The Inconvenient Duchess

suppose that I could generously offer—’
    ‘I have a notion of what you would consider a generous offer. Complete the sentence and I’ll hand you your head.’ He ran fingers through his dark hair. Then he turned slowly back to look at her. ‘Miss…whatever-your-name-is…’ He fumbled with the letter, reread it and began again. ‘Lady Miranda Grey. Your arrival here was somewhat…unusual. In London, it might have gone unnoticed. But Marshmore is small, and the arrival of a young lady on a coach, alone, is reason enough to gossip. In the village you spoke with the Reverend Winslow and his wife, who have a rather unchristian love of rumour and no great fondness for this family. When you asked direction to this house, where there was no chaperon in attendance, you cemented their view of you.’
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    St John smirked. ‘It is no doubt now well known around the town that the duke and his brother have reconciled sufficiently after the death of their mother to share a demi-mondaine.’
    ‘There is a chance that the story will not get back to London, I suppose,’ the duke said with a touch of hope.
    Which would be no help. Because of her father, London was still too hot to hold her. If she had to cross out Devon, too… She sighed. There was a limit to the number of counties she could be disgraced in, and still have hope of a match.
    St John was still amused. ‘Mrs Winslow has a cousin in London. We might as well take out an ad in The Times .’
    The duke looked out of the window and into the rain, which had changed from the soft and bone-chilling drizzle to a driving storm, complete with lightning and high winds. ‘There is no telling the condition of the road between here and the inn. I dare not risk a carriage.’
    The look in his eyes made her wonder whether he expected her to set off on foot. She bit back the response forming in her mind, trying to focus on the goal of this trip. A goal that no longer seemed as unlikely as it had when Cici first suggested it.
    ‘She’ll have to stay the night, Marcus. There’s nothing else for it. And the only question in the mind of the town will be which one of us had her first.’
    She gasped in shock at the insult, and then covered her mouth with her hand. There was no advantage in calling attention to herself, just now. Judging by the duke’s expression, he would more likely throw her out into the storm than apologise for his brother’s crudeness.
    St John slapped his brother on the back. ‘But, good news, old man. The solution is at hand. And it was our mother’s dying wish, was it not?’
    ‘Damn the woman. Damn her to hell. Damn the vicar. And his pinched-up shrew of a wife. Damn. Damn!’
    St John patted his apoplectic brother. ‘Perhaps the vicar needs to explain free will to you, Marcus. They are not the ones forcing your hand.’
    The duke shook off the offending hand. ‘And damn you as well.’
    ‘You do have a choice, Marcus. But Haughleigh?’ The title escaped St John’s lips in a contemptuous puff of breath. ‘It is Haughleigh who does not. For he would never choose common sense over chivalry, would he, Marcus?’
    The duke’s face darkened. ‘I do not need your help in this, St John.’
    ‘Of course you don’t, your Grace. You never do. So say the words and get them over with. Protect your precious honour. Waiting will not help the matter.’
    The duke stiffened, then turned towards Miranda, his jaw clenched and expression hooded, as if making a great effort to marshal his emotions. There was a long pause, and she imagined she could feel the ground shake as the statement rose out of him like lava from an erupting volcano. ‘Lady Miranda, would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?’

Chapter Three
    ‘B ut that’s ridiculous.’ It had slipped out. That was not supposed to be the answer, she reminded herself. It was the goal, was it not, to get her away from scandal and well and properly married? And to a duke. How could she object to tha
    She’d imagined an elderly earl. A homely squire. A baron lost in drink or in books. Someone with expectations as low as her own. Not a duke, despite what Cici had planned. She’d mentioned that the Duke of Haughleigh had a younger brother. He had seemed the more likely of the two unlikely possibilities.
    And now, she was faced with the elder brother. Unhappy. Impatient. More than she bargained for.
    ‘You find my proposal ridiculous?’ The duke was