Page 124 of Never Beguile a Duke
He nodded. “I’m certain we can enter through the library window as she did.”
“Why not wait until we return to your house?” Winifred asked, a tiny line carving its way across her forehead. “Miss Juliette—and Nora—will want to witness your proposal.”
“I’m a selfish man,” the Duke of Beaufort replied as he stepped onto the doorstep, “and when I deliver you safely to my residence, your sister, your mother, and every other visitor in attendance will monopolize your time. I don’t want to share you yet.”
Winifred shivered, her toes curling under. “How do you propose we get to Miss Braddock’s home? I have no shoes, stockings, or proper dress to defend against the cold.”
“I’ll carry you,” the Duke of Beaufort said, then he slogged around the side of the house, leaving Winifred hovering inside the doorway.
Crunching snow announced his return, and a moment later, he reappeared, his greatcoat and jacket hanging from his arm.
“I didn’t fit through the window until I removed them,” he said, his cheeks flushing light pink.
After shaking the snow from the greatcoat, the Duke of Beaufort wrapped the article around Winifred’s shoulders and fastened the coat closed, enveloping her into a warm embrace of cinnamon, carnation, and wool. Then, he shoved his arms through his jacket sleeves and, with great flourish, bowed low.
“Would you care to join me for a bit of burglary?”
Winifred giggled.
Turning around, the Duke of Beaufort moved off the doorstep, then indicated that Winifred should climb onto his back. She darted forward, sucking in a sharp breath as snow coated her bare feet, and leaped, hooking her arms around his neck.
The Duke of Beaufort grabbed her legs, winding his arms around them, shifted her position on his back, and chuckled. “Do you think your mother would disapprove of your current location?”
“Considering you rescued both of us from Mr. Curtis, I expect she’ll grant you some leniency.” Winifred rested her chin on the Duke of Beaufort’s shoulder as he trudged through the garden. “However, the remaining members of the ton will have several scathing statements regarding my behavior.”
“We shall make Mr. Curtis’ crimes known,” the Duke of Beaufort said as he passed through the iron fence separating the residence from the street. “No one will question your reputation.”
“No more than they currently do,” she murmured, causing him to stop and twist his head around.
“We’ve discussed this. Your past doesn’t concern me.” He offered her a jaunty grin. “And if those rumors prevent us from receiving an invitation to any future social function, I will happily spend those evenings distracting you with seduction instead of feigning interest in another tedious ball.”
“What of your friends’ opinions?” Winifred chewed her lip.
The Duke of Beaufort winked. “They possess worse reputations than you.”
She laughed.
Despite his playful attitude, relief flowed through her veins when he rounded the corner and slogged across Miss Braddock’s property line without them meeting any person on the street.
“I hope Miss Braddock didn’t repair the window,” she said as the Duke of Beaufort plodded around the side of the house.
“If that window is no longer an option,” he said, adjusting his grip, “I’m certain we can find another with a weak lock that can be broken.”
He stepped forward, his leg plunged into deep snow, and he wobbled, nearly dropping Winifred. As he struggled to regain his balance, he overcorrected and fell backward, landing in a puff of white ice, which rained down on them.
Laughing, he reached up and picked chunks of ice from her hair.
“That was not my intention,” he said, scooting her down to his legs and sitting up. “However, unfortunately, unlike Roxburghe, I can’t lift you and stand at the same time. Therefore…”
He yanked his jacket from his shoulders and spread the material out beside him. “The cloth will protect your feet until I can pick you up again.”
Winifred climbed onto the jacket, grateful for the barrier against the snow’s biting cold, and held out her hand, leaning back as she pulled the Duke of Beaufort to his feet.
He spun around and crouched, gesturing for her to mount his back again. Once she was in place, he retrieved his jacket, then cautiously resumed his trek toward the rear of the house.
When they reached the library, he turned sideways and leaned toward the house. Without instruction, Winifred reached out and grasped the bottom of the window frame. With a grunt, she shoved, releasing a tiny celebratory shout as the glass slid upward.
With the Duke of Roxburghe’s assistance, she scrambled through the small space, tumbled into the library, and crashed to the floor in a graceless pile.
