Ophelia shrank back, suddenly aware of how alone she was. Her heart stuttered, and a scream caught in her throat as she flung her hand to the roof, intending to yank open the trapdoor between herself and her coachman.

“I apologize.” His voice filled the small space like one deep note from a cello: calm, resonant, safe.

Air slipped out of Ophelia’s lungs. Her hand fell back and she leaned, boneless, against the back of her carriage seat.

The Duke of Lindow closed the door behind himself and sat down opposite her, his intense green eyes fastened on her face. There wasn’t a shred of shame in his expression. There was regret for having frightened her, but the fact he’d invaded her carriage without an invitation?

No, he had all the bravado of a pirate boarding a ship and informing the captain that he had every right to be there.

She felt a welcome spark of anger at the base of her spine and sat up straight again. She was a dowager baroness. He might be far above her in England’s hierarchy, but that didn’t give him the right to frighten her.

To invade her carriage.

“I did not invite you to join me,” she stated, adding, after a pointed pause, “Your Grace.”

The duke had stuffed his gloves into his pockets, and now he shrugged out of his damp greatcoat without answering. The beautiful wool was speckled with dark spots where snowflakes had melted.

Ophelia was well aware that the person who talks most in any confrontation loses power, so she held her tongue.

He had remarkably broad shoulders. Even his neck looked powerful. He was a male animal, lithe and powerful—but one who meant her no harm. She knew that instinctively, in her bones.

His Grace was no Francis Clive, running around looking for adventures and woe betide any young woman who got in his way.

Once out of his heavy outerwear, he shrugged, apparently uncomfortable in his closely tailored, extravagant coat. But then, in one swift movement, he crouched in front of her.

Ophelia could feel her eyes rounding as she looked down. He didn’t touch her, but she felt as if his gaze settled around her like a warm blanket. A sharp sense of vertigo gripped her.

Men like this, dukes, had nothing to do with women like her. She had been considered tremendously lucky that Peter chose her. She was rounded, short, and not particularly beautiful. That wasn’t even taking account of the pointed chin Maddie had mentioned.

What’s more, she wasn’t seductive or flirtatious. Not that she had ever flirted with this man before.

“Your Grace,” she said. “I gather that you have formed some sort of interest in me that is groundless and unrequited. I must ask you to behave like a gentleman and return from whence you came.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “From whence I came?”