Untamed by Anna Cowan Page B

outline his needs, the interest in Mme Soulier’s eyes changed, as he had known it would. Darlington wasn’t the only one to whom this presented a challenge that, if met, promised the triumph of a lifetime. She called him naughty and an arrogant boy, but by the time they had finished their second pot of tea she had drawn up an invoice that was entirely outside his means to pay.

Chapter Five
    They had set out at six that morning, making south-west from London. Though the Duke’s unmarked carriage travelled well on the dry roads and Kit had made herself a nest of blankets and cushions, she was exhausted by the time they stopped in the late afternoon in Totton. They had changed horses twice already, but eaten in the carriage throughout the day. Every coaching house they’d stopped at had been too full to accommodate them even for a cup of tea; half the countryside was heading to town for the wedding.
    They sat now in the corner of a packed public room, by a window where they could watch other travellers out in the yard. Kit didn’t look out the window. She watched her companion.
    Even after nine hours she could not stop staring.
    Across the table, taking tea, was the most magnificent woman Kit had ever seen. She wore the rigid dress of the previous generation, but instead of looking outdated she made you long for the gorgeous, riotous colours of another age. Yellow poppies burst across the wine-red silk that bound her torso, chest and shoulders. They trailed down the skirts that waterfalled under their modest table. She was tightly corseted, her trim figure accentuated by the flare of small hoops beneath her skirts. She looked out the window, offering Kit her profile – the fine, straight nose, the smiling, expressive lips and heavy eyes. She wore a black wig, one thick coil falling over her shoulder on to the white linen tucked around her neck.
    The woman turned away from the window and the Duke’s difficult blue eyes laughed out of her face. He took a sip of tea. ‘Not hungry, Miss Sutherland?’
    ‘Your Grace —’ His brow rose, and Kit scowled. ‘I feel like a bloody fool, calling you Lady Rose. I swear, I can’t do it.’
    ‘Then I must return to London,’ the Duke murmured, his voice a frightening, compelling thing. He did not sound like a man, but neither did he sound like any woman Kit had ever met. ‘Your sister will be happy to see me return, I think.’
    Kit looked out the window at the carriage that had driven behind them all day, piled high with luggage. ‘I think my house will suit you even less well than it would have suited the Duke, my lady .’
    The Duke gave an elegant shrug and flicked his fan open. A water scene had been painted onto the paddles with exquisite care, and the lazy motion of his wrist seemed to bring it to life. Kit had seen her brother, Tom, assume theatrical roles in the local, amateur productions – she’d even seen him act the woman more than once, when the number of parts required it. He always remained Tom, acting. The Duke’s transformation was absolute, down to the very marrow of his bones. There wasn’t a single hint of self-consciousness about him. His demeanour, the set of his mouth, the lazy sway of his hand, all belonged to Lady Rose. The ease with which he changed his skin was frightening.
    How could she ever hope to glimpse his true face? Kit knew first-hand that he would let her think she had if it served his purpose.
    Her mind turned again, as it had turned all day, to the question of his purpose. She suspected, still, that his actions were directed not at her but at BenRuin, though she could not answer what he hoped to achieve by sending himself into exile.
    And why disguise himself so that he was as far from the Duke of Darlington as could be?
    ‘My dear Miss Sutherland,’ he murmured, and watched her over the top of his fan. ‘Do not think too deeply about it. I’ll be gone and forgotten soon enough.’
    She wondered if anyone, ever, had managed the