The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(11)

Not until he surpassed her and moved ahead did she see that Blixford was also enjoying an early dawn run. In truth, he did not appear to be enjoying it. He looked his usual expressionless self. Did he never smile?

He didn’t so much as glance at her as he passed, but overtook her and forged ahead.

The instinct to increase speed and beat him to the end of the lane tugged at her, but she resisted. To do so would naturally result in the necessity of speaking to him, and she’d really rather eat a clod of dirt.

She slowed the mare to a walk, turned her about, and set her to canter back toward the house, severely aggravated he had ruined her run. Scarcely a minute later, the duke pulled up next to her and called out for her to slow down, that he wished to speak with her.

Manners overrode anger and she did so, biting out a greeting. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

“Lady Jane, I wish to impress upon you the significance of what transpired in the library. I ask that you accept my hand and allow me to make reparations for my thoughtless actions.” His face reflected such strong distaste, he looked as though he’d sucked a lemon. Was this the same man who so passionately ravished her against the library door?

“The only significance to me is the realization that I have been a fool for two long years, and entirely wasted my first Season and an impressive number of suitors, waiting for you to come out of mourning.” She glared at him. “In point of fact, I should probably thank you for a harsh dose of reality.” She looked ahead, away from his cold stare. “You are forgiven, and there’s an end to it. I do not wish to marry you, can think of no greater travesty, and I suggest we put the matter behind us and forget about it.”

“It’s not a matter of forgiveness, nor avoidance. You are ruined, and I will make reparations.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Blixford, I’m not ruined. My precious maidenhead is still intact, and will be until I take a husband, who will never know I was previously ravished by a blackguard of a duke.” She wouldn’t look at him again. She was half afraid she would be tempted to plant him a facer.

“Nevertheless, I intend to speak to your father this morning, as soon as possible.”

“Will you tell him what transpired in the library?” She almost hoped he would. Sherbourne would definitely plant him a facer.

“I see no reason to upset the man needlessly. It’s no secret I’m currently searching for a wife, and I have chosen you. I will ask your father for your hand.”

“Ask if you like, but you’ll look a fool when I refuse you. You may not have my hand,” she said coldly, “nor any other appendage. I beg you ask Lady Letitia for hers, as I’m certain she would cut it off and feed it to the hounds if you directed her to do so and made her a duchess at the same time. She’s a perfect lady, Blixford, and perfect for you. Not mannish at all. I daresay she would not have allowed you to ravish her in the library, and it’s debatable whether she will allow it after you’re married, but you clearly have a preference for passionless ladies who paint divinely and play the pianoforte with elegant mastery. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

Shocking her, he rode close, reached out and grasped her arm. “Don’t be a fool. You’re allowing emotion to override good sense. Only think for a moment, and consider if anyone saw you go into the library. Your reputation will be in tatters.”

Jerking free of him, she urged the mare away. “You grow tiresome, Blixford, and I grow hungry. I wish you a good day and every happiness.” She pressed her heel against the mare’s flank and set her into a canter, gratified when Blixford made no move to follow.

***

Michael watched her ride away and clenched the reins in frustration, as angry with himself as he was with her. What had come over him in the library? He was not a debaucher of young ladies. He was not a particularly amorous sort, content to keep a sedate mistress to mollify the physical side to his nature. A wife was for procreation. His wife would be a duchess, responsible for overseeing five different houses, managing whatever minuscule social engagements he was required to hold or attend, and raising their offspring competently. He didn’t want a wife he lusted after.

Regardless of what he wanted, that was precisely what he was about to have. She was all he never sought in a wife; courageous, beautiful, desirable, intriguing and passionate. He didn’t want her for his wife, but he couldn’t deny he wanted her. After last night, he wanted her with something that bordered on obsession. He’d not slept. Instead, he sat in the chair beside the fire in his bedchamber and considered how he might convince her to accept his hand. Close to dawn, he hit upon the notion of going for a ride on the off chance she would be out early again.