The Duchess of Love by Sally Mackenzie

so full of spirit.” He gripped her hands tightly. “You took an outrageous risk, you know.”
    â€œNo.” She wanted to argue, but her brain and voice weren’t functioning properly. She stared up at him; his face stilled, and his eyes focused on her mouth again. Oh. He was going to kiss her here on High Street in front of Mr. Fenwick’s shop where the entire village could see them.
    She should stop him.
    She’d never been kissed. Not really. The brief brush of his lips at the pond did not count. That had just been a tease … perhaps a promise?
    She tilted her face up, let her eyes drift closed …
    And heard Ditee’s voice behind her.
    â€œVenus, Mr. Fenwick has— what are you doing?”
    Â 
    â€œYou weren’t going to kiss Miss Venus in the middle of High Street, were you?” Nigel asked as they rode back to Hyndon House.
    â€œOf course not.” It hadn’t been the middle of High Street …
    Damn it, he had almost kissed Venus in full view of any passerby. What was the matter with him? He’d never before lost awareness of his surroundings so completely, except perhaps when he’d been standing naked at that pond.
    It was all Venus’s fault. There was something about her that made his good sense shut down. It wasn’t just her beauty; he’d seen plenty of beautiful women in London. It was her spirit, her determination, her sharp tongue. He felt so alive when he was with her, as if something exciting—likely disastrous—was about to happen at any moment.
    But the oddest thing was he also felt very comfortable with her, as if they’d been friends forever.
    His mother had died when he was four; his father when he was thirteen. As duke, he had countless dependents, but he hadn’t had a family in a long, long time. Yes, he had Nigel. Nigel was like a brother, but Nigel was seven years older than he. There had always been that distance—and Nigel would eventually marry and have his own family.
    Drew had always felt deeply alone—but not when he was with Venus.
    â€œThis is only a small, rural village miles from London,” Nigel was saying, “but I’ll wager my yearly income that gossip flourishes here, too, and rumors that the Duke of Greycliffe is showing a marked interest in a certain country miss will be flying back to Town faster than the wind.”
    Blast it, Nigel was probably right. Hell, London’s biggest gossips could have been standing at his elbow and he likely wouldn’t have noticed. But Nigel did have one crucial detail wrong.
    â€œThe gossips won’t be saying the duke is dallying with Venus; no one here knows I’m Greycliffe. They’ll say you were the one misbehaving.”
    The ton wouldn’t know what to make of staid Nigel Valentine, so discreet—before Widow Blackburn, that is—acting in such a publicly scandalous way. Not that they’d know what to make of Drew either if the truth got out, but it seemed dukes were expected to behave as if society’s rules did not apply to them.
    Nigel gaped at him—and then favored him with a long, rather imaginative string of curses.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Drew said. “What was that one about the witch’s teat? I didn’t quite catch it.”
    â€œBloody hell, Drew, I’m going to kill you.”
    â€œYou can’t. Murdering a peer is a capital offense. You don’t want to hang, do you?”
    Drew could almost hear Nigel’s teeth grinding.
    â€œI might risk it.”
    â€œNot a good idea.” They turned through the gates to Hyndon House and started up the drive. “Don’t worry. I’m sure things will sort themselves out.” Drew shot Nigel a look. “Perhaps the gossip will give the widow a disgust of you.”
    â€œNot likely. I—”
    â€œGood God!” Drew reined his horse in so abruptly the animal tossed its head and sidestepped.