Some Like It Wicked. Кэрол Мортимер

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 been much in society during the years of her marriage; indeed, Barnaby had considered it part of her wifely duties to accompany him to all the balls and parties given by the ton and so she had long ago learnt to engage in the polite and meaningless small talk that made up so much of the conversation at those entertainments, and to keep any of her original thoughts and ideas to herself.

      Indeed, until Pandora had met and become friends with Sophia and Genevieve shortly after the start of the current Season, she had long assumed that there were no intelligent ladies or gentlemen left in society, let alone those who found that inanity as tedious as she did herself.

      It appeared that Rupert—Devil—Stirling was yet another who did not enjoy meaningless conversation …

      She sat forwards slightly, her interest piqued. ‘Perhaps you would care to discuss literature? Or politics?’

      His brows rose. ‘Really?’

      Pandora nodded as she looked across at him earnestly. ‘My father was a Greek scholar, and ensured that I am quite conversant on either subject.’

      Rupert gave a reluctant quirk of his lips as he once again found himself falling victim to those mesmerising and beautiful violet-coloured eyes. ‘I assume that is also the reason you have the unlikely name of Pandora?’ The original Pandora, if Rupert recalled his Greek studies correctly, was reputed to have been a woman given a gift by each of the gods, in order that she might bring about the ruination of mortal men.

      There was no doubting that this Pandora possessed the reputed beauty attributed to the original, but did she also have the power to bring about man’s ruination?

      If the gossip a year ago concerning that ill-fated duel was to be believed, then the answer to that question was a definitive yes!

      Pandora eyed Devil Stirling warily. ‘I believe that by naming me such my father believed I might be gifted with both grace and beauty.’

      ‘Then he was not disappointed.’ The Duke gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘But did he somehow forget that the opening of Pandora’s box was also reputed to have released all number of evils upon man and beast?’

      Pandora felt no warmth at his agreeing to her having been gifted with grace and beauty. How could she, when it was so quickly followed by this softly delivered insult? ‘If my father were still alive, I am sure that he would have enjoyed debating with you as to whether or not that destruction was Pandora’s doing or that of man himself.’

      Gold brows rose over derisive grey eyes. ‘Your father was of the opinion that every man—and woman—is instrumental in bringing about their own destruction?’

      She arched fine brows. ‘You disagree?’

      Rupert could never before remember having a conversation with a woman on the subject of Greek mythology, let alone debating its philosophy. Obviously her father had been a learned man and it appeared to be an education he had felt no qualms in imparting to his only daughter.

      Rupert’s physical appreciation of her had already caused him to regret her presence in his carriage. He certainly did not wish to know that there was so much more to her than the flirtatious beauty malicious gossip had led him to believe.

      ‘—telling me precisely where we are going, your Grace?’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ Rupert frowned at this interruption to his musings.

      ‘I asked if you would mind very much telling me where we are going?’ The huskiness of her naturally sensuous voice had sharpened in her obvious anxiety.

      He gave a lazy smile. ‘I was unsure, once we were safely ensconced in my carriage, as to whether or not I would find myself with the dubious pleasure of dealing with a hysterical lady and advised my coachman to drive about London until you had calmed down enough for me to ascertain exactly where it is that you reside.’

      ‘My home is in Jermyn Street, your Grace.’ Pandora’s smile was rueful as she waited quietly whilst he advised his coachman of their destination before continuing. ‘I admit that I was upset by Lord Sugdon’s familiar behaviour earlier, your Grace, but I don’t believe I could ever be accused of being the sort of woman who swoons easily.’ The Duke did not need to know that Pandora had been very close to doing exactly that when the erstwhile nobleman had ripped her gown and then crushed her in his arms so effortlessly.

      ‘Then what sort of lady would you say that you are?’

      She eyed him suspiciously, but could read nothing from his enigmatic expression as he relaxed back against the seat opposite her. ‘The ton would have you believe—’

      ‘And I am sure I have already made clear my own opinion of what the ton may or may not choose to believe or say, in regard to yourself or anyone else.’ He gave a dismissive gesture with one long and elegant hand.

      Pandora moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I am afraid I don’t understand the question when my own opinion of myself must obviously differ greatly from that of others.’

      ‘Why obviously?’ He frowned. ‘The ton believes me to be arrogant and proud, and something of a rake with the ladies, and I can find no argument with that opinion.’

      She smiled at this blunt self-appraisal. ‘But you are so much more than that, are you not?’

      His brows rose. ‘Am I?’

      Pandora nodded. ‘This evening you have been both chivalrous and kind.’

      ‘I would advise you not to attribute me with virtues I do not, nor would ever wish, to possess,’ he warned.

      She shook her head in gentle rebuke. ‘I have every reason to know you to be both those things after the manner in which you … dispensed so effortlessly with Lord Sugdon’s unwanted attentions towards me earlier tonight.’

      The Duke’s mouth thinned. ‘And if I were to tell you that my actions had very little to do with you? That my mood this evening was already such that I merely welcomed the opportunity to hit someone? Anyone? For whatever reason!’

      Recalling the content of this man’s earlier conversation with the Earl of Sherbourne, Pandora had some idea as to the reason for the Duke’s bad humour. ‘I would then say that the reason you acted in the way that you did was irrelevant, when it resulted in my rescue.’

      Rupert looked quizzically across at her. ‘And, if I may be allowed to say so, Pandora Maybury, I find you are not at all as the ton describes you.’

      She laughed musically. ‘Oh, you may certainly say it, your Grace—’

      ‘Rupert.’

      Her humour instantly ceased, her expression now one of uncertainty. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      He regarded her beneath hooded lids. ‘I believe I should like to hear you call me Rupert.’

      She sat as far back on the bench seat as possible. ‘I could not possibly address you in so familiar a manner, sir.’

      ‘Why not? You are a Duchess, I am a Duke, therefore we are social equals. Or are you already so