The Duke Diaries by Sophia Nash

pawed the ground. “Do you always talk so much? I mean, before all this sleeping together business.”
    Shock and surprise paid a call, and Verity suddenly wanted to disappear. “I beg your pardon?”
    “As you should. And I accept, even if you have not the faintest idea that a proper apology should not be littered with excuses. But there is one condition if I am to accept your apology right and proper.” His words were measured as he dismounted and finally turned his full gaze in her direction.
    She sucked in her breath. “Of course,” she whispered as she followed his suit by dismounting as well.
    “Yes, you will agree to it, or yes, you want to hear it?”
    “The latter, unless the former doesn’t include marriage,” she continued, fiddling with the reins of the bridle. “If it does, I choose the horsewhip. Although, I’ve never heard that proper acceptances of apologies include conditions.”
    He glanced at her, and shook his head as he closed the distance between them.
    At least he wasn’t furious with her. It was always a shock to see him in the flesh. Her cousin Esme might have captured his essence on a canvas once or twice. But it was the grace and surety of his movements that enthralled her. That, and those pea green eyes and the lazy way they gazed down at her, all the while razor-sharp intelligence lurked in his black pupils.
    “I do not remember you being quite so vexing when you were an infant.”
    “Thirteen is not an infant!”
    He hooded his eyes further. “And when were you three and ten?”
    She sighed in exasperation. “When you were one and twenty, and thought any lady younger than six and ten was an infant.”
    “Actually, any woman younger than seven and ten was considered an infant when I reached the advanced age you suggest.” He paused for a beat. “By the by, V, you are no novice at changing the course of a conversation yourself.”
    She would not allow smugness to hollow her cheeks. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. And now I am very nearly late. I must be on my—”
    “You will paint something as penance,” he spoke softly.
    “Paint?” Why she was the absolute worst artist not only in her family, but in the whole of Derbyshire, she was convinced. “But, I am very ill-trained, I—” She stopped and reversed course. “Of course. I will paint whatever you like. But really, I must be on my way, I—”
    “Actually, there are three things to be painted. Two signs, on either side of this hill, warning riders to slow down.”
    She laughed in relief. That was nothing. “Of course, if you like.”
    “And I’m certain you’ve accepted the invitation to the Talmadges’ infernal entertainment? You will dance the second set with me, of course.”
    “Well, I wasn’t actually certain I would attend—” She stopped mid-sentence when his face darkened. “Of course I shall, if only to make amends.” She took care not to agree to dance with him—only to attend the event.
    He nodded. “Very good. And lastly, the wood fence surrounding the south field. It needs a good whitewashing.”
    She widened her eyes. “But it’s . . . it’s millions of miles long.”
    “No need to delve into details here and now. I believe you mentioned you’re late.”
    She glanced at his boots to regain her composure. Was it her imagination or were his feet becoming a bit cloven-like?
    “Do see to the fence in the next sennight, Lady V.”
    “I cannot,” she replied with more force than she wanted. “I have far more important things to attend to.”
    “Really?” He raised his brows. “Such as menus for one, horse collisions for two, and embroidery for many?”
    “I will have you know that that is entirely not the case.”
    “I see.”
    “By that look on your face it’s obvious you do not see at all.” She knew she sounded like a pretentious ninny, unsalted by the smallest trace of wit. Why was she arguing with him? She just could not stop herself. “I’ll have you know