My Unfair Lady (10 page)

   Maria cursed, a quite remarkable string of profanity spilling out of her mouth like an overfilled bucket. "Don't tell me nothing happened. Look at the two of ya', drooling over each other like a couple of dogs in heat. If yore my friend, Summer Wine Lee, ya'll tell me what happened, or I swear I'm never coming to one of these—"

   "Shh, enough." Too many heads turned in their direction. "I'll tell you everything, I swear."

   Byron grunted.

   "But nothing really happened. We just got caught up in the danger of being robbed."

   Maria goggled. "Ya' was robbed? And ya' didn't tell me?"

   Summer laid a hand on her friend's arm and lowered her voice. "You've been spending a lot of time," she whispered the last three words, "in the kitchen."

   "Oh." Maria blew up to ruffle the fringe of hair on her forehead and grinned wickedly. The duke raised his brows in inquiry, but she ignored him. "I guess I have. But it's no reason we shouldn't be talking to each other. Well now, maybe it's best I came today after all."

   The coachman opened the door and lowered the steps, and His Grace assisted each of the ladies to the grass, giving Summer a nod of encouragement, a silent acknowledgment that they were wise to erase their memories of the other night.

   Then he looked at Maria with a speculative wrinkle of his brow. "The kitchen?"

   "The table's cool as ice on the backside," the saucy wench replied, without batting an eye.

   Byron covered his grin with a fist. He might as well give up trying to shock either of these women; whenever he tried, he only managed to be undone himself.
Oh, His Highness will have a grand time with
these two
, he thought with a chuckle.

THE DUKE LED SUMMER AND HER COMPANION TO THE Royal Enclosure and held their chairs for them until they were seated. He sat down and touched Summer's arm, and she tried not to flinch at the electrical charge that resulted from that contact. "Switch seats with me," he whispered.

   "Why?"

   "So you can sit next to the prince."

   Her stomach rolled over in a sickening lurch. "No, I can't. Not right next to him! Tarnation, whatever would I say?"

   "Anything other than that foolish American slang."

   Summer felt him watching her, to see if her anger over the cut would push her fear aside. He gave a grunt of dissatisfaction and tried another tack. "I spoke to the carriage shop about the coachman they hired."

   Summer stopped gawking at all the beautiful women and let Maria continue the job for her, the sudden wash of concern for the duke and his enemies swallowing all other considerations. No matter what he said, she knew that the coachman had intended to kill him; she'd seen it before, in the eyes of that claim jumper, the one she'd had to… No. Why did that memory keep haunting her when she'd promised herself to forget it?

   "And?" she prodded.

   His Grace smiled. "His regular coachman returned to work the next day, covered in bruises. He said someone jumped him while he was going to the… essential, then dragged him into some bushes and he didn't wake until late morning. He can't identify the men who beat him, as they attacked him from behind, and didn't want to call the bobbies, afraid that he'd be accused himself of stealing the carriage." They both nodded. "But his conscience got the better of him, and he finally showed up at the shop to confess the entire occurrence."

   Summer leaned toward him, unaware that the feathers on her hat swept over the top of his head like an embrace. "I told you. This seems very well planned for just a robbery. Why not just stop the carriage on the road? Why take the risk of jumping the man in so public a spot and then masquerading as the coachman?"

   "Don't keep coming to hasty conclusions."

   Summer realized her gaze had strayed to his mouth, and she focused again on his eyes. "Because," she continued, answering her own questions, "then the real coachman wouldn't be there as witness to the murder."

   She noticed Byron's gaze had strayed to the swell of her bosom, and he guiltily looked back up into her eyes. "You have a vivid imagination. And the sunlight makes your eyes turn the color of amber."

   He looked as shocked as she felt by his compliment, so Summer chose to ignore it. "I'm telling you, that man had murder on his mind." Summer tried to put annoyance in her voice and failed. Looking into his eyes had been a mistake, the pale blue drawing her in and making her dreamy with the lure of them. Tarnation, maybe she should focus on his nose; surely that would be safe?

   "If that's the case, how do you know that I was his planned victim?"

   "'Cause he was pointing the gun at you."

   "I beg your pardon," interrupted a deep male voice. "I hate to intrude on such an…
intimate
moment."

   The amused face of His Royal Highness looked down on them.

   "Forgive me, Your Highness, I didn't see you standing there," said the Duke of Monchester. "Allow me to introduce Miss Summer Lee."

   "A pleasure," replied Prince Albert Edward.

   Byron watched his friend look speculatively at Summer and him. He could guess what His Royal Highness was thinking. After all, Byron was famous for his hatred of the title-hunting heiresses from overseas—although to be fair, he always included England's pretty title-hunters as well. He was sure that the prince found it delightful to find him in the company of an American, especially in a conversation that could be misconstrued as intimate. Since the prince's current mistress happened to be an American, and Byron hadn't been very tolerant of the relation ship, he felt sure that His Highness would have great pleasure in today's meeting.

   Summer smiled shakily at the prince, evidently overcome not only by his large size, but the sheer presence of him as well. Albert beamed back at her, occasionally glancing at Byron with a chuckle, before homing in on her again.

   "Am I right in guessing you're another of those lovely Americans?"

   "Yes, your…" The girl looked like she didn't know what to call him. "Your Majesty."

   The prince laughed, his belly jiggling beneath the exquisite cut of his suit. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned in their direction, noting the attention he gave to the girl in the gold dress. "Not yet, my dear. Your Highness will do. Tell me, Miss Summer, how long have you been in my country?"

   "Not long…"

   "How did you ever meet the duke?"

   "He's helping me, that is… he's an old friend of the family, and when I went abroad—" She frowned, looking at Byron for help, as if she didn't feel comfort able with her words.

   The big man turned and cast a baleful eye on the duke. "Is that right? You
know
an American family?"

   Byron shrugged. "I went over to do some hunting, like everybody else, and ran into her father. If I hadn't known him, do you think I'd squire around an American girl, considering my reputation?"

   Prince Albert laughed again, as if he was enjoying himself quite thoroughly. "Let me see, what was that you said to my dear American friend, Jennie?"

   Summer started to feel uncomfortable and squirmed in her chair. The way the prince had said the woman's name made Summer think she might be his mistress.

   "Ah yes." The prince looked around and lowered his voice to a whisper. "The higher the title, the wider they'll spread their legs."

   Summer's eyes widened. Yes, this Jennie was the prince's mistress, and she couldn't believe that Byron's tongue was wicked enough to say such a thing in front of his royal friend. And it occurred to her that perhaps the duke believed it of her, as well. Maybe that's why he'd kissed her, thinking she'd also be attracted to his title.

   The crowd murmured as the first race began, a thunder of pounding hooves and shaking ground. She felt Byron shift in his chair. "She told you about that, did she?"

   Prince Albert seemed to ignore Byron and the race. Instead, it appeared to Summer that she had captured his full attention. "Yes, she did. What think you, madam—is it true?"

   Summer couldn't believe they were having this conversation. She thought royalty was supposed to behave, well,
royally
. But then again, she could tell he and Byron had been friends for a long time, shared a comfortable familiarity, as if they baited each other like this often. Well, she wasn't about to be the middleman. She looked to Maria for help, but for once her friend seemed speechless.

   Byron narrowed his eyes at the prince. "I know what you're doing, and it won't work."

   "Why not?"

   "Because the girl and I would have to care about each other in order for your words to hurt. Trust me… I wouldn't marry her if she were the last woman on earth."

   The duke's words hung in the air like a heavy weight, threatening to drop down on his head like a guillotine. Byron fought the urge to duck. The moment he'd said it, he wished he could take it back. Of course he'd never marry her, but after seeing the stricken look on her face, he realized he shouldn't have said such a disparaging comment in front of the prince.

   He noticed that His Highness gave a satisfied smile and sat back as if anticipating fireworks.

   Summer's hand drifted down her skirts toward the knife strapped to her calf. He glared at her motions, and she smiled. "I thought you said you were stupidly prejudiced?" she asked softly.

   "That was in the heat of the moment."

   Prince Albert grinned even more broadly.

   "My lord duke," interrupted a familiar voice. "How wonderful to see you here!"

   The prince's smile changed to a frown of annoyance. Byron looked up at the same time Summer did at the smiling faces of his family—the Dowager Duchess of Monchester and Lord and Lady Karlton.

   The duke scowled. He'd specifically told them that neither he nor the prince would be here, so hadn't expected to see them; actually, he preferred to see them as little as possible. And now the dowager duchess would be annoyed with him because he'd lied. But his main intention had been to give Summer a chance for a little time with the prince, without the demanding interruptions of his family. He sighed and rose to greet them.

   "Your Grace," gushed the dowager duchess. "My boy, what a pleasure to see you again so soon! Shame on you for making us think you wouldn't be here, when you know how
important
it is to me that our family gets together as often as possible."

   Summer watched in disbelief. Was this the same woman who'd greeted her stepson with such restrained civility at the ball?

   "And Your Royal Highness, what an honor to see you as well." The duchess's regal air vanished as she spoke with the prince. Summer winced at the woman's groveling.

   Lord Karlton slapped Byron on the back and held his arm on his shoulder, reminding him of the time they'd gone to the Ascot as youths and sneaked into the horse's stalls. Byron didn't seem to find the memory as hilarious as his stepbrother did, quickly turning to Lady Karlton as she greeted him with a hug. "Brother dear, you're looking as handsome as ever! Is that a new coat?"

   Summer saw Byron's lips thin and contemplated giving him a bonus so he could purchase some new clothes; what had he done with the money he'd already received anyway? She squashed that curiosity, as he'd certainly consider it none of her business and be insulted that she had even asked. Just another thing she'd never know or understand, like how his family had treated him with such restrained courtesy at the ball and now gushed over their good fortune at seeing him again. Was it because he was with the prince? Would they even acknowledge his existence if His Highness weren't his friend? Summer tried not to judge, because she'd only met them twice, but they certainly acted peculiar.

   "And you, Sammy dear, how are you enjoying our fine weather?" asked Lady Karlton.

   "Her name is Summer," growled Byron.

   Lady Karlton tittered. Her husband, First Marquis of Karlton, picked up Summer's hand and kissed it. "Such a pleasure to see you again."

   Summer couldn't help it; he gave her the willies. She snatched her hand out of his, noticed with disgust that he'd slobbered on her new lace gloves, and resisted the urge to rub it off on her skirts. She couldn't understand how two brothers could be such opposites, or how she could react so strongly to them as well. Byron's eyes of flinty blue had the power to draw her into his soul, yet his brother's eyes, with such a softer hue, repulsed her.

   Lord Karlton huffed, recovered quickly, then smiled and turned his attention to the Prince of Wales. The dowager duchess hadn't even bothered to pretend an interest in Summer; she'd immediately narrowed in on the prince and had him engaged in a conversation that centered on the best length of coat to wear in the morning… short or long?

   "Short, of course," answered the prince. "I thought everyone knew that a short coat must be worn with a silk hat in the morning!" He snapped at the woman, obviously annoyed at the interruption.