His gaze snaps to mine. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“You accuse me of peeping—”
“Peeping, no. Staring with your jaw on the floor, yes.”
“That is not what I was—”
“You were practically drooling. Admit it.”
For a moment we glare at each other, swords drawn. A red flush has crept across the duke’s cheeks, and his dark eyes flash fire. Then he settles back in his chair. “Very well, Miss…”
“Beaumonde.”
“Miss Beaumonde, I did look my fill. How could I not, when you were stumbling around my home?”
“I wasn’t stumbling. I was chasing Elvis!”
“You almost fell over at least twice.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m clumsy?”
“No.” A cold smile. “I’m stating it as fact.”
“Oh, go to hell.” I want to smack the smirk off his regal face. “I was right. You do have a rod up your ass.” The duke’s nostrils flare and I straighten in triumph. “Did they insert it at birth? Or at the School for Dukes?”
“Miss Beaumonde, you’d better watch your tongue.”
“Or else?”
Before the duke can answer, Daniel pops back in, covered cage in hand. He strides to Elvis, and holds his hand sideways to tempt the bird to perch.
After a second of hesitation, Elvis hops on, and Daniel maneuvers him easily into the cage. “Who’s a pretty boy? That’s right.”
I clench my jaw, suddenly resentful of how easily Daniel handles the parrot I’m supposed to be pet-sitting.
“Well, Your Grace.” Daniel turns to the duke. “Did you ask her?”
“No,” I say. “Whatever it is, the answer’s no.”
Daniel looks back and forth between me and the duke, an amused look on his face. “You’re not curious as to what it is?”
I fold my arms over my chest. I am curious, but I’d rather drink the green smoothie Elvis pooped in than admit it.
“Your Grace?” Daniel prompts.
His Grace shakes his head slightly.
“Fine. I’ll do it.” Daniel opens his mouth but the duke beats him to it, turning to me and grinding out, as if it’s the last thing he wants to say, “Will you marry me?”
My mouth falls open. That is not what I expected.
Daniel inserts himself between us. “Your Grace, if I may?”
The duke throws up his hands. “Very well.”
Daniel turns to me. “He needs a bride.”
“I’m sure you can find someone to take him.” I find my voice, and the sarcasm that’s become my first defense. “He’s easy on the eyes, even if he is a bit stuck up.”
The duke’s chair scrapes the floor as he turns away, muttering. I smirk to myself.
“He needs a bride who looks like this.” Daniel pulls out a folder from his briefcase.
The duke makes a noise of protest and Daniel waves him down. “She might as well see it. Papers hit the street hours ago.”
“This is you?” I ask the duke.
A tight nod.
“It was all a misunderstanding,” Daniel says smoothly.
“Sure it is.”
“In my role, I cannot have a hint of scandal. Outrageous behavior is something I cannot indulge in.” The duke’s eyes scroll down from my face to my body, naked under his suit jacket. “Unlike some.”
Jerkhole! I bite back the insult, but he can read it in my glare.
“We want to smooth things over as quickly as possible,” Daniel says. “Your help will speed things along. You’d be well rewarded.”
I hold back a snort and cross my arms. “I’d have to be.” To put up with him. I don’t add the last part, but the duke’s cold stare tells me he heard it.
“We would make it worth your while. And you don’t have to actually marry him,” Daniel continues. “An engagement is fine. And it wouldn’t be forever. Just until Midsummer, and then you can lie low. A few months from now, you can announce your breakup.” He spreads his hands, beaming at us, as if to say, See? See how easy it would be?
For a moment, I consider. Me, affianced to a duke. A perfect, smiling, shiny version of myself gliding along beside him. Him offering his arm, smiling when he introduced me to people. Looking at me with fondness instead of with the expression of cold annoyance he’s wearing now.
You don’t belong. The voice rises from my past. In another life, another time, a pale-faced lady literally clutches her pearls. You think you could ascend to our set? She spits, eyes bulging. You will never be good enough. You will never be one of us.
I swallow against the sudden nausea. My limbs feel frail and weak, like they did in that dark room long ago, standing in front of the family that thought they were too good for me. But I’m not that naive girl anymore. I never will be again.
The butterflies in my stomach turn into dragons, spitting fire. I turn up my nose and give the duke a look of queenly disdain. He blinks. Oh yeah, a taste of your own medicine.
“Frankie?” Daniel queries.
“Y'all are insane. Do people around here smoke crack for breakfast? Is that what that green liquid is?” I scoot my chair back with a loud scraping sound, and rise. The two men rise with me. I try not to act startled at the old-fashioned manners. They’re treating me like an equal. But I’m not going to let it change my mind.
Nose in the air, I stalk to the piano, where I grab my bathrobe. “Turn around, please,” I order. Both men oblige, and I switch the suit jacket for my robe.
I drape the suit jacket over the chair. “Please get that dry cleaned and send me the bill.” I stride to the door, grabbing Elvis’ cage on the way. “I’m leaving.”
“Miss Frankie, please—” Daniel’s shoes slide on the polished wood floor as he chases after me.
“Let her go,” the duke commands.
Despite his employer’s wishes, Daniel reaches the door before I do. “I know it’s unorthodox,” he says, hand on the doorknob. “But do consider it.”
“No way. No freaking way. I know all about…” My voice hitches for a second, and it makes me madder. “I know all about rich boys and their toys. How they break them.”
Daniel’s eyebrows bounce at my statement. I’ve said too much.
I muster up a bit of upper class snobbery and raise my chin. “I’d like to leave now.”
“As you wish.” Daniel bows and opens the door with a flourish. I gather my robe around me with as much dignity as I can muster, and swan onto the deck.
I get no further than the deck stairs when a man jumps out of the bushes, the dark eye of a camera in front of his face.
Chapter 3
Frankie
A flash whites out my vision. I throw up a hand to shield my eyes.
“Come on, miss, give me a smile!” the photographer shouts, still snapping.
Blinking against the flash, I trip backwards, losing my grip on Elvis’ cage. It clatters to the porch, thankfully landing upright. Elvis squawks.
“Who are you?” Flash. “Are you the duke’s lover?” Flash. “How long has this been going on?”