Page 31 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
Silence, thick and heavy, greeted that remark. People who wished to live long and healthy lives didn’t disparage Jack Dodger, particularly in the gaming hell that had once belonged to him. Sheridan wasn’t sharp enough for Miss Dodger. Ashe’s respect for her went up a notch. Many women cared only for the title. It seemed Miss Dodger cared for more.
“Wouldn’t have mattered who her father is,” Sheridan mumbled into the silence. “She hasn’t a docile bone in her body. No one will have her. She’s practically on the shelf, should have been begging for my attention, the little chit.”
“Don’t take it personally, Sheridan,” Lord Whittaker said. “She denied us all a chance at her dowry. She wants love.”
“She’s not going to find that now, is she, the little termagant? Why would any man want to be saddled with a woman who spouts her own view on matters rather than agreeing with his? Makes her deuced irritating.”
“You have the right of it there,” Tottenham said. “When I called on her, she dared to disagree with every opinion I uttered. Wed her, bed her, ship her off to the country. That’s what I say. That’s the only way a gentleman will have any peace if he takes her to wife.”
Ashe stood—
“I’ve never known a more disagreeable wench,” Sheridan said.
—grabbed his glass from the table—
“Will serve her right to find herself an old maid.”
—took five long strides to reach the gathered men.
“Her dowry be damned.”
“It’s an impressive dowry,” Whittaker said.
“She, however, is not impressive in the least,” Sheridan said. “Not a beauty. And as I said, when she opens that mouth—”
Ashe tossed his full glass of scotch onto Sheridan’s ugly mug. The man came up out of his chair, sputtering and glaring. “What the devil, Ashebury?”
“Apologies, my lord. I seem to have stumbled.” A footman discreetly removed the glass from Ashe’s clutched fingers. “If you should disparage Miss Dodger any further, I fear you’ll find me stumbling again, only this time I’ll be leading with my fist.”
“Why the bloody hell do you care? The little chit—”
His fist it was. Straight to Sheridan’s jaw. The man’s head snapped back, his body following as he staggered and dropped to the floor. Stepping forward, Ashe towered over him. “Thelady.”
His hand cradling his jaw, Sheridan glared at him. “She is no lady. Her father bears no title.”
“Be that as it may, she comports herself as a lady while you cannot claim to comport yourself as a gentleman. Rather, you’re acting like a gossipy washerwoman. Show some dignity, man, and keep your failures to yourself.”
Ashe spun on his heel and strode from the room. He couldn’t claim to know why he’d reacted as viscerally as he had. Although if Lady V were in fact Miss Dodger, he was gaining an understanding as to her reasons for visiting the Nightingale, especially if she was dealing with such pomposity. Perhaps he’d grown angry because he’d felt as though Sheridan were disparaging Ashe’s judgment.
While dancing with Miss Dodger, he’d almost lured her into the shadows, drawn her into a kiss, but he wasn’t certain he’d have the strength to stop there. On the other hand, if he was correct about her identity, she might not have wanted him to. She might have welcomed them going much further, might have gone home with him.
Some adventurer he was, not to have at least asked. But his gut told him that it wouldn’t have gone as he fantasized. It was too soon. The lady wasn’t ready for more.
But with a little coaxing, she would be. And he who had sworn that he would only ever have one virgin in his life—the woman he married—now conceded that perhaps he’d been a bit premature with that vow.
Chapter 8
“YOU’RE quiet this morning.”
Lowering her newspaper, Minerva looked at her father sitting near her, holding his own paper. From the moment his children had mastered reading, he’d insisted that the butler press an edition of theTimesfor each of them and set it at their place at the table, so it was readily available to them when they came down for breakfast. They needed to know what was happening in the world. Not the weather or the latest fashions. Rather, they were expected to discuss what would have an impact on business, the economy, and the nation. That endeavor required being informed to the fullest. He might have conquered the darker side of London, but he was determined his children would thrive and meet with success away from it.
“I’m reading the paper,” she answered. His cardinal rule was no talking while reading.
“No, you’re not.”
Nothing escaped his notice. It was the reason Jack Dodger had survived the streets, built a successful business, and was rumored to bethewealthiest man in all of England. Not that he would confirm or deny the speculation. Her father was also a man who relished secrets, had a good many of his own, and excelled at holding them well.
Now she had one of her own that quite possibly rivaled the inappropriateness of his. Oh, she had others. Pilfering his cigars and liquor. Using profanity—but never in front of her parents. But those secrets seemed childish and silly compared with the latest one. The one that had kept her awake most of the night thinking about Ashebury, wondering what would happen if she dared show up at the Nightingale again. If she crossed paths with Ashebury there again, she couldn’t back out a second time. Her pride more than anything wouldn’t allow it.
