Page 83 of The Boxing Baroness

Marianne had never believed a man’s arms and hands were sensual, but even a glance at the duke’s was enough to start a fire in her belly.

“Your uncle didn’t confide in me, of course,” the duke said with a wry smile. “But I would guess—based on what I know of him—that he is hoping to proceed by skirting whatever army Bonaparte is gathering.”

“Surely that’s not wise?”

“No. I think it’s madness to do anything other than get out of the country. The coalition will re-form and once the powers that be declare war on Bonaparte, we will be citizens of a hostile nation, stuck in France. The entire country is poised to erupt at any minute.” The candlelight picked out the blond highlights in his hair where the walnut dye had begun to fade. His green gaze slid from the fire to her. “This could be a disaster, Marianne.”

“Surely the French government will stop him before another coalition is necessary,” Marianne said. “The king—”

“Louis is weak at best and useless at worst. No, Bonaparte will not be stopped by any force within France. There will be war. Again. The wise thing is to get out of France now—before we are caught in the middle of it.”

“You want to return home?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief from her tone.

“I said that would be the wise thing to do.” His lips flexed into a faint, wry smile. “It’s not what I’m going to do. I can’t. But you need to leave, Marianne.”

“What about your brother?”

“I shall have to take my chances.”

“But Dominic said—”

“I know what he said. I am not dragging you into the middle of a war, Marianne.”

She blinked at the vehemence in his tone.

“It’s bad enough that you’re here in the first place.” His eyes sparked with anger. “You cannot keep boxing. The doctor who came to look at you said the sort of hit you took often leads to a swelling of the brain and when that happens you could die—”

“Do you think I am ignorant or stupid, Your Grace?”

“You know I don’t,” he retorted.

“Then why are you telling me something I already know?”

“Because you are stubborn, Marianne—not stupid or ignorant, but loyal and stubborn and so damned young that you don’t realize how precious your life is or how quickly you could lose it.” He stopped abruptly, looking even more surprised than Marianne felt at his emotional outburst.

“I gave you my word on the packet that I’d go with you, Your Grace. And I will go with you.”

“I forbid it. It is too—”

“You forbid it?” Her voice was loud in the small room.

He heaved a sigh. “Perhaps forbid was the wrong word.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed icily.

“What I should have said is that you will not come to this meeting.”

“You can’t stop me—I know where and when it is going to take place and I will—”

“You never wanted to see Strickland. Now you don’t have to.”

“It’s not just about your brother now. If Dominic was using me to help that man escape the country, I want to know.”

“I can tell you about that later—after I return to England. You don’t need—”

“I can go with you, or I can go without you. Those are your choices.”

He gritted his teeth, his expression closer to a scowl than anything she’d yet seen. It occurred to her that the duke was gradually losing his ability to dissemble. Or perhaps she was learning to read the subtle cues he let slip. Either way, she could see he was on the brink of raising his voice.