The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane by Kasey Michaels

the
kitchens and scurried away to give a line-by-line report of the
contretemps (complete with proper inflections and gestures) to his
good friend Leo, the Duke’s groom.
    Farnley rushed out of the kitchen as soon as
Dunstan appeared, quick to seek out his master and try to get back
into his good graces—although he could not resist reminding his
grace of his prior dire predictions of this being only the
beginning of a most dreadful period in Avanoll history.
    Tansy was left alone in the dining room,
deciding whether to hold the Duke to such blatant blackmail as
Emily forced on him or to be sweet and understanding and let him
off the hook. After all, the poor man had enough on his plate
without having to squire his “country bumpkin” beanpole of a cousin
through the Park at five o’clock with all the ton looking
on.
    But then again, as she thought on it a bit
more, he really had been insufferable. She pictured his face as it
looked when the dowager was ringing that mighty peal over his head
and laughed aloud in the quiet room. Served him right, the pompous
ass! How dare he react so boorishly when her intentions were so
honorable? Besides, she really was itching to get her hands on
those horses of his!
    She rose slowly and carelessly pushed an
errant brown curl back from her forehead—leaving behind a grey
smudge of polish that neatly balanced out the ones on her chin,
nose, and cheek—and went off to make sure her driving ensemble was
not in need of pressing. She’d show him a thing or two about
driving, or her name wasn’t Tansy Tamerlane!

Chapter Eight
    A t a quarter to the
hour of five, a dashing young lady in a deep gold pelisse and
matching bonnet was perched expectantly on a gilt chair in the
foyer of Avanoll House. Her entire attitude—from her stubbornly
uptilted chin to a single visible, stylishly-shod foot, at the
moment tapping a rapid tattoo against the tiled floor—bespoke an
impatience to be up and gone. Her strategic positioning declared
she was not to be out-maneuvered by a cowardly Duke bent on escape
from his promise.
    “Blast” she heard from the top of the stairs.
She turned her head sharply, tilting her precariously perched
bonnet even further over one eye, to observe the Duke—looking
dashing in his three-caped drab-green driving coat, in the act of
putting one gleaming Hessian boot on the top stair.
    “Afraid I’d renege, cousin?” he asked acidly
as he descended to the foyer and took his gloves and curly-brimmed
beaver from Dunstan’s outstretched hands. “Never let it be said I
was a white feather man who ran from battle, eh, Dunny? Ah,” he
breathed as if he had not erred on purpose, “I mean Dunstan, don’t
I? So sorry, old man, force of habit you know, since it was you, so
you tell me, who used to be fond of bouncing me on your knee when I
was but a babe. But, then, perhaps old ties were made to be broken
and old friendships forgot. Tut, tut!” He held up one large hand to
cut off the apology Dunstan had shown no intention of making.
“Though you have cut me to the quick by deserting me to go over
to,” he shot a quick look at Tansy, “the enemy, I am determined to
hide my pain and carry on with the National stiff upper lip. It is
expected, you know.”
    “Oh, give over, Ashley. Can’t you see you are
not impressing Dunny one mite? Besides, your sorrow is all a hum so
you can delay our outing, and as I hear the horses now I suggest
you do not leave them standing in the breeze any longer.” Tansy
then dismissed the Duke with a slight smile and turned to the
butler. “Dunny, please remind Cook that dinner is for eight of the
clock, and that although I approved the menu it was with the
understanding the third remove be deleted.”
    As Tansy turned for the door the Duke’s voice
rang out in devilish glee, “Oh, Dunstan, I am afraid I had a short
lapse of memory, it seems I have invited four guests to dine with
us—gentlemen I met at White’s this afternoon who were