The Duchess of Love by Sally Mackenzie Page A

wait.”
    Mr. and Mrs. Collingswood gaped at him, and even Nigel looked surprised, but Aphrodite smiled broadly.
    â€œThen of course you must go, your grace,” she said. “Don’t let us detain you another moment.”
    He was so appreciative he could have kissed her—if it wouldn’t have shocked her and likely earned him a drubbing from Nigel. “Thank you.” He bowed. “Please excuse me.”
    He crossed the terrace and descended the stairs, keeping himself to a brisk walk until he passed out of sight.
    Then he ran full tilt toward the vicarage.
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    Venus stumbled down the narrow path through the trees. Branches caught her dress and tangled in her hair, pulling out her pins. Her lungs ached from running, and somewhere along the way, she’d got a pebble in her shoe. Now it was digging into the ball of her foot.
    And she was crying. Damn it, she’d cried more in the last twenty-four hours than she had in her entire life. She wiped her nose on her sleeve—she still didn’t have a handkerchief—and sat down on a rock at the edge of the woods. She could just see the pond through the tree branches.
    She tried to take in the calming scent of water and pine and dirt, but her nose was too stuffed from the blasted crying. All she managed was a dismal snuffle.
    She jerked off her shoe and shook out the pebble. It bounced off her foot and vanished in the pine needles. Such a little thing, but it had felt enormous.
    Maybe that’s what this problem with Mr. Valentine—no, Greycliffe —would feel like in a week or two: a little, insignificant pebble instead of a large, heavy, crushing rock.
    It was possible. Time healed all wounds, didn’t it?
    She swiped at her nose again.
    Everything about him, every word he’d uttered from the moment she’d met him, was a lie. So her feelings for him were a lie as well. They must be, no matter how true they felt now. She couldn’t love someone she didn’t know.
    She pulled her shoe back on.
    And what about Ditee? Dear God, it was her fault her sister had fallen into the clutches of the duke’s cousin. He must be as culpable as the duke; he hadn’t corrected them when they’d met him in the village.
    Ditee would be heartbroken, and it was all Venus’s fault. She was never going to play matchmaker again.
    She walked over to the pond. The water looked as cool and calm as it had when she’d met the blackguard duke. Well, calmer, actually. Archie wasn’t here to splash around and disturb the birds.
    Had it only been—
    Damn . Something—someone—was coming. She heard branches snapping in the woods behind her. She whirled around just as Greycliffe, the weasel, erupted from the trees.
    Her foolish heart leapt to see him. He had leaves in his hair and mud on his breeches and he had never looked so handsome—except, of course, when he’d been naked.
    She took a step back and raised her chin, daring him to even try touching her. “Why are you here, your grace ?”
    He flinched at her tone and stopped a good five yards from her. Her foolish feet wanted to go to him.
    She turned to examine the pond instead.
    â€œI’m here to apologize,” he said, “and to explain.”
    Had he taken a step toward her? She would not look.
    â€œYou do not need to apologize, and there is nothing to explain. We have young men in Little Huffington. I’ve seen them play j-jokes before.” She swallowed more tears. “Someday I’m sure I will find this all very f-funny.”
    And if she said another word, she’d burst into tears again and prove she was as great a liar as he.
    â€œIt wasn’t a joke.”
    He sounded so bloody earnest. He stepped nearer, but at least he didn’t have the effrontery to touch her. She gave him a cold look to keep him in his place and then turned her attention back to the pond. The ducks were upending themselves to feed on