to recall his past.
The duke stared moodily out the window at the passing city with a stern, unyielding expression. Commanding nose, angular jawline. Several deep scratches down his unscarred cheek. That was from her pencil.
“You’re bleeding.” She held out a clean handkerchief.
He ignored her offering, wiping the blood away roughly with the sleeve of his black wool coat. “I wonder why.” Sardonic tone, one thick eyebrow raised.
“I told you; I thought I was in danger.”
She still might be. He wore the signet ring of the Duke of Warburton and his carriage was emblazoned with the same crest. She believed it was he, but she only had his word to take for the promise extracted by her father. Had she made a terrible mistake? Was she even now on her way to some dungeon?
Don’t be foolish.Why would he make up a story like that? And he had returned her mother’s necklace and ear drops. Why would he want her? A man like him—a duke, a war hero, wealthy andpowerful—had no need to snatch down-on-their-luck lasses from dilapidated boarding houses for sport.
Still... he was a stranger to her. And she was alone with him in a carriage. She’d never been able to stop her imagination from running rampant. It was one of the reasons she’d believed she could write a good novel. And look how that had turned out. She’d labored so long overThe Dragon and the Blue Star, editing and re-editing each scene to make the words sing, the metaphors sparkle. She’d thought it was a good story. Now, no one would ever read it. Except, the man sitting across from her had read the chapters she’d sent to her father. She wanted to ask him if he’d liked them but at the moment wasn’t prepared to listen to another man pronounce judgment on her fanciful musings.
She shivered. She was only wearing a thin cloak and she’d stepped in several puddles as she ran from him. Her feet felt icy cold, the wet seams of her stockings chafing against her skin. The events of the last day were mounting, stretching her so tightly she felt as if she might leap out of her skin. Scream. Sob. Wail for the shattering of her few remaining dreams and the uncertainties glaring her in the face.
She flinched as he abruptly leaned toward her. He wrapped a soft, woolen blanket around her shoulders then retreated to his seat again, leaving her enveloped in warmth.
“Don’t be fearful,” he said gruffly. “I mean you no harm.”
“I’m in a carriage with a strange man.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’m your legal guardian. The paperwork was completed years ago.”
“Requiring no signature from me, apparently.”
That was the way of the world, and she knew it. What had herfather been thinking, handing her future over to this grim, silent man? She was his possession as surely as if he’d purchased her from a bawd.
“No, your signature was not required, nor your approval or your participation in any way. But from this moment forward you will live as a wealthy heiress.”
She snorted. “I’m not wealthy.”
“But I am. And as your guardian I’ll ensure you never want for anything ever again.”
“What Iwant, Your Grace,” she said, emphasizing the honorific with proud defiance, “is to not be beholden to you. Or to any man. I will find my own means of supporting myself and my own way forward in the world.”
“Oh? Is that why you’re staying at that veritable palace of respectability?”