An American Duchess

He felt that if he started arguing with her, everyone in the room would know he’d kissed her. The incident hadn’t appeared in newspapers, so apparently his Oswald Warts story had worked.

But Sebastian knew. His brother had come to his study the next afternoon, demanding to know what had happened.

“It won’t happen again” was all Nigel had said.

He didn’t know why it had happened. Miss Gifford should be the last woman he wanted to kiss. She drove him mad.

Now she had flown her aeroplane too close to him and sent him falling off his horse onto his arse. So why was his blood thrumming as she reached for him?

Nigel jumped to his feet. He did not want her helping him up. He kept hearing a sound in his head—the droning sound an aeroplane made when it was shot down, just before it crashed.

“The engine had stalled. You could have killed yourself.”

She shrugged. “I got it going again. The trick is to not panic.”

“I saw more men than I can count crash in aeroplanes.” He’d seen the burned, mangled bodies of the pilots hauled by medics to ambulances. Most of them didn’t survive the crash.

She folded her arms over her chest. “And if a man can’t handle an airplane, obviously a woman can’t?”

“Why risk your life by flying, damn it?” His chest was heaving and his hands shook. He was losing control. “You don’t need to die. Millions of men had no choice but to go to war and be blown away. Why in God’s name would you want to die? Most of the beggars I saw at the end would have traded anything to hang on to life.”

She’d gone very white.

Bloody hell. He’d forgotten she had lost her brother. “I apologize, Miss Gifford.” He said it stiffly. If he unbent for a moment—or got too close to her—he feared he would kiss her again.

“I’m sorry I spooked your horse,” she said softly.

They both looked to Beelzebub at the same time. The horse had trotted close to the offending aeroplane and was nibbling grass.

Miss Gifford fell into step with him as he walked toward his horse. “Where are you riding?”

The mere sound of her voice made him hot, uncomfortable. He had no idea why. “I’m doing a tour of the estate. Visiting the tenants.”

“Let them get a glimpse at the grand duke?”

“No, I find out how they are faring, assess repairs that need to be made to their homes. In short, I learn about the problems the tenants are facing, then put in measures to fix them. Though right now, there is very little work that can be done, given our financial state.”

“Don’t you have a secretary or steward who does that for you?”

“Brideswell does have men in both those positions. However, I like to see for myself.”

“Do you? That surprises me.”

“Brideswell is my responsibility, first and foremost. In addition, Beelzebub needs to be ridden.”

“I’d like to go. I rode a mare named Daisy yesterday. Give me a minute, and I’ll get her saddled up and join you. I’d like to see what it’s like to be the tenant of a great house.”

“Probably no different than a manual worker or farmer in America,” he responded drily. “I thought my mother and Grandmama were taking you around for social visits.”

“For the past two days, that’s all I’ve done. I’ve met every peer within shooting distance. I’ve had battles with your grandmother over everything from tea to motorcars to music to the peerage. As to the last, I think it’s useless. Your grandmother thinks the world would collapse without it.” She smiled, and then a concerned look touched her face.

“Your mother is very kind,” she said, “but I can tell she is very sad and in pain over your brother. It’s...awkward.”

“Awkward because the engagement is a farce.”

“I’d rather be honest about it. I think that would be for the best. Even for your mother.”

“No,” he said softly. Dangerously. “It would not.”

“Can I come with you?”

He should say no. But it was not his head thinking when he said, “Yes.”

He watched her walk away to dress for riding with her jaunty, strong stride. She behaved as if the kiss had been of no account. It hadn’t seemed to unsettle her at all.

But as she’d said, kissing meant practically nothing to American girls.

The trouble was that kissing Miss Gifford had meant something to him. And it shouldn’t.

* * *

The clouds she’d flown through earlier were thicker now and a darker gray. Zoe shivered as she trotted Daisy beside the duke and Beelzebub.

Two days ago, the Duke of Langford had saved her life and kissed her senseless. It had all burst into a kind of explosion. Reporters had been swarming; flashbulbs went off. Sebastian had pulled Langford back and punched him. All hell had broken loose after that. People streamed out of Murray’s, hoping to see a brawl.

There hadn’t been one. The duke had not retaliated. She had taken care of a drunken Sebastian, pulling him away. The duke had taken hold of Julia, who was tending to his bleeding nose. Not caring about his injury, the duke had insisted they all spend the night at the Savoy.

Julia had apologized. “Nothing like this has ever happened. Sebastian frustrates Nigel—that’s what he’s always done, but they’ve never hit each other.”

“They did on the first night I arrived.”

Julia had been startled. “Nigel said he got those bruises when he walked into a door in the dark. But they were actually fighting?”

“They were,” Zoe had said. And she’d felt guilt. For ten seconds, and then she’d been angry. She didn’t want them punching each other over her. She was supposed to have a simple arrangement with Sebastian. Why did the men have to have such hot emotions over it?

Why had she kissed Langford back?

She’d never kissed a man who irritated her, who drove her mad, who disapproved of her. She’d never had any need to. There were enough men who had liked her.

“We stop here, Miss Gifford,” Langford said, and he reined in in front of a small cottage. Roses rambled up the walls, covered with tight buds tipped with red and pink.

As Zoe dismounted, the duke came close to her. “Mrs. Billings lives here,” he said. “She lost all four of her sons to the War.”

Zoe put her hand to her mouth. “All her sons, gone?”

Langford nodded. “They were the only family she had. Her husband died during the War, too. His heart gave out.”

She stared at the house. Curtains of grayish-white lace hung in the windows, old but tidy. “How could anyone live through that much pain?”