To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield by Bronwen Evans

him. The impulse to make those stunning, ethereal, green eyes deepen in sensual delight, nearly overcame his good sense.
    But no. He would not deviate from his plan. While he had no qualms about seducing her it would be on his terms and according to his timetable. Winning the wager came first. Her seduction second. Her agreement to marry third. In that order.
    He stepped away from her. “All that fire,” he murmured. “Save it for when you come to my bed. It will enhance the pleasure.” He noted the flare in her gaze, the ripple in her throat as she gave a hard swallow, and smiled. “After you, my lady.” And gestured for her to precede him from the room.
    Stepping around him, she dragged in a breath that held a distinct—and satisfying—tremor. “I can’t see what women see in you. You’re such a bore.”
    “Ah,” he said to her departing back. “But then you’ve not had the pleasure of seeing all of me.”  
    Henry sighed. The only response from Caitlin was the tightening of her shoulders and a small misstep.
     
    She had driven no more than a mile from the lodge, with her unwanted escort on Champers trotting along beside her, when they rounded a bend and almost collided with a large carriage. A carriage bearing the Dangerfield crest.
    Luckily, neither vehicle was moving very fast and Caitlin had time to pull the reins hard to the left and run off onto the grass verge.
    Dangerfield, cursing, rode ahead to chastise the coachman. But before he could reach it, the carriage came to a halt, the door was flung open, and a young lad sporting a very black and swollen eye jumped down.  
    “I say,” he called. “That was close. Are you all right, miss?”  
    Caitlin had no time to answer him. He’d already seen the horseman heading his way.  
    “Harlow.” The boy raced towards Dangerfield’s horse. “You are still at Telford. I was concerned you’d leave before I arrived home from school.”
    This must be Dangerfield’s younger brother, Caitlin decided, still humming with shock at the close call. At least he appeared to be unaffected by the incident.
    Dangerfield did not dismount as the boy ran up. “I promised in my letter I would be here.” He glanced across to where she sat, and there was the oddest look upon his face. But only for a moment. Then he returned his attention to the boy. “Jeremy, why don’t you jump back in the carriage and calm mother? I’ll see you back at Telford Court. Then,” his tone turned dry, “you can tell me all about the black eye.”  
    Before the boy could respond a woman stepped down from the carriage. “No need, Harlow. Your mother could do with a stretch.”  
    Walking toward Caitlin’s gig she smiled wryly. “I’m Lydia Telford. I’m sorry, my dear, I hope we did not give you a fright.”
    Caitlin had never met Dangerfield’s mother. She’d seen her from afar but never been invited to approach. Harlow looked so much like her.
    The Duchess was still an attractive woman. Only a glimmer of grey showed in the fair tresses. However, while Harlow’s face resembled his mother’s fine aristocratic features, he must have received his dark curls from his father. Caitlin didn’t remember the previous Duke at all.
    “Likewise, Duchess,” she responded, politely. “I hope you were not hurt.”
    “Not at all. Harlow you must introduce me to your companion, although I can guess who this delightful young woman is. You must be Lady Caitlin Southall.”
    As she spoke the young boy—Jeremy—moved to his mother’s side, staring at Caitlin as though she were some evil monster he’d discovered under his bed. The ferocious expression on his face made him far less attractive than she’d originally thought.
    “Lady Southall.” The Duchess spoke hesitantly. “May I present my younger son, Jeremy. Jeremy, make your bow to our neighbor, Lady Southall.”
    But the boy didn’t move—except to look her over. Then a sneer formed on his lips. “I refuse to acknowledge a