Read Online The Duke's Downfall by Lynn Michaels - Free Book Online

exclaimed indignantly, but to her back, for she’d already swept haughtily away from him. Aware that heads were turning in their direction, he hurried after her, caught her by the elbow, and spun her around in the doorway. “I said nothing about the garden! I said—”
    “Unhand me,” Betsy said icily, “or I will scream.”
    Charles did so, let her pass through the archway into the foyer beyond, then leapt after her and reclaimed her elbow. He also put his right foot firmly down on the hem of her gown—but remained angrily oblivious to it as he again pulled her around to face him.
    “Now see here, young lady. Your ploys and poses will not work with me. I am not a green boy to be led about—”
    “Oh, bother!” With her free hand, Betsy plucked the lamb’s wool from her ears. “Now that I can hear, kindly deliver your setdown and leave me in peace!”
    How perfectly brilliant, Charles thought, totally forgetting Teddy in his amazement and admiration of her ingenuity. What a simply clever defense against permanent ear damage. “Tell me, my lady,” he said eagerly. “Were you able to hear anything I said?”
    “No,” Betsy confirmed distastefully. “Not clearly, at any rate—for which I shall be eternally grateful.”
    Then she hadn’t been laughing at him, Charles realized, taking in her overbright eyes and defiantly lifted chin. He further supposed that with her ears stuffed with wool, she could very easily have mistaken pardon for garden. How utterly famous, he marveled, struck by the irony and yet pleased beyond reason that she’d meant to slap him. So very pleased that he laughed.
    So suddenly and so heartily that mirthful tears sprang in his eyes. And in Betsy’s, too, though she felt anything but merry. She felt murderous. And mortified to be laughed at by a duke, no matter how dotty he pretended to be. He wasn’t, of course—at least, she hadn’t thought so—but the abrupt change in his demeanor was beginning to make her wonder. Ripping into her one moment, howling with glee the next, and now, to Betsy’s utter astonishment, breaking off to purse his lips and tap one finger against his chin.
    “A denser substance would have served you better,” he said thoughtfully. “Something moldable that could be easily shaped to fit the ear. May I suggest candlewax? I believe it would be just the thing.”
    “So would throttling you!” Betsy declared, lifting her skirts to wheel away from him, unaware until she’d taken a step and felt the r-i-i-p at her waist that the deeply ruffled flounce of ice-blue satin that made the hem of her gown was trapped beneath the Duke of Braxton’s foot.
    She froze, horrified, feeling a chill race up the backs of her legs to take the place of the satin panel billowing away from her. Betsy felt it float past her knees, felt the color drain from her face, saw her reputation and her future being torn to shreds along with her gown.
    Charles saw the same picture, his own clumsy part in it, and but one way to save her. Of the snowy petticoat her grandmother had insisted she wear to ward off the chill night air, he had only a glimpse as he snatched up the fluttering panel, looped his left arm around her waist, pulled her against him, and felt her go rigid with shock and insult.
    “Let me go!” she cried, aghast.
    “Would you prefer the world and all his wife to see your petticoat?” Charles retorted, glancing swiftly about. The foyer was mercifully empty, and the avid audience they’d had near the ballroom doorway had returned their attention to the dancers.
    “I would prefer you release me,” Betsy shot contemptuously over her shoulder, “before you shred my reputation along with my gown!”
    “Then stop behaving like a widgeon and allow me to assist you,” Charles replied pragmatically. “Walk quickly to the door and you may yet save your virtue.”
    Despite her fury and embarrassment, Betsy had sense enough to realize it was the only logical course. Steeling