The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife

Chapter Twenty-five

The duke had made his decision, and he doubted he could wait until the end of the week to announce it to those it affected. For one thing, he could not tolerate another afternoon tea or hour of playing noughts and crosses with his aunt. He and Harriet could not live on stolen moments forever. One of these nights he was going to get caught sneaking into her sarcophagus suite, and no one would believe he was only playing mummy. Or Butler would creak around one of the columns and catch the master kissing the companion. Sooner or later the maids would giggle when they saw him staring at her in a desperate moment or glaring down the footmen for helping her too willingly with some small task.

Perhaps the servants had noticed already.

She was the one.

He had known it all along. He had never needed to look for anyone else. She had seen right through him from the start. She wasn’t afraid of thunder or lightning, and after the last two years Griffin understood that no one could predict or prevent the storms that life held in store. But would it not be nice to have a strong woman to keep one steady during the tempestuous parts? And who would make a better wife than one who had spent most of her life fighting to come out on the right side?

Indeed, it was on the following night that this realization was put to the test by a storm that struck him without warning-before he could formally begin the proper courtship that Harriet desired. In fact, the crisis came before he could even admit to her in private that the Duke of Glenmorgan was no longer in search of a suitable wife.

Harriet thought it had been a delightful evening. Griffin had escorted her and his aunt to the theater. When the play ended, he had claimed both women by the arm to lead them through the crowd of onlookers, who thrilled to the unfoldment of another Boscastle scandal before their eyes. “You do realize what people are thinking, Griffin?” his aunt asked in a curious undertone, all the while smiling and nodding at the awestruck, as if impervious to the whispers that erupted in their wake. “The ton is now of the firm belief that you are not only a reprobate but a man who thumbs his nose at public opinion.”

He shrugged, and Harriet was rather astonished to realize that he had just acknowledged their relationship to not only his aunt but to the beau monde without uttering a single word. Of course, the nature of their relationship had yet to be revealed to her. The true shock appeared to be in the making.

She had been gathering the courage to leave at the end of the week. She had also been too much of a coward to let Lady Powlis know of her decision. Perhaps she would tell her tonight. Griffin had had his chance to speak up.

As they exited the theater, someone in the crowd called out a mocking reference to the Duchess of St. Giles. Harriet had a retort on the tip of her tongue, but suddenly Griffin turned with a fury that sent the offender slinking away before he could be confronted.

“You damned swine,” Griffin said, in an enraged voice that thrilled his audience to no end and sent a chill of foreboding down Harriet’s back. “Why don’t you come forth so that I might have the pleasure of inviting you to pistols at breakfast?”

The gathering dispersed. A few pedestrians hurried down the pavement, hesitating to cross the duke’s path. The other theater guests scrambled for the line of phaetons and town carriages that awaited them. Lady Powlis and Harriet stared at each other in complete silence. The duke wheeled toward the street.

She reached back for his hand. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Not in front of me.”

“I do believe you’re tempting fate tonight, your grace. Can we please go home?”