Page 9 of Season of the Scoundrel
Yet those broad shoulders. That tousled dark brown hair. When he turned, there was no denying it. The one who had caught her, embraced her, kept her from tumbling onto her backside and somehow scared off the cane-wielding brute with a single look was none other than the Duke of Blackbourne.
Mrs. Drummond spoke to him, then gestured toward where Ivy stood.
Ivy could easily mark the moment when he recognized her. His blue eyes flared wide and then immediately narrowed. His dark brows bent. The man looked anything but pleased to see her again.
When he crossed the room toward her, Ivy had the wild urge to bolt.
Then he was in front of her, and it was too late to do anything but make the best of the awkward moment.
“Miss Bridewell, welcome toThe Sentinel.”
His voice was as deep and resonant as the first time she’d heard it, and just as full of what sounded a great deal like irritation.
“Will you join me in my office?” he asked.
Ivy flicked a look at Mrs. Drummond, who smiled encouragingly.
“Yes, of course. Thank you.”
He proceeded to an office whose door stood ajar, then held it wide for her to enter. Ivy collected her folio from the table where Mrs. Drummond had placed it. As she passed by the duke, she felt an odd frisson of energy slip down her spine. Yesterday, she’d smelled clean linen and a hint of Earl Grey tea when they’d been standing against each other. Now she caught a hint of cloves, and she chastised herself for being attuned to the man’s scent at all.
Ivy took a seat in front of his desk, and the duke settled behind it.
“Your Grace?—”
“Miss Bridewell?—”
They spoke at the same time. Ivy almost chuckled at the faux pas, but Blackbourne did not look amused.
“This is an odd coincidence, Miss Bridewell.” One dark brow inched up. “Did you engineer it?”
“Engineer it?” Ivy bristled and sat up a bit straighter. “I don’t understand the question.”
“What I mean?—”
“Do you think I arranged for a beast to thrash a child on the street? That I waited until you were coming along with the sole intention of stumbling into you?”
He said nothing, just watched her intently.
Ivy bit down so hard, her teeth ached, but she nodded.
“Of course, I don’t think you wished to see harm come to a child. Indeed, it seems the sight of Mr. Farley’s brutality inspired you to rush into the fray quite heedless of your own well-being.”
“You know him?”
Blackbourne dipped his chin. “He’s employed by another newspaper, and I sent word to his employer regarding yesterday’s incident.”
“Then he’ll face some sort of consequence?”
Something shifted in his expression at her burst of enthusiasm. “I’ve had no reply from the paper’s owner, but I’m acquainted with him and cannot imagine he would wish for such a man to remain in his employ.” He tipped his head as he assessed her. “And the child?”
“She ran off,” Ivy said. “I’m afraid I failed to ask her name.”
He blinked as if surprised, perhaps at the revelation that the child had been a girl.
“But you gave her your name?” he asked. “Or at least your card.”
“I was a witness to a crime committed against her and wanted her to know she could call on me to attest to that.”
