The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

He gestured for her to precede him out into the evening.

Surely Papa did not mean for her to see him to the stable? It was not necessary.

The corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk. “Afraid?”

“Ha. You don’t intimidate me, Mr. Butler.” At least not very much.

She swept ahead of him into the night. He stepped out after her, shutting the door behind them. They walked around the house toward the stable at the back.

“It’s very dark out.” She glanced up at the moonless night. Visibility was low. She hated to ask the question, but felt compelled to do so. “Are you certain you do not want to accept my father’s offer to stay the night?”

“Do you want me to stay the night, Miss Bates?”

His deep voice felt like velvet on her skin. “I only ask out of concern.”

“Pity. You needn’t fret though. I’ll make it home safely.”

Nodding, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest as they advanced on the stables, her steps hard and quick.

She sent him a curious glance, wondering why he should want her to accompany him. Why did he not simply take his leave? He had never sought her out before. He’d resented all the times she had been foisted on him when they were young. Was it so he could harangue her further about her rumormongering?

“Is this where you berate me further to restore your reputation, Mr. Butler?”

Why else would he want to be alone with her?

“No need to go over that again. I trust you will do the right thing. You’re the vicar’s daughter. A good Christian.” His eyes seemed to be laughing at her now. “Of course, you will do the proper thing.”

She bristled. “I never claimed to be a saint. I’m not without flaws.” In her experience some of the most righteous people possessed the greatest flaws. She had always marveled at that contradiction.

“No, you’re not a saint,” he agreed, and she bristled even further, stopping hard outside the stables. There was no need for her to go beyond this point with him. He could fetch his own mount himself.

She turned to face him. “Here you are.” His expression was difficult to read in the darkness.

He stopped, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “It’s been diverting.”

“Diverting?” she snapped. “Certainly not my company? You once called me sanctimonious. You said I had the personality of a rotten lemon.”

“Ahh. That was not well done of me.” The levity in his voice vanished, replaced with a hint of embarrassment. If she wasn’t so annoyed, she’d enjoy his seeming contriteness. “I’m sorry for that.”

She blinked, startled. Was he apologizing?

“I was young. It’s not an excuse, but I am sorry for any pain or discomfort I caused you.”

This was unexpected.

Who was this man?

She did not know what to say, but then that was fitting as she did not know him any longer.

Perhaps she never had. Perhaps everything she thought about him had been wrong.

She shook her head and then stopped to nod jerkily. It was as much acknowledgment of his words that she could offer. “Take care riding home, Mr. Butler.”

There. Those words seemed safe.

Turning, she fled back through the dark to the hulking shape of her house, still hugging herself when she reached the sanctuary of her bedchamber. She lowered her arms to undress and slip into her nightgown. At her dressing table, she sank down on the bench and began taking down her hair.

A knock at her door made her jerk. “Who is it?”

Papa’s voice called out and she released a shaky breath that turned into a hoarse little laugh. She was being silly. Had she expected Mr. Butler to give chase? Her heart raced a little at the prospect, imagining him following her and bursting inside her chamber. With another shake of her head she told herself that no part of her thrilled at the notion.

“Come in.”

Papa shuffled into the room. “Did you see Mr. Butler off, Imogen?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“He’s such a nice man.”

She forced herself to nod in agreement. “Yes, he is.”

“Such a shame all the misfortune to befall him.”

Her stomach twisted in on itself as she considered how disappointed Papa would be with her if he knew of her recent actions. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale. “Did you need something, Papa?”

“Oh, yes. I was in bed and then I remembered the letter.” He lifted a trembling hand, stretching it toward her, a piece of foolscap she had not noticed when he first entered the room clutched between his fingers. It shook on the air between them. “It came some days ago, but it slipped my mind.”

She smiled indulgently. A great many things slipped his mind.

“What is this?” She stood from her seat and took it from his fingers.

“Your cousin, Winifred, wrote to us.”

At the mention of Winifred’s name, her stomach heaved yet again. Not that a letter from her was anything dire or even rare. She wrote to them a few times a year. Papa was her sole uncle, after all, and Imogen her only cousin.

They had been close once. Before Winifred married.

She began reading, skimming over Winifred’s neat scrawl regaling them with her busy social calendar and Maynard’s many achievements at school. It was difficult to fathom. Winifred was only a year older than Imogen, but she had a seven-year-old son. A son that had been away at school ever since he was out of leading strings.