Page 130 of A Duke in the Rough

“Give her time to cool down.”

Drake ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I was going to tell her sooner. This morning. Until you”—he poked Simon in the chest—“interrupted me. I was so worried she would get caught in my room . . .” He shook his head. “I never expected she would be so angry.”

“Come back inside. She loves you. She’ll return more willing to listen to reason.”

“She has to marry me, Simon. She just has to.”

They turned toward the door, and Drake’s footsteps stumbled.

In the open doorway, Lord Middlebury sipped his tea, his brows lifting.

CHAPTER 36

Honoria pushed Buttercup to his limit as she galloped across the expanse of Burwood’s—Drake’s—estate, her head pounding each time she thought about his deception. Her hair had blown free from the confines of the pins Susan had so carefully placed earlier that morning. Sun beat against her face and arms, sure to leave freckles on her unprotected skin.

She reined in the horse by a riverbed that cut a swath through the property and found a place where a log provided a perfect mounting block. Carefully maneuvering the horse over, she slid off the saddle onto the log, then lowered herself to the ground.

“Good boy.” She patted the horse on the neck, then pulled out a carrot from a bag the groom had provided, and gave Buttercup his reward.

How Drake had managed to name the horse after her favorite mare back at Overton House slammed into her. Her fingers tangled in Buttercup’s mane, and she leaned her head against his neck and wept.

All along, Drake had been the owner of the beautiful estate. Not a simple man of business as he claimed, but the duke himself.

Like scattered pieces of a puzzle assembled into a complete, recognizable image, comments from Aunt Kitty—which Honoria hadattributed to the countess’s aged mind, took on new meaning. Did the old woman know? Had she been trying to tell Honoria?

And that portrait in Drake’s bedchamber.A relative of the duke’sindeed!

She wiped her nose on her arm—her mother would be appalled—then to further the insult, she picked up a stone and flung it into the river. “Take that, Drake Merrick.”

Goodness. Was it even his real name?

Buttercup whinnied and tossed his beautiful mane as if he shared Honoria’s outrage.

More than a few stones later, she allowed her exhausted body to drop to the log which had assisted her as she dismounted. “Thank you, log.” She wiped her nose on the skirt of her gown.

She didn’t know how long she stared at the flowing river while Buttercup treated himself to the tender grass along the bank.

Birds twittered above her in the branches of the sturdy oak. How dare they be happy when her heart had been ripped from her chest? Sunlight poked through the leafy branches, dappling the ground and moving like ghosts from the gentle breeze ruffling the leaves.

A perfect day. Except when it had gone horribly wrong.

She picked up another stone and threw it into the river.

“Gah!”

A twig cracked behind her. She jumped up and spun around. “Father.”

He walked toward her, leading his horse. “I was worried.”

She turned away and wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Well, you can see I’m fine. Now, go away.”

He came closer, and she prepared for a lecture about manners and decorum.

“Try this one.” He tossed a stone into the air and caught it. “Heavy. It will make a good splash.” He held it out as if it were a peace offering.

She snatched it from his hand. “You’re as bad as he is.”

Staring out at the river, he nodded. “True. But we have one other thing in common.”

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