Regency Scandal. Кэрол Мортимер

rescued from one unacceptable situation only to now find herself in an even worse one!

      Although she seriously doubted that most women would find the interest of a man as aristocratically handsome and challenging as the eighth Duke of Stratton in the least unacceptable!

      Indeed, once upon a time, before her unhappy marriage, she would have been delighted—nay—ecstatic, to have attracted the attentions of such a handsome and eligible gentleman as he. No longer. Pandora’s only wish now was to draw as little attention to herself as possible.

      ‘Then let us both depart, your Grace,’ she accepted reluctantly as she reached up to pull up the hood of the cloak so that it covered part of her face and all of her hair.

      A disguise that proved absolutely useless in helping her to pass unnoticed through the servants’ hallways and kitchen!

      How could it be any other way, when a gentleman as recognisable as Rupert Stirling strode arrogantly along at her side? Sophia Rowlands’s household staff were obviously all agog at seeing a handsome Duke marching through their midst, their gazes speculative as they moved to the cloaked woman at his side.

      ‘Not quite the unobserved departure we might both have wished for,’ he acknowledged ruefully as they emerged outside into the dark lane at the back of the crowded and candlelit mansion house.

      ‘No.’ Pandora frowned as she saw there was only one carriage awaiting them there. A fashionable black carriage, which bore the Stratton coat of arms upon the door the groom now hurried forwards to open. ‘My own carriage does not appear to have arrived as yet, your Grace—’

      ‘Nor will it,’ the Duke assured her briskly, maintaining that firm hold upon her elbow as he strode towards his own carriage. ‘Whatever society may say about me, your Grace, my nanny and tutors ensured that I grew up knowing my manners perfectly, even if I do not always choose to put them into practice.’ He raised an expectant brow as he waited for her to precede him into the interior of the ducal carriage. ‘One of those precepts being that a gentleman does not abandon a lady in distress,’ he added softly.

      The only distress Pandora suffered at this moment was the thought of being seen driving through the streets in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage and then arriving back at her home in that so-called gentleman’s carriage rather than her own!

       Chapter Three

      She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I believe I would rather this was an occasion upon which you chose to ignore the teachings of your nanny and tutors, your Grace.’

      There was a stilled and expectant silence for several seconds and then the Duke gave a loud bark of spontaneous laughter. ‘My friend Carfax omitted to mention that you are an Original, Pandora Maybury,’ he finally murmured appreciatively.

      ‘Possibly because I am not.’ She became flustered as she recognised the speculation in the cool and assessing grey gaze now levelled at her.

      ‘I beg to differ,’ the Duke drawled.

      ‘That is your prerogative, of course.’ She nodded coolly. ‘But I really would prefer to return to my home as I arrived, alone and in my own carriage.’

      ‘Why?’

      Her agitation increased. ‘I— Well, because—’

      ‘Can it possibly be that you are nervous at thoughts of travelling alone in the ducal carriage with me?’

      ‘Of course I’m not!’ Pandora glared up at him in the darkness.

      ‘Good.’ His mouth firmed with satisfaction as he all but lifted her inside the lantern-lit carriage and placed her on one of the plushly upholstered seats. He swiftly followed her inside to sit directly opposite her and nodded tersely to the groom to close the door, the movement of the carriage only seconds later evidence that they were now on their way.

      On the way to where, Pandora was unsure, when the Duke had made no enquiry as to where in London her house was situated.

      Rupert studied her between narrowed lids, able to take in her full appearance in the warm glow given off by the lantern inside the carriage. Her hair and lashes were of pure and deep gold, a perfect foil for those deep violet-coloured eyes, her skin the colour of ivory, her lips—full and pouting lips that hinted at the sensuous nature which had perhaps caused two gentlemen to fight a duel over her—the colour of ripe raspberries. The same colour as the nipples he had glimpsed through her chemise earlier, tipping those surprisingly plump breasts …

      If released from their pins, would her golden curls be long enough to fall over those beautiful, pert breasts, thereby allowing those ripe berries to peak through invitingly? More interestingly, once fully unclothed, would the curls between her thighs be that same enticing gold—

      Dear Lord, was his life not complicated enough, without sitting here contemplating what the notorious Pandora Maybury looked like naked!

      ‘It really was unnecessary for you to manhandle me that way, your Grace,’ she now spoke primly into the silence. ‘I assure you I am both young and agile enough to climb into a carriage without your assistance.’

      ‘And yet you made no effort to do so,’ Rupert pointed out coolly, not at all pleased at the direction in which his thoughts had so recently been straying.

      ‘Because, as I had already stated, I had every intention of seeking out my own carriage.’

      ‘And I have already explained why that arrangement did not suit me.’ Rupert’s patience with this situation—what little he possessed—was wearing thin as he glared coldly across the width of the carriage at his reluctant companion.

      Her lashes lowered as a blush coloured the ivory of her cheeks. ‘I have told you how grateful I am for your help earlier this evening—’

      ‘One would never believe so from your manner towards me now!’

      Pandora gave a pained frown as she looked across the carriage at him. Perhaps his criticism was merited; she had behaved less than graciously towards him this past few minutes, because, despite wishing it were otherwise, she was utterly disconcerted at finding herself alone with Rupert Stirling in his carriage.

      Every wary—and utterly weary—bone in her body had stiffened just now as she saw the speculative way in which his gaze had roamed so familiarly over her face and body. And against the warning of the rational part of her brain, she was equally as aware of his disturbing presence as he sat opposite her.

      The gold of his hair now fell rakishly across his brow and curled about his ears and nape, the glow from the lantern lending an austereness to his high cheekbones and firmly squared jaw, his lazy sprawl on the upholstered seat totally at odds with the sharpness of that intelligent grey gaze as he continued to look at her from between narrowed lids. He was, without doubt, one of the handsomest gentlemen Pandora had ever beheld—even more so than Barnaby, who had possessed boyish good looks as well as dark hair and blue eyes.

      Unfortunately, the Duke of Stratton’s reputation also rendered him the most potentially dangerous gentleman Pandora ever beheld, too, which was the very reason she felt so totally out of her depth in his company. ‘It was precisely because I did not wish to inconvenience you any further this evening that I asked to return home in my own carriage.’

      The nostrils flared on that aristocratically straight nose. ‘Do you suppose we could possibly talk of something else, Pandora?’

      She blinked. ‘Of course, if you wish it.’

      ‘Indeed—’ he nodded tersely ‘—I find myself exceedingly bored with the repetition of our present conversation.’

      As no doubt he now regretted driving her home at all, Pandora accepted heavily as the Duke turned away dismissively to look out of the carriage window at the other carriages travelling London’s moonlit streets.

      Pandora had