Page 5 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

The fire was beginning to catch, and Anna realized how cold she was. She extended her hands toward the flames and rubbed them together.

“He grabbed me,” she said, because she could say that much, and Rachel’s eyes dropped to her wrist before she could redirect them, the bruise beginning to show in the firelight. “Outside the church.”

“Oh Anna…”

“It is-it is fine. He did not—” She stopped. Started again. “I know this puts you in an impossible position. I know that. I only need a little time, enough to make arrangements. I have relatives in Scotland, a great-aunt I have not seen in years, but she would take me in, or I could find work, as a governess or?—”

“Stop.” Rachel stood up, sharply enough that the tea things rattled on the tray the housemaid was just setting down. “Anna.Stop talking about Scotland, and work, and arrangements. Look at me.”

Anna opened her mouth. Closed it.

“You are not going back to him. Over my dead body.” Rachel’s voice was entirely certain, the way it sometimes was when she made up her mind about something.

Her blue eyes glistened in the morning light that was filtering through the windows, and Anna somehow felt calmer. It was a quality that had always seemed at odds with her general warmth, a sudden revelation of steel underneath.

“Whatever it takes. Whatever we must do. You are not going back. I will always help you, Anna.”

“Oh Rachel, what would I have done had you not approached me at that horrid ball during my debut? Can you imagine my fate?”

“No worse than mine! You forget how much you mean to me as well, my friend. We are in this together. You would do the same for me were the tables turned.”

Anna looked at her, and her heart swelled.

Then, the door opened.

His Grace.

Rachel’s brother was dressed for riding, not for company. He had come in through a side entrance; that much was clear, and he heard enough to redirect himself toward the morning room. He paused in the doorway with the stillness of a man who has just arrived at the edge of something he does not understand. One eyebrow rose. His amber eyes were sharp and assessing, his stature tall and imposing.

Anna had met the Duke of Rathbourne once. It was a brief introduction at an operetta last spring, the sort of introduction that lasted thirty seconds and produced nothing more than a name and a bow. He was much taller than she had remembered, or perhaps she had not been paying attention. She had no reason to. At least not then.

His gaze moved from his sister to the tea service, to Anna’s dress, to her face, in that order.

“What exactly,” he said, “is a bride doing in my house?”

Rachel rose and moved between them. Not dramatically, just a step forward with hands folded in front of her.“Frederick. Anna has come to us because she has nowhere else to go. We must help her.”

“What of her husband?” He asked flatly.

“She was forced into marriage this morning! To Lord Birchall.” Rachel’s lips thinned on the name. “Coerced, without her knowledge or consent, and she has escaped. She needs our help…”

The Duke looked at Anna, and she looked back at him. She was not, at least at this moment, capable of being intimidated by a duke. She had endured too much in such a short morning, having used up that capacity hours ago.

“She needs to return to her husband,” he said evenly, the way a surveyor reads a map, as he averted his eyes back to his sister. “Whatever the circumstances of the marriage, it is surely legal. She cannot undo it by riding into Mayfair and?—”

“Frederick!”

“Listen to what I’m saying, Rachel.” He came further into the room, but his voice did not raise. Anna felt it did not need to; his presence demanded attention. “I am not without sympathy for her position. But harboring a runaway bride, a married woman who has left her husband on her wedding morning, is not something I will permit in this house. The consequences toyou, toyourprospects?—”

“My prospects?” Rachel repeated the words with a flatness that conveyed considerable opinion.

“Your reputation. Which matters, whether you choose to treat it so or not.” He looked at Anna again. “Madam, I will see to it that a carriage is made available, and fresh clothing. I will arrange for a letter to be sent ahead to your husband explaining?—”

“I will not go back to him.” She said it quietly, her hands still folded in her lap.

The Duke paused and took a step toward her as though he surveyed a wounded bird.

“I am not asking you to shelter me indefinitely, Your Grace,” she continued as she rose to her feet and gave a small curtsy. “Only temporarily.”