Dukes Prefer Blondes by Loretta Chase Read Free Book Online Page A

either, I notice,” Westcott said.
    â€œThe incident did not strike me as important.”
    Westcott’s eyes widened.
    â€œHad she been injured, naturally, I should have had him taken up,” Radford said. “The swine killed a cur on its last legs, but the world regards stray mongrels as a nuisance. Scavengers collected it in no time, and the excitement was soon over. The lady and I did not introduce ourselves. She went her way and I went mine.”
    Westcott gave him one of his looks. It wasn’t altogether unlike Lady Clara’s—­the one of mingled exasperation and patience and perhaps, yes, there was an element of wonder in it, too. On Lady Clara’s face, however, the expression was more arresting.
    Of course, he was used to Westcott.
    And she was prettier. By a factor of six hundred.
    â€œAt first, she seemed surprised to see you,” Westcott said.
    â€œShe came to see us ,” Radford said. “Why should she associate the fellow in Trafalgar Square with the pedant who wastes the court’s time with tiresome pauper children? But it happened only the other day. Small wonder she remembered. Clearly it amused her to quote my own words back to me.”
    â€œI should like to know how anyone who’d met you would forget,” Westcott said. “Unless you kept silent, which I am certain is a physical impossibility. And Professor ?” Westcott’s eyebrows rose in a most annoying manner.
    â€œA nickname her eldest brother gave me when we were at Eton. She must have put two and two together and concluded I was the Radford he and Clevedon called Professor.”
    He’d been positive she hadn’t remembered him from Vauxhall. He was deeply, painfully curious how she’d worked it out and how she’d contrived to do so without offering the smallest clue she was doing it.
    A most intriguing veil or screen.
    He couldn’t remember encountering such outside the criminal classes, and even there it was rare. Most criminals were not intelligent. They could be sly, yes, and they lied splendidly, but they were by no means difficult for a practiced eye to read.
    She was intelligent and . . .
    He became aware of himself following this path of thought and stopped. He hadn’t time for pointless speculation, especially about women who belonged to another universe. The Grumley trial was in its very last stages, and matters looked extremely unpromising.
    She’d known that, too. How did she—­
    No, he did not have time to think about her.
    He had windmills to tilt at.
    The Old Bailey
    Three days later
    N ot guilty.
    Radford glanced up at the visitors’ gallery, where Lady Clara Fairfax sat, in disguise once more, the bulldog maid in attendance. Her ladyship had appeared there every day since their encounter in Westcott’s office.
    She wore more or less what she’d worn that day. But for court, she’d done something to make her silken skin appear rough and dull, and she’d perched spectacles on her perfect nose. Still, he had no trouble recognizing her or the signs she gave of dismay. When the verdict was read, her mouth sagged, and she put her gloved hand up to her eye. Only a moment passed before the invisible screen came down, but that was more than enough time for him.
    He became distantly aware of having failed her, and images rose in his mind of tearing the wig from his head and stomping on it, leaping into the dock and throttling Grumley, grabbing the judge and dashing his head against the bench.
    That was his other, irrational self.
    The rational Raven Radford would have been astounded had the verdict gone the other way.
    All the same, it bothered him. He detached himself in the usual way, but the method didn’t work in the usual way. Even detached, he saw her mischievous smile when she’d exited his chambers the other day, and heard the short, light laugh she’d given at the startled expression he must