Eleanor was not surprised to discover the man who had grudgingly helped her was handsome. If there was one thing she’d learned over the past six Seasons, it was that arrogant men tended towards handsomeness. A pity, really. All those chiseled jaws and thick hair and strong chins wasted on conceited scoundrels who falsely believed they were superior to their peers because of their physical appearance, when in fact it was the inside of a person that mattered most.

Her scowling rescuer was tall and broad-shouldered with black hair swept back from a high, smooth temple and side whiskers that extended all the way down past his ears. He had distinct, evenly spaced features and a perfectly well-shaped mouth that was ruined by a frown. His eyes were the color of rich dark brandy, the sort her father kept high on the shelf in crystal decanters and only drank on very special occasions. A wide chest tapered down to a narrow waist and then widened into muscular thighs enclosed in fawn colored breeches. Eleanor’s cheeks pinkened when she remembered how those thighs had clenched around her hips, and she abruptly diverted her gaze to her mother.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long. I was looking for Henny, you see, and then I became stuck under the – what is it?” she asked when Lady Ward began to vehemently shake her head from side to side. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? You didn’t eat the shrimp, did you? Because you know what happens when you eat shrimp.”

“Oh Eleanor,” Lady Ward cried, clasping her gloved hands beneath her chin. “What have you done?”

Eleanor’s fair brow creased. Why was everyone under the impression she’d done something? Other than threatening to turn Henny loose on Lord Stanhope – no less than he’d deserved for nearly crippling her with his clumsy feet – she’d been on her best behavior for the entire evening. She hadn’t brought up a single new invention over dinner or made an embarrassment of herself while dancing. Yes, she’d gotten stuck under a table…but that wasn’t her fault. What was she supposed to have done? Just leave Henny in the parlor to her own devices? Speaking of which…

“Henny!” Her eyes widened. “I still need to find her.”

“Will you forget about that damn animal for one moment! This is serious, Eleanor.”

“You – you cursed.” Shocked to her very core, Eleanor stared at her mother with her mouth agape. “You never curse.”

“Yes, well, I’ve never walked in on my daughter in a compromising position with a man before either! I need to sit down,” Lady Ward muttered, clutching her temple. “I’m feeling very faint. Black dots. There are black dots everywhere.”

“Here.” Moving with impressive speed, the man whose name Eleanor still did not know lifted a chair and placed it behind her mother. Then he rocked back on his heels, crossed his arms, and skewered her with a glare so frigid she felt the chill of it all the way across the room.

“Your chaperone is correct,” he said. “This is serious. Someone of your age should have known better than to put herself in such a vulnerable position.”   

Eleanor blinked. She knew two and twenty wasn’t considered young by any means, but she liked to think she had a few years left before she was sentenced to spinsterhood! Never mind that was precisely the sort of life she had in mind. But it was one thing to refer to herself as a spinster. Quite another when someone else did it, especially when that someone else was an overweening lord easily five years her senior! 

“Someone of my age?” she replied indignantly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you are not a fresh-faced debutante, inasmuch as you possess the ignorance of one.” One thick brow arched. “You should have known better than to have been alone in a room without a proper chaperone. You’ve ruined both of our lives, you stupid girl. And you don’t even have the good sense to realize it.”

If her jaw had dropped when her mother cursed, it positively sagged wide open now. But while most women would have burst into tears under the weight of such a crushing insult, Eleanor rose to the occasion like an Amazon strapping on her battle armor. Marching right up to her dark-eyed antagonist, she fearlessly jabbed a finger at the middle of his rock hard chest and snapped, “Better a stupid girl than an arrogant bounder whose head is so inflated it’s a wonder it remains attached to your neck!”   

“Eleanor!” Lady Ward gasped, looking up at her daughter with horror. “You cannot speak to his grace like that! Apologize at once!”

Her slim shoulders stiffening, Eleanor stepped back and frowned down at her mother. “I most certainly will not. Did you hear what he said to me?”

“Please darling,” Lady Ward pleaded. “For once in your life, do as you are told.” She lowered her voice and flicked an anxious glance over her shoulder to where the stranger stood with an oddly smug expression on his face, as if he were greatly anticipating whatever Lady Ward was about to say next. “Don’t you have any idea whom you are speaking to? You have just insulted the Duke of Hawkridge. You simply must apologize.”

So the conceited cad was a duke, was he? Well bully on that. It didn’t matter if he was the King of England. A fancy title did not give him the right or the means to belittle her.

“I don’t care who he is,” she said, and was rewarded for her bold statement when the duke’s smug smirk was abruptly replaced by a hard, narrow-eyed scowl. “I’ve done nothing but call a donkey a donkey.” Her head tilted thoughtfully to the side. “Or in this case an ass an ass.”

“Oh,” Lady Ward moaned as she tipped forward and dropped her head between her knees. “The dots, the dots.”

“Mother, you are not going to – Henny!” Eleanor cried with delight when she saw a tiny black nose peeking out from beneath the curtains. Scurrying over to the window, she snatched up her pet and quickly returned her to the safe confines of her pocket. The little hedgehog let out a squawk of protest before curling up into a ball and promptly falling asleep, no doubt exhausted by all of the excitement she’d caused. Turning back towards the middle of the parlor, Eleanor discovered her mother sadly shaking her head from side to side while the duke stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted a third arm.

“What the devil did you just put in your pocket?” he demanded.

“That was Henny. My hedgehog.”

“You have a bloody hedgehog?”

Her lips thinned. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said?”

“I’ve done my best not to,” he drawled, an insufferable smirk toying with the corners of his mouth.

Odious man. One would think a duke would possess better manners. Then again, she couldn’t exactly say she was surprised. Her sixth Season nearly completed and she’d yet to meet a single lord who was tolerable enough to engage in conversation for longer than five minutes. Presumptuous swine, the lot of them. And this one was no different from the rest.

“Now that I have found Henny, I am no longer in need of your services.” She gave a vague sweep of her arm, dismissing him as if he were nothing more than a lowly footman. But he didn’t leave. Instead, much to her general annoyance, he addressed her mother.

“Might I have the pleasure of learning your name, my lady?”

“Lady Ward, Your Grace,” said Eleanor’s mother with a tight, uneasy smile that furrowed her brow. “Lady Helena Ward.”

“Lady Ward.” The duke bowed, and Eleanor rolled her eyes. “I am sorry to make your acquaintance under such…straining circumstances. But I should very much like you to believe me when I say that absolutely nothing untoward happened between your daughter and me, despite what it may have looked like. However, let it be known I do realize the gravity of the situation at hand, as well as the fate that awaits your daughter should any word of this ever escape the room.”

“Of course nothing untoward happened,” Eleanor burst out. “I’d rather kiss Mr. Haybeak!” 

Mr. Haybeak was her pet duck.

“Eleanor, be quiet,” Lady Ward snapped. “Let His Grace speak.”

“Why should he be allowed to talk while I–”

“Eleanor.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Henny and I will be over here.” Giving her pocket a reassuring pat, she retreated to the far corner of the parlor and pretended to look at the leather bound books lining the shelves.

“Please let me apologize on behalf of my daughter, Your Grace. She has always been headstrong. I fear her father and I did not do enough to curb her willfulness when she was a child, and she has carried that willful nature into adulthood.”

Eleanor bit back a snort as she pulled a book off the shelf and began to flip through the pages. In a society where tenacity and intelligence were frowned upon while docility and obedience were encouraged, she was glad to be in a possession of a willful nature.

“I can see that, Lady Ward. Your daughter is certainly…unique.”

“Thank you,” Lady Ward said, even though it was obvious the duke had not been paying a compliment.

“I take it she is unmarried?” he asked. 

The book bobbled in Eleanor’s hand. Why would a duke care if she was wed or not?

“Yes, Your Grace. Although not for lack of offers. My daughter is very particular.”

This time Eleanor couldn’t quite silence her snort in time. The only offer she’d received had been from a baron old enough to be her grandfather. He’d passed away in his sleep before she’d been able to reject it.

“And she is not currently engaged?”

“No, Your Grace.”

The duke sighed. It was a heavy sigh. The sort of sigh a man gave right before he stepped up to the gallows and stretched out his neck. “Then I am afraid I see no other recourse.”

No other recourse? She didn’t like the sound of that. She didn’t like the sound of that one bit. “What are you–”

“I will marry your daughter, Lady Ward,” said the duke, effectively rendering Eleanor absolutely and completely speechless for the first time in her entire life. “It is, after all, the only right thing to do.”