Page 134 of A Duke in the Rough

“Just one more thing before we go.”

“Anything. You only have to name it.”

“Pick me more flowers, closer to the water’s edge.”

As he stooped again, she nudged Buttercup forward, and as if the beast understood, he lowered his muzzle and pushed Drake into the water.

CHAPTER 37

Soaked through, Drake’s spirits were anything but dampened as he and Honoria rode back to the house in silence. Her anger had cooled. The tiny smile gracing her very kissable lips gave her away.

She would forgive him—if she hadn’t already.

But he would be true to his word and give her time to decide on her own.

Just as he had needed her to accept him for who he was, she needed to make her own choices about her future.

As they approached the house, Honoria broke their silence. “I’m not the only one you need to apologize to for your deception. You need to tell your guests. I would suggest you do so without delay.”

“As soon as I change, I will have Frampton gather everyone in the ballroom.” Taking a chance, he added, “Will you stand next to me?”

She shook her head. “You need to do this alone.”

A short distance from the house, he helped her down from Buttercup, then after watching her go inside, took the horses back to the stable.

Micah, the groom, glanced up from where he was brushing the black beast Mr. Pratt had ridden during the hunt. “Did you catch her,Your Grace?” His smile broadened. “Or did you decide to take a dip in the river?”

“Both.” Drake dismounted and handed him Major’s and Buttercup’s reins.

“I trust Lady Honoria had no trouble with our friend Buttercup.”

“None at all. She was born to ride him.” Drake stroked the horse’s neck.

“Might I expect to be saddling him for her in the future?”

“That remains to be seen. But I certainly hope so. Thank you for the loan of the clothes. I’ll have them washed and returned.”

Micah shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Your Grace, but I’ll say one thing. Working for you won’t be dull. As for the clothes, don’t bother yourself. I only wear them for mucking out the stable.”

No longer able to put off the inevitable, Drake strode back to the big house, garnering several odd looks from a few of the guests—primarily Lord Middlebury and Lydia Whyte.

Ignoring them, he called on Frampton, instructing him to tell the guests the duke had an important announcement in the ballroom, then raced up to his room to change.

He skidded to a halt inside his room. “Honoria!” Memories of the night before flooded back.

She stood peering up at the portrait of his father. “Even in the dim light of morning, I knew there was something familiar about this man. You said he was a relative of the duke’s.”

“My father. Not Francis Merrick. Henry Pendrake. My real name is Pierce Henry Quincy Pendrake.”

Still not looking at him, she said, “Will you tell me how this all came about?”

“Of course. Any time you’re ready. I was just going to change and then make my confession to the guests.”

She turned, giving him a tremulous smile. “Then I shall leave you.” She looked up at the portrait again. “I think I would have liked him. He had a nice smile.”

As she quit the room, his heart had the audacity to hope herrequest to know his history meant she had forgiven him—or at the very least, had begun to.

Once presentable for his announcement—thanks to Dawson’s fastidious eye—Drake strode toward the ballroom, hoping the quaking of his knees didn’t show through his trousers.

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