Page 91 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“How dare you!” she cried, and her voice carried clearly through the open windows. “How dare you lay hands on me!”

Henry reacted with the speed of desperation, lunging forward to catch her wrist before she could retreat into the house and complete whatever mad scheme she’d concocted.

“What are you trying to achieve?” he demanded. “What game are you playing?”

“Game?” Her laugh was brittle and wild. “You’ve compromised me, Your Grace. Lured me out here under false pretenses and then?—”

“Enough.” The word cut through her theatrics. “I’ve had quite enough of your machinations, Miss Florentia Lytton. I believe I have been very courteous with you, but that ends now.”

She struggled against his grip. Her eyes were wild with a mixture of desperation and calculation. “You cannot simply?—”

“I can and I will.” Henry’s voice was ice-cold as he began to propel her toward the back of the terrace. They moved away from the lighted windows and potential witnesses. “You want to play games? Then let’s finish this properly.”

CHAPTER 32

“What are you doing?” she gasped. Her tone was shrill. She stumbled slightly as he guided her down a set of stone steps toward a side entrance.

“Taking you home,” he replied grimly. “To your grandmother, where you can explain this evening’s entertainment to someone who might actually believe your performance.”

“You cannot—this is kidnapping!”

“This is preventing a scandal, which I suspect was never your true intention anyway.”

He kept his grip on her wrist firm but careful, ensuring he left no marks that could be used as evidence of rough handling. His mind worked furiously as he calculated the best way to extract them both from this situation with minimum damage.

The side entrance led to a narrow alley where his carriage waited. Henry had learned long ago to always have an escape route at such gatherings, though he’d never expected to need it quite like this.

“Thompson,” he called to his driver. “Lady Oakley’s townhouse, quickly and quietly.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As the carriage pulled away from the gathering, Florentia finally seemed to grasp that her scheme had failed completely. She sat pressed against the opposite seat, her torn sleeve clutched dramatically to her chest, and her eyes bright with unshed tears of frustration.

“You’ve ruined everything,” she whispered.

“No,” Henry replied quietly, watching the darkened streets pass by outside the window. “I’ve simply refused to be another casualty of your ambitions.”

Florentia looked rightly enraged. Her chest heaved, but she seemed to realize that there was nothing she could do short of jumping out of the rolling carriage.

“You cannot truly mean to drag me inside like some common criminal!” Florentia’s voice cracked with desperation as Henry’s carriage drew to a halt outside Lady Oakley’s townhouse.

“I mean to see this finished properly,” Henry replied, his tone brooking no argument as he helped her down from the carriage. “Your performance tonight requires an audience capable of appreciating its true nature.”

The butler who answered Henry’s urgent knock took one look at the Duke’s thunderous expression and Florentia’s disheveled state before stepping aside without question.

“Where is Lady Oakley?” Henry demanded, not bothering with pleasantries.

“In the parlor with Miss Lytton, Your Grace. Shall I?—”

“No need.” Henry strode toward the parlor, maintaining his firm grip on Florentia’s wrist. “Send word to Lord Oakley immediately. Tell him his daughter requires his immediate attention at this address.”

The parlor doors burst open with enough force to rattle the hinges. Annabelle, who had been seated beside her grandmother near the fire, shot to her feet in alarm.

“Henry! What on earth—” She broke off as she took in Florentia’s torn sleeve and wild appearance. “Florentia? What’s happened?”

“Your sister,” Henry said grimly, finally releasing Florentia’s wrist, “has just attempted to orchestrate a most elaborate scandal.”

Lady Oakley’s sharp eyes took in the scene with the practiced assessment of a woman who had survived decades of society intrigue. “Close the door, Your Grace. Whatever this is about, it requires privacy.”

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