To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield by Bronwen Evans Page A

Bridgenorth,” he said. And with that he turned on his heel and stalked back to wait by the carriage.
    The Duchess’s face paled to the color of milk and her fingers tightened.  
    “Mother.” Harlow urged his horse closer. “It’s late. Lady Southall must get home.”
    Caitlin understood neither the hatred spewing like sulphur from Jeremy’s mouth nor the urgency in Harlow’s tone.  
    His mother ignored him. “Caitlin—I may call you Caitlin?”
    Still completely taken aback, Caitlin could only nod agreement.
    “Thank you. Please, Caitlin. Forgive my son. He is young and does not think before he speaks.”
    It was more than that, Caitlin knew, but as she had no idea as to the origin of the bad blood between the Dangerfields and her father there was little she could say except, “Think nothing of it, Your Grace.” After all, it wasn’t the duchess’s fault that her son—both her sons—seemed unable to be civil to their neighbors. Why should Caitlin care? All she required was the opportunity to win her house back.
    “Since Jeremy has chosen to be rude,” the duchess continued, “I do hope my eldest son is not bothering you.”
    “Not at all. He has been helping me with a project dear to my heart.” That, at least, was true.
    “How interesting.” The duchess sent Dangerfield a beaming smile. “I do hope Harlow remembers that he is a gentleman.”
    Dangerfield looked even more uncomfortable and his mother laughed. “I heard some interesting gossip in London, Harlow. I shall discuss it with you when you get home.”  
    Caitlin watched, fascinated, as the dreaded Duke of Dangerfield’s cheeks flushed a very unmanly shade of pink.  
    “Mother, is there any need for this?”
    “Absolutely. We shall discuss the significance of your social schedule later this evening. Don’t be late I shall be waiting up. It has been lovely to meet you, Lady Southall.” And, with another smile, the duchess turned back toward the carriage.   “Come along, Jeremy.”  
    “Can’t I ride back with you, Harlow?” Jeremy asked.
    “Not today,” Dangerfield said. “I have to see Lady Southall home first. You go with mother. We can go out riding tomorrow morning.”
    Once again the boy shot a furious glare at Caitlin. She, in turn, studied him, making sure to keep her face as expressionless as she could. What on earth was wrong with the boy? She couldn’t understand why he’d taken such an aversion to her.  
    He didn’t look much like Harlow. They both had dark hair, but Jeremy’s face was longer, not as square. He had the same nose, like their mother’s, straight and in proportion to the rest of his face, but his eyes were nothing like Harlow’s. Harlow had his mother’s beautiful, wide gray eyes, accentuated by long black lashes. Jeremy’s eyes were more hooded and she couldn’t quite make out the color. But he looked somewhat familiar. And he certainly looked a mess with his black and swollen eye. He’d been in a fight. There were scratches on his cheek and his knuckles were scabbed.
    She tried not to listen to the pair’s private conversation, but Jeremy was so loud.
    “How did you get the black eye?” Dangerfield looked grim.
    Jeremy flushed and bit his lip. “It was nothing of importance. A few of us were practicing our boxing. My face accidentally got in the way.”
      Harlow couldn’t see Jeremy’s expression, but Caitlin could. The boy was lying. Why?
    Harlow must have guessed this because he said, “Do you need me to come to the school?”
    “No.” Jeremy’s chin lifted and his fists clenched tight. “I can fight my own battles, thank you. I don’t need you to treat me as if I’m still a child. I can manage on my own. But what are you doing with her ?” He stabbed a finger accusingly at Caitlin. “I don’t need my older brother, the Duke, to marry a Bridgenorth just so I...”
    “Be quiet.” The ice in Dangerfield’s tone was enough to freeze his brother into silence, but it was