Page 62 of His Grace, the Duke
She turned away.
“Ohh...” He chuckled. “She used to hold a candle for Renley, did she not? Yes... I remember them together,” he mused.
Rosalie stiffened.
“Have I hit the mark? I can see that I have. She doesn’t like to see our dear Lieutenant Renley chasing after your skirts. Certainly not while the rumors about my brother spread all over town.”
She spun around. “He is not chasing after me—”
“Oh yes, he is,” the duke countered, pushing off the wall and crossing the room towards her. “There can be no secrets between friends, Cabbage. If you think I don’t know exactly how eagerly the men in my house are chasing after you, then you’ve grossly underestimated my ability to sniff out sexual tension, and I take great offense.”
She was sure her cheeks must be flaming crimson. “So... tonight you didn’t fight back when Marianne attacked you. But this morning, you fought off my mother with the ferocity of a lioness... so it’s certainly not a question of whether youcanfight... but whether youchooseto fight.”
She didn’t dare meet his eye.
He barked a laugh. “Of course, you only stepped in with Mama when she threatened James. I have unraveled the mystery,” he said, clapping his hands together. “This morning you were protecting James and...” He glanced up in time to see her wipe a tear from her eye. He sobered, his voice softer. “You were protecting James... but no one was there tonight to protect you.”
She focused again on the carpet.
“That’s it... isn’t it? You’ll defend another, come hell or high water. But when you’re the one under attack, you take the hits. You wait for it to end.” He let out a long sigh. “Who taught you that trait? A former lover, perhaps? A parent? Is this the work of Francis Harrow?”
She sucked in a breath, raising her eyes to him at last. “How did you...”
“I’m a duke, Cabbage. I know everything,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Here’s the thing... if you and I are going to be friends, you can’t embarrass me like that. Not in public. We need the lioness to sharpen her claws.”
She glanced up. “And are we . . . friends?”
He chuckled. “Oh, yes, I’ve decided I want that to be one of your duties.”
“As your ward, you’re requiring that I be your friend?”
“Yes.”
She waited for him to laugh or break, but he didn’t. “But... that is not how friendship works.”
He tipped his head to the side, a petulant frown on his lips. “Why not?”
“Because it’s... unnatural. You cannot force a friendship,” she reasoned.
“I’m a duke,” he said with a shrug. “I can do whatever I want.”
She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her beaded evening gown. “No. You cannot make me be your friend.”
He stomped his foot like a spoiled child. “Well, what am I supposed to do, then?”
“Well... you have tobea friend, Your Grace. You can do nice things for them or help them. Offer advice... comfort.”
He glanced around the room, brows lowering over his blue eyes. “Let me help you out of this mess.”
She blinked. “What mess?”
“Well, you can’t possibly go back out there,” he said, moving past her towards the window. He tugged back the curtain, looking out.
“I must go back,” she cried. “Renley is probably looking for me even now—”
“So?”
“So... I have to return to my seat.”
