CHAPTER 6

Fleet looked at her. His blue gaze was warm enough to curl her toes.

“I can imagine why, and it is nothing to do with your money.”

Clara raised her chin.

“Since you are not to give me the benefit of your theoretical experience, your grace, I refuse to permit you to flirt with me. Rather I suggest you take me home.” She looked around. “Indeed, I have no notion where we are!”

The path was narrow here and wended its way through thick shrubbery. Even in winter the trees and bushes grew dark and close overhead, enclosing them in a private world. It was a little disconcerting to discover just how alone they were in this frosty, frozen wilderness.

Fleet was smiling gently. “Take this as a free piece of advice, Miss Davencourt,” he said. “Always pay attention to your surroundings. The aim of the rake will always be to separate you from company so that he may compromise you.”

He put up a hand and touched one gloved finger lightly to her cheek. Her gaze flew to his as the featherlight touch burned like a brand.

“And once he has you to himself,” the duke continued softly, “a rake will waste no time in kissing you, Miss Davencourt.”

For what seemed like an age they stared into each other’s eyes. Clara’s heart twisted with longing and regret. Could he look at her like that if he did not care for her? He would deny it of course. Lust was easy for him to admit, love impossible.

Her body ached for him with a sudden, fierce fire. His presence engulfed her. She felt shaky, hot with longing. She raised her hand and brushed his away. Her fingers were not quite steady.

“Your point is well made, your grace.” Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat. “I shall gaurd against that possibility.”

Fleet’s hand fell and he straightened up in his seat. Clara breathed again, a little unevenly.

“Take me home,” she said again, and there was more than a little entreaty in her voice.

They came out from under the trees and joined the main path. A gentleman on a very frisky bay rode past, touched his hat to Clara and bowed slightly to Fleet, then pirouetted away with a fine display of horsemanship.

“Coxcomb,” Fleet said.

His face was set in grim planes, the lines of his mouth hard. Clara’s sore heart shrank to see it.

The next barouche to pass them contained a gentleman and two painted ladies, who smiled and ogled in their direction, the gentleman in particular giving Clara a thorough scrutiny through his quizzing glass. Fleet cut them dead.

“Friends of yours?” Clara enquired politely.

“Not of the type that I would acknowledge when I am escorting you.” Fleet paused perforce to avoid several young blades who had deliberately blocked their path in order to pay their respects to Clara.

“Walton, Jeffers, Ancrum and Tarver,” Fleet said, when they had moved on. “I begin to see your difficulty, Miss Davencourt.” He paused. “Perhaps if people see me squiring you about, that may dissuade the gazetted fortune hunters from pursuing you.”

“I doubt that will dissuade anyone,” Clara said. “It is well known that you have no intention of marrying, your grace, so it is more likely to encourage them if they think that I am prepared to spend time with a notorious rake.”

Fleet cast her a look. “Nevertheless, Miss Davencourt,” he said slowly, “perhaps I could help you.”

Clara looked hopeful. “You have reconsidered?”

Fleet shook his head. “Not at all. I will not teach you about rakes. That would be foolhardy. But as it is only for a few weeks I will act as your escort while you remain in town and keep the gentlemen from troubling you.” He smiled. “All in the most perfect and irreproachably paternal fashion, of course.”

There was a thread of steel beneath his courteous tone, as though he would brook no refusal, and it brought Clara’s chin up in defiance.

“Pray, do not conceive it to be your duty to help me, your grace,” she said sharply. “I would detest the thought that I was a burden to you.”

Fleet smiled a challenge. “If I cannot help you in one way, why not accept my assistance in another, Miss Davencourt?” he said persuasively. “I will protect you from unwanted attention and, since you have no wish to marry, I shall not be getting in the way of any gentleman you would consider a genuine suitor.”

Clara bit her lip. In some ways it was a tempting proposition since it would free her from the odious attentions of insincere suitors. In other ways, though, his suggestion was sheer madness. To spend time in Fleet’s company would only remind her of all the things she had loved about him, all the things she could not have. The cure had been hard enough last time. To invite trouble again now was plain foolish.

“No,” she said, unequivocally.

Fleet shrugged and her heart shrivelled that she meant so little to him one way or another.

“Very well, then.” His tone was careless. “I shall take you home.”

FLEET REFUSED to leave Clara at the door as she would have wished, but escorted her into the hall. There was high color in her face, both from the cold air and from their quarrel, and she refused to meet his eye. Her chin was raised and her whole body was stiff with haughtiness. Fleet found it amusing, provocative and downright seductive. He wanted to kiss the hauteur from her lips until her face was flushed with passion, rather than pride. He wanted to feel that voluptuous body softening, responding, under his hands. He shifted uncomfortably. He had always wanted Clara Davencourt in the most simple and fundamental way. It was unfortunate he simply could not have her and he had to learn to live with that. Under the circumstances it was probably the most foolish idea to offer her his escort and he should be grateful she had turned him down. He was uncomfortably aware that it had been the interest of Tarver and Walton and half a score others that had made him wish to keep her close.

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