deliberately trapped him at a ball, Becca would have heard every detail a hundred times over.
Queen Victoria believed that gently bred young women should pretend blindness when confronted with the seedier side of the city. Hard to do when scandalous literature was sold in the Bond Street bookshops they visited and the girls lived with brothers who reeled in at all hours stinking of wine and cheap perfume. Preachers of morality may stand on every street corner, but the only ones close enough to listen were the prostitutes who hawked their wares in the same places.
Becca clapped her hands. “Go on. We haven’t much time.”
She waited until her sisters and aunt had set out on their allotted tasks before she said to Michael, “And you must return to Oxford. I promise we won’t take any risks.”
With a grim look, Michael muttered, “Easy for you to say. I’ll be four hours ride away if anything happens. How can I not fret?”
“Your university papers are due. Right now, your priority is finishing your degree. We’ll send for you and Jonathon if things get worse.”
Michael looked grim. He shook hands with Cayle and said, “Glad to know you’ll be around.”
“Rest assured, I’ll watch over your family. I’ll set more guards around the house at night. If the women must leave the house, they will either be under my escort or followed by my men.”
Becca rolled her eyes and clutched her chest. “Please. We’re only helpless ladies. We need a duke to save us.”
Anger roughened his voice until it sounded like wheels grinding on train tracks. “I understand your resentment. However, men are expected to protect. Women are expected to forgo independence and accept protection. You asked for my assistance. Therefore, Michael has my solemn promise that no harm shall befall you under my watch. Hate me if you must, but I intend taking charge of this operation.”
Michael said, “Be warned, Sherwyn, Becca can be prickly at times.”
“Michael! I am standing right here.”
Her brother chuckled. “But my sister will do whatever she is told. With good grace and as little argument as possible. Will you not, Becca?”
Becca, once again, rolled her eyes before sketching a curtsy. “My feeble female mind is relieved to have such an intelligent man take over.”
Michael groaned.
“But as I don’t want to worry my fretting brother any more, I will bend like a willow
to Your Grace’s will.”
“Heaven help you, Sherwyn. When Becca becomes sarcastic, we all scurry for safety.”
After a commiserating look and a slap on the back for Cayle, Michael strode out the door.
• • •
As soon as they were alone, Becca fired the first shot.
“Thank you for your concern, Your Grace.”
Cayle cringed. Michael was correct about Becca in a haughty frame of mind. She was like a train engine, a compact red-headed steam-blowing version, who’d have the bravest of men shaking in their Wellingtons. He risked a small smile. This passionate parcel befuddled his senses and yet he felt more alive than he had in months.
“However,” a finger stabbed his chest, “if I require a guard, I’ll engage a Metropolitan Policeman. A professional in trapping criminals. Which you, on the other hand, are not.”
He was tempted to contradict her but this was neither the time nor the place, so he swallowed his confession. He watched Becca’s rant with amusement and admiration. Fiery, flaming red, and in full steam. His blood heated, roiled, and matched her rampant hair colour.
“Therefore, your only task will be to collect some records. Only when I’m certain there will be no danger to you. At the first sign of suspicion from one of your peers, you’ll stop.”
With the fluidity of a cat, he straightened to his full height and looked down at her. “I’ve been in precarious situations more times than you’re eaten kippers for breakfast. No termagant in a redheaded temper will dictate what I may, or may not, do. You’re in my
Queen Victoria believed that gently bred young women should pretend blindness when confronted with the seedier side of the city. Hard to do when scandalous literature was sold in the Bond Street bookshops they visited and the girls lived with brothers who reeled in at all hours stinking of wine and cheap perfume. Preachers of morality may stand on every street corner, but the only ones close enough to listen were the prostitutes who hawked their wares in the same places.
Becca clapped her hands. “Go on. We haven’t much time.”
She waited until her sisters and aunt had set out on their allotted tasks before she said to Michael, “And you must return to Oxford. I promise we won’t take any risks.”
With a grim look, Michael muttered, “Easy for you to say. I’ll be four hours ride away if anything happens. How can I not fret?”
“Your university papers are due. Right now, your priority is finishing your degree. We’ll send for you and Jonathon if things get worse.”
Michael looked grim. He shook hands with Cayle and said, “Glad to know you’ll be around.”
“Rest assured, I’ll watch over your family. I’ll set more guards around the house at night. If the women must leave the house, they will either be under my escort or followed by my men.”
Becca rolled her eyes and clutched her chest. “Please. We’re only helpless ladies. We need a duke to save us.”
Anger roughened his voice until it sounded like wheels grinding on train tracks. “I understand your resentment. However, men are expected to protect. Women are expected to forgo independence and accept protection. You asked for my assistance. Therefore, Michael has my solemn promise that no harm shall befall you under my watch. Hate me if you must, but I intend taking charge of this operation.”
Michael said, “Be warned, Sherwyn, Becca can be prickly at times.”
“Michael! I am standing right here.”
Her brother chuckled. “But my sister will do whatever she is told. With good grace and as little argument as possible. Will you not, Becca?”
Becca, once again, rolled her eyes before sketching a curtsy. “My feeble female mind is relieved to have such an intelligent man take over.”
Michael groaned.
“But as I don’t want to worry my fretting brother any more, I will bend like a willow
to Your Grace’s will.”
“Heaven help you, Sherwyn. When Becca becomes sarcastic, we all scurry for safety.”
After a commiserating look and a slap on the back for Cayle, Michael strode out the door.
• • •
As soon as they were alone, Becca fired the first shot.
“Thank you for your concern, Your Grace.”
Cayle cringed. Michael was correct about Becca in a haughty frame of mind. She was like a train engine, a compact red-headed steam-blowing version, who’d have the bravest of men shaking in their Wellingtons. He risked a small smile. This passionate parcel befuddled his senses and yet he felt more alive than he had in months.
“However,” a finger stabbed his chest, “if I require a guard, I’ll engage a Metropolitan Policeman. A professional in trapping criminals. Which you, on the other hand, are not.”
He was tempted to contradict her but this was neither the time nor the place, so he swallowed his confession. He watched Becca’s rant with amusement and admiration. Fiery, flaming red, and in full steam. His blood heated, roiled, and matched her rampant hair colour.
“Therefore, your only task will be to collect some records. Only when I’m certain there will be no danger to you. At the first sign of suspicion from one of your peers, you’ll stop.”
With the fluidity of a cat, he straightened to his full height and looked down at her. “I’ve been in precarious situations more times than you’re eaten kippers for breakfast. No termagant in a redheaded temper will dictate what I may, or may not, do. You’re in my
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