When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,1

eyes, I’d say she knows what to do with it. Madam, good day. Duncan Wentworth at your service, though I apologize for the lack of a proper introduction. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

She had dark eyes, probably brown when viewed from bowing-over-her-hand distance. Her hair was the rich hue of mink in summer, her figure on the gaunt side of trim, and she was of barely medium height. She put Duncan in mind of the rabbit—small, spare, ready to bolt.

The lady was not pretty—her looks were too dramatic for that. Defined brows, a determined chin, cheekbones made a tad too prominent by her thinness. She was attractive, though. Holding that gun with an air of impatient disgust, she was undeniably attractive.

“Dammit, Herm,” Jeffrey said, stepping from behind Duncan. “You’ve gone and snagged the bleedin’ property owner. You said he was a London gent what never wastes his time in the shires.”

“Drop the knife,” the woman said, her tone that of a governess on her last nerve. “Now.”

“I’d do as the lady says.” Duncan rose and collected the weapon Treacher had lost in the undergrowth. “Then you’d be well advised to run like the demons of hell are in pursuit.” He tested the blade against the pad of his thumb. “Just a suggestion.”

Jeffrey dropped the knife, even showing enough sense to cast it a few feet away, rather than attempt any dramatics.

Treacher struggled to his feet, cradling his right arm. “Let’s leg it, Jeffy. This was all your idea—nobody else would think to poach in a haunted woods, you said. Now me arm’s half busted, and we haven’t got no rabbit, and the swell is making threats.”

The lady sidled around the clearing, putting herself between the rabbit and the men. The barrel of her gun—a nasty coaching pistol that could easily have brought down a horse—remained marvelously steady in her grip.

“Au revoir, gentlemen,” Duncan said, stepping to the lady’s side. He was ready to let this pair go for now, but he was not ready to see the woman dart back into the woods along with the rabbit and the poachers.

Treacher cast one longing glance at the snared rabbit and lumbered off into the trees, Jeffrey following silently.

The woman dropped to her knees beside the rabbit. “We have to let it go. I need the knife, provided it’s sharp.” She sounded frantic to free the rabbit, though her hand smoothing its fur was gentle. “Do something, please.”

“Have a care,” Duncan replied. “If you inspire the beast to struggling, it can break its own leg, or, worse, mangle that back foot. What’s needed is calm.”

A set of pliers would have come in handy, but the home farm was a good half mile off, and carrying the rabbit, snare and all, such a distance would never serve.

Duncan considered the situation and the woman. She was not a girl, fresh from the schoolroom. He’d spent years in schoolrooms, as both pupil and teacher, and she hadn’t the look of one whose life had been indentured to book learning. Her cloak was velvet and well made, though the hem was dusty and one button was missing near her waist.

She wore no gloves and her hands were clean, though what manner of lady carried a loaded gun when strolling through a peaceful wood?

“The snare is secured by a stake driven into the ground,” Duncan said. “I’ll attempt to lift the stake free so we have some purchase to unknot the leather from the rabbit’s foot. All must be done slowly and without agitation to the captive.”

“You’ve done this before.”

“Many times.” Though not recently, more’s the pity. When he’d freed the snare from its stake, Duncan produced his own knife—much smaller than the poachers’ weapons—and used the tip to work at the knotted leather.

The rabbit bore this all with stoic calm, or perhaps the lady’s soft caresses soothed its little heart. Her scent distracted Duncan—meadow grass with a hint of pine smoke, not a fragrance he’d find in a Mayfair ballroom, but pleasant.

Sturdy and fresh rather than feminine.

“That’s it,” he said, when the knife point had loosened the noose about the rabbit’s foot. “Another moment, and—”

The ruddy little wretch used powerful hind legs to shove itself away from the noose before Duncan could get his knife out of rabbit range. The point of the blade scored the flesh of his wrist, ripping through the cuff of his shirt and creating a bloody mess.

The rabbit darted across the clearing, paused long enough to whump a foot against