Rufus Drake: Duke of Wickedness by Carole Mortimer Page B

daughter of his new estate manager? He vaguely recalled that Turner had told him that he was widowed but had a daughter. Although what the age of that daughter might be, Rufus had not enquired; a month ago he had merely been relieved to pass on the onerous task of running Banbury Hall to someone other than himself.
    The young lady perched so prettily above him certainly looked as if she might be that worthy gentleman’s daughter; whilst her gown was not of the finest quality, it was nevertheless modish in style, as was the set of her golden curls, and the cream leather boots were surely too fine to belong to a daughter of one of his tenants.
    “May I enquire as to your name, miss?” he prompted huskily.
    She looked slightly taken aback. “Are you not going to dress yourself first?”
    Rufus held back a grin at her persistence in wishing to avoid looking at the nakedness of his chest. “Your name, miss?”
    “I— It is— You may call me Juliet,” she announced grandly.
    Rufus knew instinctively that there was something not quite right with that statement. Admittedly, the name was fitting, considering her place above him in the tree. But he was certainly not her, nor any woman’s, doting Romeo! “And is that actually your name?” he drawled sceptically.
    “Well, not exactly,” she conceded. “But it is my middle name, and comes from—”
    “I am well aware of where it comes from,” Rufus assured dryly. He was not a complete ignoramus; as the grandson of two dukes he had suffered through the requisite years at Eton and Oxford. The fact that this young lady also appeared to have received some education would seem to confirm Rufus’s earlier assumption that she might very well be the daughter of his new estate manager. “I would simply prefer to address you by your given name.”
    She gave a heavy sigh. “It is nowhere near as pretty as Juliet.”
    Rufus held back a smile, finding himself exceedingly—and surprisingly—diverted by this young woman. The long years he had spent in London, and just a month of holding the title of duke, had rendered him more than a little jaded where the female sex was concerned. “Nevertheless...”
    “It is Anna.” She grimaced. “Plain, uninteresting Anna.”
    There was nothing in the least plain or uninteresting about this woman. The opposite, in fact. She was beautiful, diverting, and her state of dishabille was having the most delicious effect upon Rufus’s libido.
    “And might I also know your name, sir?”
    Rufus had been grandly named after his two ducal grandfathers, his father and his mother’s brother, as Harold Algernon Edward Rufus Drake, but from birth had been known to the family and friends alike by the last of his illustrious names.
    “Rufus.” He saw no sign of recognition of his name in her candid blue eyes. “Would you care to explain, Anna, why is it you are currently sitting up in that tree sans your stockings and boots if you were just strolling through the woods?”
    * * *
    Anna frowned her dismay, sensing, despite his politely enquiring expression, that he was somehow mocking her. And possibly with good reason, when she was indeed so scantily clad. He was also, Anna conceded, a gentleman more disturbing and handsome than she had ever encountered before.
    Disturbing, because as an unmarried lady she had never before engaged in a conversation with a gentleman whilst he was dressed only his drawers. Indeed, she had never before seen a gentleman wearing only his drawers.
    The skin of his bared torso was a warm olive-brown. His shoulders were broad, his chest and arms muscled. She observed with fascination the silky down of dark ebony that tapered down over his chest and stomach to disappear into the waistband of his drawers. She noted that his waist was lean and narrow above muscled thighs and legs.
    From her position above him, Anna was also able to recognise that he was at least ten years older than her own twenty years, as well as exceedingly