Dukes By the Dozen полностью

“No, indeed, the subject is closed.” Ashford straightened to his full height, his entire attention on her. Rather unnerving, that. “Return home, Mrs. Courtland. I will explain to Lewis that this idea is more than ridiculous.”

“More than ridiculous? Good heavens. That is quite a lot of ridiculousness, if you think it through. They are only worried for you, Your Grace, as you sit here alone night after night. I think of you, you know, on the other side of the wall from me, absorbed in your papers while life in all its colors flows past you, unnoticed.”

Anger flashed in Ash’s gray eyes. “What I do in my study is life, madam. I help run the nation.”

“The nation is full of people, laughing, talking, going to plays, helping each other, but of course you take no notice unless they are figures on a piece of paper.”

“You have no idea what you are talking about. This conversation is—”

“More than ridiculous?” Helena sent him a determined smile. “You will have to come up with another adjective. Let us think of some. Ludicrous, preposterous, absurd, farcical …”

“All of those,” Ashford said in a near shout. “I am finished with it. Good night, Mrs. Courtland.”

He loomed over her, eyes blazing, like a ghost in her favorite shivery novel. Ashford, however, was very much alive, with his tall frame, flushed face, and dark hair mussed by fingers absently pushing through it as he worked.

Goodness, it was warm in here.

Ashford could have rung for his manservant or a footman to eject her, but he did not. He only glared at her, leaving it up to Helena to depart instead of embarrassing her by tossing her out. He did have some manners.

Or perhaps he was simply too angry to think. Helena heaved a sigh.

“Very well. It is growing late. I will leave you to contemplate what I’ve said. Study the list tonight, and we can discuss it later.”

Ashford growled. An actual growl, an animal-like sound in his throat. He snatched the list from the desk, stalked to the fireplace, and thrust it into the flames.

He turned around and resumed his glare at Helena, like a lion both irritated and smug that he’d bested her.

Helena sent him a pitying look. “I did, of course, make a copy for myself. I will bring another tomorrow, and I suggest you read it. When you meet the ladies in question, it will be better for you to have consulted my notes.”

The lion finally roared. “I will not meet them, I will not consult your be-damned notes, and never again will we speak of this. Now, leave my house. At once!”

Botheration. A direct order left no room for argument. And it was, in fact, Ashford’s house, and he could have her turned out without any harm to himself. Helena would have to withdraw to fight another day.

“I have no wish to outstay my welcome, of course,” she said with a conceding nod. “Good night, Your Grace. Do consider the young ladies I have mentioned. Discuss them with your children if you like. After all, we are doing this for them.”

Ashford started for her. Two steps along, he stopped, fists balled, as though it took all his effort not to cross the room and shake her.

Gracious, the duke everyone called a cold-hearted automaton obviously had plenty of emotion. He radiated it.

“Sleep well, Your Grace,” Helena said cheerfully. “We will speak on the morrow.”

She gave him a quick curtsy—she could show she was polite—and scuttled from the room.

Edwards and Henry lingered on the landing, both starting guiltily when she dashed out. Well, this had probably been the most interesting thing to happen in the house in a long while, and she couldn’t blame them for listening.

Helena bade them a pleasant good night and descended the stairs, Henry darting ahead of her to open the front door.

She adjusted her gloves and feathered headdress before she stepped outside. The night was brisk, very pleasant after the warmth of summer. It was still early—perhaps she’d go to the theatre or call upon friends. Many of them spent the autumn on their country estates, but London was never truly deserted.

Helena returned home and dressed to go out, adding jewels to glitter on her throat and ears. She felt animated and alive. She realized, as her carriage took her toward Covent Garden, that for all Ashford’s bluster and snarling, she’d very much enjoyed arguing with him.

Enjoyed it very much indeed.

BLOODY WOMAN. Blast her and all womankind.

Ash rose in the morning, groggy after too little sleep. Helena Courtland had made him lose his temper, shout, and do all manner of uncouth things. His pleasant, clockwork-like existence had been put asunder, as though someone had taken an intricate timepiece and smashed it with a sledgehammer.

Ash had lain in bed all night, his skin hot, his heart tripping. He could not push aside the image of Helena’s wide smile in her pretty face, the silly feathers in her turban bobbing and dancing with her animated speeches. Her wide brown eyes, the one dark blond curl that drooped to her shoulder, the way her bosom moved behind her cream-colored bodice.