Project Duchess. Sabrina Jeffries
sense, I wouldn’t, either.”
Her forthright retort made him chuckle. “That’s more like it.” When she blanched and opened her mouth, he added, “Don’t you dare apologize for that.”
Her eyes glittered at him. “I wasn’t going to.”
“The hell you weren’t.” When she glanced pointedly down to where his hand still gripped her arm, he released her. “Looks like it’s my turn to apologize. Forgive me for manhandling you. Though I get the impression that everything I do annoys you.”
With a furtive look down the hill to make sure the dogs were still in her line of sight, she said, “That’s not true. You were kind enough not to tell my cousin about our . . . heated exchange when we first met.”
“Was it heated?” he quipped. “I hadn’t noticed.”
That brought a small smile to her lips. “Liar.”
“I tell you what. How about if we pretend that I am not a duke and you are not my mother’s latest pro—” He caught himself before he could say, “project.” “My mother’s pro-tégée. Let’s pretend, for the moment, that we are merely two people with no ulterior motives. I will say what I think, and you will say what you think, and neither of us will apologize.”
“Why?”
“Because your stopping to apologize is taking up far too much of my valuable time,” he said with a smile. “You see? That’s how it’s done. I will be my usual arrogant self, and you will be your usual forthright self, and we will get through this together with a minimum of fuss.”
And perhaps she would reveal some useful secret about her brother. Not to mention that he would get to see the real her more often.
She eyed him askance. “I thought you were supposed to be preparing me for moving in high society. I doubt that in such a case I should be saying whatever comes into my mind.”
“I agree—you should not. Unless it’s to me alone. As long as no one else hears, as long as it’s between us, it will be perfectly acceptable. And it might actually keep you from blurting out the wrong thing elsewhere.”
Coloring very prettily, she said, “So you’ve noticed my tendency to . . . er . . .”
“Blurt? How could I not? It’s the thing I find most refreshing about you.”
“Truly?”
“I swear.” He thrust out his hand. “So, what do you think? Do we have a bargain?”
She hesitated before taking his hand. “I suppose. As long as what we say goes no further.”
“I can’t promise that.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, making her slip her hand from his and her brow cloud over. Hastily he recouped. “Mother is going to want to know everything we said to each other, and I’ll have to tell her something.”
Her face cleared. “Oh. I’m sure that’s true.” She touched one gloved finger to her chin and shot him a mischievous glance. “Very well. You may tell her that my come-out lessons are progressing wonderfully.”
He laughed. “Come-out lessons?”
“That’s how I’ve been thinking of them.” She lifted one eyebrow. “It’s better than thinking of myself as your mother’s latest project.”
He winced. “You caught that.”
“It’s all right,” she said lightly. “Sheridan called me her ‘project’ first.”
“I would apologize, but it would go against our new rules.”
She smirked at him. “Indeed, it would . . . Grey.”
Now that was more like it. When she was like this, teasing him, with her eyes dancing, he could easily imagine her in an evening gown, flirting with some fellow at a ball. Preferably him.
Damn it to hell. Not him.
She turned to look down the hill, and her smirk vanished. “Oh no, the dogs are into the gorse again. I should have been paying better attention. If I don’t keep my eye on them, they get bored. A pox on them!”
The lady cursed, too? Sheridan hadn’t been lying when he’d called her a hoyden. Though when she picked up her skirts and bolted down the hill, it was a woman’s stockinged calves Grey saw flashing white above her half-boots.
And quite a trim pair of calves they were, too, momentarily distracting him from the interesting sight of her trying to coax the dogs out of the gorse bushes. Perhaps he should help.
He strode down the hill. “I’ll get them out.”
“Don’t you dare go in there!” Planting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “They’ll come out eventually. But the last time they got into the gorse, Mr. MacTilly went in after them and got stuck fast. If you do the same, at the very least you’ll destroy your fancy clothes.”
“Which is precisely why I’m not going in after them.” He pulled a funeral biscuit out of his greatcoat pocket, opened the wrapping, and broke a piece off. Tossing it to the closest dog, he watched as the hound scarfed it up and then barked at him for more.
When he held another piece up, the dog came running out after it. That was all it took for the others to come trotting out, too, and he rewarded them by giving each a piece.
Squatting down, he petted the one whose name he remembered. “There’s a good lad, Hercules.” He looked up at Miss Wolfe, who was gaping at him. “What?”
“How did you . . . Why on earth would you have funeral biscuits in your pocket?”
Because I never want to be trapped without something to eat ever again.
No, that would require revealing too much. So instead he shrugged. “I’d been told you were at the kennels. Since that meant I was about to be around dogs, I figured it was best if I brought treats.”
In other words, he’d come prepared to win her over by winning over her dogs. Was it working?
Perhaps. Because a helpless laugh escaped her. “You’re as much a rascal as they.”
“Probably.” He grinned at her. “What are the names of the other two?”
With a shake of her head, she came up to seize one by the collar. “This is Hero. And the one with the spots is Hector.”
“Whoever named them certainly has a fondness for Greek mythology.”
“It wasn’t me,” she said. “I prefer a good novel, myself.”
“I prefer the Times.” He scratched Hector behind the ears. “What about you, lad? Do you enjoy being saddled with a fancy name like Hector?”
Hector’s answer was to lick his face. Though Grey chuckled, Miss Wolfe frowned.
“Stop that, Hector!” she ordered, and the dog instantly obeyed, though he then licked Grey’s gloved hand. She sighed. “We’ll have to put you lot back on the leashes, if only to keep you from slobbering all over His Grace.”
“Don’t do it on my account,” Grey said as he stood and dusted off his trousers. “A little dog slobber never hurt anyone.”
“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. “All the same, I don’t want to risk them bolting into the gorse again, either. You’ll run out of those biscuits eventually.”
“True.”
She put their leashes on, though Grey noticed that she knelt to do it this time, more’s the pity. Then she tugged at the dogs’ leashes. “Come on, lads, let’s go to the woods.”
But they were hoping for more treats and stood about Grey, sniffing at his greatcoat. Apparently, his presence had thrown their good behavior into disarray.
She