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head. “No, I don’t believe so.”
    She drew in her lower lip and continued her walk toward the bridge. “Mama spoke of walking to visit his grave site, but I thought she meant here at the house.”
    “Newhall Church is a mere two miles away. An easy walk from here.”
    She nodded but didn’t speak. He studied her profile, noting the fine lines of her nose and cheek. A sudden urge struck him to run his fingers along her jawline and down her neck over the faint line of her pulse visible through her pale skin. He shook his head. He had been without a woman for too long. There was no other explanation for his momentary attraction to this very uncouth woman.
    “Miss Malboeuf?”
    She turned to him expectantly.
    “Did you travel all the way to England simply to find the journal?”
    She placed her hands on her hips. “My goodness. You really do think I’m just a silly, frivolous girl.”
    He had underestimated her at first, but he would not make that mistake again. “Not at all. But I do wonder whether you plan to head back to the colonies straightaway after locating the journal.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “I believe my previous statement stands. Only an extremely frivolous…no, that’s not correct. Only a…deranged person would spend months traveling halfway around the world to complete a simple task and immediately board a ship to repeat the trip again.”
    “Then, if I may be so bold—”
    Her nostrils flared. “Why ask my permission now when you’ve clearly already been so bold?”
    Confound the woman. She would not give a millimeter of ground. He pitied the man who found himself married to her. “I shall try again,” he said under his breath. “Miss Malboeuf, let me rephrase. How long do you intend to stay in England?”
    “The timing of my arrival was no accident. I expect to remain for some time and partake of the social season in London.”
    Afraid she might resort to physical abuse—she did carry a cutlass after all—he bit his lip to prevent a laugh from erupting. “Do you plan to break into Almack’s, then, and threaten the patronesses with physical harm if they don’t issue you a voucher?”
    She rolled her eyes at him. “I would certainly like to threaten you with physical harm.”
    He held his palm against his chest. “Miss Malboeuf, do have a care for my feelings. I’m simply attempting to look after your welfare.”
    “I hadn’t realized. How, exactly, were you expecting to accomplish that? With insults or ludicrous suggestions?”
    He smothered a smile. “Clearly the second option. Ludicrous suggestions.”
    “Yes, of course,” she said pertly, then ruined it by laughing.
    She laughed with complete abandon, entirely unconcerned about how she looked or what he thought of her, and he joined in her mirth. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like that. Longer than he could remember, in fact. Yet, it wouldn’t do to let this undisciplined chit steer him off course. He was the Duke of Boulstridge and would behave as such.
    He stood tall and straightened his shoulders. “Let me rephrase my original question. How do you intend to gain entrée to the ton ? They are not welcoming to untitled outsiders.”
    “My mother is not without friends here, Your Grace. You needn’t worry about me.”
    And just like that, she had dismissed him. It was just as well, as he certainly wasn’t going to offer to sponsor her himself. He had to admit she was entertaining, but she had no hope of surviving for more than a fortnight in London. There was, however, one small thing he could do for her, which hopefully would benefit him as well. Aside from some nonsense about a hidden tiara, he was unable to discover anything of importance in the journal. If he gave her access to it, perhaps it would distract her focus from Walsley. Despite his misgivings about her, he trusted her with the journal. She wasn’t the devious sort. No, she was more than willing to exhibit her lack of decorum in public.
    He