Page 6 of When a Duke Desires a Lass

An inch or two over six feet, his demeanor and the broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his jacket made him commanding.

Once the curious onlookers had dispersed, the fellow in the tweed suit giving them a lengthy, assessing glance, Heatherston pointed his attention to his niece.

He was furious, but other than the tightening around his mouth, he didn’t reveal his wrath.

“Dismount, Avery. Ye aren’t riding again until ye learn to respect my directives.”

Avery’s mouth curved down mutinously, but with an exasperated sigh, she obeyed. Swinging her leg over the saddle, she jumped to the ground.

Arms akimbo, she glared daggers at her uncle. “You are a beast.”

He closed his eyes for a second, and Emily would’ve sworn he entreated the Almighty for strength. Or patience. Or guidance.

Likely all three.

She’d done the same too many times to count while raising Justina, and Justina hadn’t the rebellious inclination Miss Avery apparently possessed.

When the duke opened his eyes, something akin to sorrow, or perhaps regret, shone in the blue depths.

“I ken ye don’t believe me, but I do what I do because I care for ye, lass.”

A sullen pout descended upon Avery’s expression, and she snapped, “You would’ve left me in Aberdeen if you cared for me.”

Though her refined voice carried a hint of an accent, it lacked the rumbling burr of her uncle’s. She was formally educated, then.

Well, that was something.

“Not by yourself, lass. Ye’ve spent too much time alone as it is.” Though gentle, the duke’s response brooked no argument.

Feeling very much the voyeur, Emily cleared her throat. She’d leave them to their family issues and see if her stained garments were salvageable.

“Thank you for your assistance, Your Grace. I’ll be on my way now.”

“Mrs. Grenville, please allow me to make amends for my niece’s…”

He shook his head, causing the wayward gingerish lock to slip farther onto his forehead. It gave him an endearing, boyish appearance.

How old was he, anyway?

“I beg your pardon. Mrs. Grenville, may I introduce ye to my sister’s daughter and my ward, Avery Levingtone? Avery, Mrs. Emily Grenville.”

“Mrs. Grenville.” Avery tilted her head a fraction.

Either she hadn’t been taught manners, or she was simply too angry to care about decorum. Emily suspected the latter, and though it was none of her business, she was curious what had triggered such rebellion.

“Avery. That’s an unusual given name,” Emily ventured in an attempt to lessen the palpable tension.

Her expression arranged into calculated boredom, Miss Levingtone shrugged. “It was my paternal grandmother’s maiden name. For reasons I’ll never know or understand, my parents thought it an appropriate given name for a girl. They might as well have named me Neale or Dalles for all of the trouble my given name has caused me.”

Emily could appreciate the girl’s frustration.

“Ye could use one of your middle names.” The duke brushed ineffectually at a smear of dirt marking his jacket from elbow to wrist. He glanced up through hooded eyes. “Moira and Yvaine were your grandmothers’ names, and both are quite lovely.”

“Nae.” Miss Levingtone shook her head. “Mama and Papa said they chose my name because they wanted me to grow into a strong, intrepid, and spirited woman. I honor them by using the name they gave me.”

Compassion softened the sharply hewn angles of his chiseled features, and something undefinable stirred in the vicinity of Emily’s heart.

He truly cared for his ward.

The Duke of Heatherston was a charming rogue, glib of tongue, quick to laugh, and to Emily’s limited knowledge, kind. Last December, she’d rebuffed his interest in her at Theadosia, the Duchess of Sutcliffe’s Christmastide house party. However, that had been a protective measure on her part and not a black mark against his character.

She had no more interest in becoming anyone’s mistress than marrying again.

“What brings you to London, Miss Levingtone?” Emily asked.

Arms folded and tapping one foot in impatience or annoyance, the girl jerked her chin toward her uncle, all the while giving him the gimlet eye.

“Uncle Tobias insisted I experience a Come Out this Season. He wants me wedded so he can be done with his familial obligation and continue his rakehell lifestyle.”