Mad About the Duke, page 21
Sir, have you gone mad?
Then again, she knew he was utterly mad. And she supposed that was why she had…had…oh, bother, fallen in love with him.
Which made about as much sense as this outing to the park.
Glancing down at her gloved hand sitting atop his sleeve, she did her best not to curl her fingers into the wool of his jacket, did her best to ignore the way her skirt brushed against his leg.
For that was a path to another sort of madness.
As it was, her distracted thoughts came to an end when Brook Street intersected with the thick traffic moving around Grosvenor Square, for the dogs were all a tangled mess.
“Oh, this will never do,” Elinor said, reaching out and taking the leads from his grasp. Deftly, she straightened them out and handed him the leads for Ivo and Bastion, the two greyhounds, while she kept hold of Fagus, the little terrier. “Now we will have some order,” she told them.
The greyhounds looked grateful, while Fagus gave a happy wag, as if he was conceding for now.
Elinor knew better.
“Well done,” Mr. St. Maur said. “As I recall, that one is the troublemaker.” He nodded to Fagus, whose lead she had clenched in her hand.
“Yes, Fagus. He likes nothing more than darting between the other dogs until the poor greyhounds are completely befuddled.”
The dog glanced over his shoulder as if he knew of his faults and found them quite charming.
“Would you like me to take him?” Mr. St. Maur offered. “I have a lifetime of experience with troublemakers.”
Elinor stopped herself from asking the first question that sprang to her lips. Am I one of them?
Instead, she shook her head. “No, I am quite used to his tricks.”
Taking one of the paths that bisected the giant green, they continued on, the dogs happily leading the way.
Elinor had never been walking with a man before, for Edward had abhorred such practices as beneath him, and there had never been any other gentleman to ask her.
Now here was James, having sent a note around and inviting her for a walk in the park. Certainly he could have made his report in the parlor and left.
Or kissed her again…
Yet here they were strolling along in such a public setting.
Then a wry thought occurred to her. Had he chosen this venue so as to avoid another private meeting?
She slanted a glance at him and found him digging in his coat and drawing out a watch.
“Nearly half past,” he mused. “We should be right on time.”
Elinor stared for a moment at the watch in his hand, for it was too fine a piece for a mere solicitor, or a man of business, or whatever profession St. Maur claimed.
Perhaps a gift from a grateful client. Perhaps even a female one. Elinor did her best to tamp down the stab of jealousy cutting through her. Yet it was an expensive timepiece, so who could have given it to him?
Before she could puzzle it out, his entire statement registered. “We should be right on time.”
On time for what?
“The dogs are a nice touch,” he noted.
“Excuse me?” Elinor had the growing sense of panic that there was more to the outing than just a walk in the park.
“The dogs,” he said, nodding down at the trio before them. “I suspect Avenbury will be overjoyed to see them.”
Elinor pulled to a stop. Truly, she couldn’t have heard him correctly. Yet the cold pit in her stomach begged to differ. “Avenbury?” she managed to get out.
“Yes, Avenbury,” he said. Then the realization must have hit him. “Oh, yes, that’s right. You didn’t get my note.”
“No, I didn’t,” she stammered.
“Then you don’t know,” he said as he paused and looked up ahead to the wide lawn before them.
“Know what?” she asked, following his glance, but nothing up ahead appeared out of the ordinary, just the usual assortment of nannies, tutors, and their charges taking their requisite morning ramble.
“Oh, how demmed disconcerting for you not to know,” he complained, glancing back the way they had come. Any direction other than directly at her.
“Not to know what?” she nearly shouted at him.
“We are meeting Avenbury.”
“Avenbury?” Elinor said weakly, her knees wobbling.
“Yes.”
Good heavens, he needn’t sound so nonchalant, like they were taking tea with some maiden aunt of his.
She shook her head and glanced around them. “Here? Right now? In the park?”
“Yes, I do believe he’s—”
Elinor reached over, snatched Ivo and Bastion’s leads out of his grasp, and started back in the direction from which they’d come.
Fleeing would have been more accurate.
“Where are you going?” he said as he came after her.
She whirled around on him. “Home!”
“But we are to meet His Grace.”
“You may meet him, but I cannot.” She went to make her escape, but he caught her by the arm and held her fast.
“Why not? You asked me to arrange—”
“Yes, arrange a meeting, but not like this. I am not fit to meet the Duke of Avenbury.” She shook off his grasp. “In this gown? This bonnet? Why, these boots are barely presentable! I look a fright.”
St. Maur reached out, took her by the shoulders and held her fast. His hands were warm and strong, even through her pelisse, and they stilled the panic rattling through her. He gazed at her, from the top of her third-best bonnet right down to her barely presentable boots.
And then he smiled, the sort of warm, appreciative gaze that says a man likes what he sees.
“You look perfectly delightful to me.” He reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair back under her bonnet.
Then he leaned forward and kissed her softly on the forehead. “Avenbury will find you as presentable as I do.”
“St. Maur, you don’t know what you are saying. He’s a duke. His expectations are far above—”
“Ssh,” he soothed, stroking her cheek and gazing into her eyes. “You would look lovely in sackcloth.”
“Hardly,” she told him, trying to look away, trying not to move closer, move into his arms.
“Better sackcloth than that gown you bought Sunday. I can assure you, Avenbury would never approve.”
“Avenbury or you?” she shot back.
“Both, I imagine,” he told her with all the conviction of a newly minted vicar. “You would age him beyond his years if you turned up in his presence wearing that dress.”
She shook her head, then slipped from his grasp yet again.
“I cannot do this,” she said over her shoulder, towing the dogs along. “Not like this.”
She heard his aggrieved huff, and then his boots as he pounded after her.
“Not like what?” he said, matching her hurried strides.
Elinor came to a stop. “Without being prepared. Without knowing what to expect.”
“You can expect to meet the man you asked me to introduce to you.”
“Yes, I know I asked you to do that, but I also asked you to discover what he is like. I cannot meet him without knowing some particulars.”
Yes, St. Maur. Tell me all about him. Please tell me he is exactly like you in every way.
But even if he was, he wouldn’t be the man before her.
Not in the ways that mattered.
Elinor came to a stop. “Tell me about him, St. Maur,” she pleaded. “What sort of man is he?”
He took his hat off for a moment and ran his hand impatiently through his dark hair before slamming his hat back on his head. St. Maur looked utterly exasperated with her.
Why didn’t men understand why these things were so important?
“If you insist,” he said.
“I do.”
He sighed. “But we must be on time.”
“Yes, yes, but there is much I must know first.”
“What do you want to know?”
Elinor bit her lip for a moment. “What does he look like?”
He huffed a bit and then said, “Fair-headed, even features.”
She nodded and waved her hand for him to continue.
“Oh, yes, when I met him, he was reading The Odyssey. Apparently he’s currently doing a protracted study of the classics. You should approve of that choice,” he said with a smirk.
Elinor ignored his barb about her costume at the Setchfield ball. She hadn’t heard him complaining that night. “A scholar?”
“Of a sort, yes.”
To her ears, it sounded like St. Maur was hedging. Not telling her the complete truth. “Really?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said, looking affronted to have his report questioned. “Why, he spoke of using this morning’s time in the park to…to…to study wind currents.”
Elinor paused and looked back in the direction in which they’d been heading before.
Better a scholar than a drunken sot who preferred the company of his equally top-heavy companions and the young Court-cards who happened to catch his eye.
Elinor reached over and caught hold of St. Maur’s sleeve, clinging to it. “Is he kind?”
“Kind?” St. Maur’s brow furrowed as if he didn’t understand the question.
“Yes, kind,” she repeated and then elaborated by saying, “Good to his servants, generous with his people. Kind.”
She would have added to that, Will he be good to me? Protect me? More importantly, protect my sister?
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “You’ll have no complaints on that account.”
Elinor sighed and looked once again at the appointed meeting spot. There was no sign of anyone yet, so she still had a few moments to compose herself. And when a bit of wind ruffled past her, she glanced at the swaying branches of the bare trees.
“You said something about wind currents?”
“I did, which is why I brought this kite, as a gift for him from you.” St. Maur held out his offering for her to examine. “Though I think he will prefer your mutts.”
“A gift?” she asked.
“Yes, what better to study wind currents with? Save a hot air balloon, but I could hardly conjure up one of those in the time I had.”
He held out the kite for her to examine.
“And you think the Duke of Avenbury is fond of kites?”
“Yes, most decidedly so,” St. Maur said. “And because of that, I’ll have you know I made this myself.”
She couldn’t help but smile at the lopsided grin on his face. “It looks like an excellent kite.”
“Thank you.”
“Why, even Mr. Franklin would admire it,” she said, teasing him a bit. Heavens, one would think the man had never built a kite before, but by the way he was holding it up for her to admire, it was apparent he was enormously proud of his endeavor.
“Is there anything you can’t do, St. Maur?” she asked softly. Like stop me from falling in love with you?
“James,” he corrected.
“Pardon?”
“Call me James, Elinor,” he told her. “As you did the other afternoon.”
She took an uneasy step back because once again that tentative line between employer and employee disappeared. And it was so easy for her heart to forget that it had ever existed.
For there he stood, so boyishly proud of his kite, wisps of his dark hair moving with the morning breeze, and that crowning glory of his, that wretched black eye, which made him look both dangerously masculine and terribly vulnerable.
“Call me James,” he repeated.
“I don’t think such intimacies are wise,” she said, remembering how it had felt to call him so the other afternoon.
“Why not? You didn’t object to ‘such intimacies’ the other day when you seduced me.”
“I did no such thing!” she protested.
“And who has the most kissable lips in all of London?” He leaned closer. “Nay, England?”
Her traitorous heart hammered in her chest. “Only England?” she managed.
He laughed just a bit. “I haven’t kissed anyone beyond our island borders, so I cannot give an expert opinion.”
She went to push him away, but he was too quick for her, moving out of her reach. “Careful of my kite,” he warned.
“Careful of my reputation,” she shot back.
“You needn’t fear for that on my account,” he told her. “Remember, I never—”
“Kiss and tell. Yes, I remember, St. Maur.”
“James,” he insisted.
“St. Maur, do stop.” Her protest seemed to give him further license to continue, for he moved closer still, only he found she wasn’t the only one to protest.
Fagus moved between his mistress and this interloper and growled, deeply and thoroughly, belying his small stature.
“Demmed mutt,” he said glancing down at the terrier.
“One hound to another,” she suggested.
“Touché, madame,” he supplied, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t reach an accord.” He stared at the dog and said in a sharp voice, “Sit.”
And Fagus did, his hindquarter dropping to the ground and his eyes sharp and bright, as if waiting for the next command.
Then St. Maur turned to her and said, “Now where was I?”
“Please sir, I dare not continue so. If I do…”
“What, Elinor? What will happen?” He drew closer. “Elinor, I have a house. Not far from here. Where we could be alone.”
Alone. Oh, those words were so tempting. So enticing. Alone. With him.
If only she could. But she knew the consequences would be far too grave.
My heart will be too far lost to ever recover. I won’t be able to do what I must.
The ugly words from Lord Lewis’s latest note echoed through her thoughts, cut through her wavering resolve. Bow Street…Summons…Immediately…She is mine to do with as I please…
Instead she gave him another answer. “We will only make fools of ourselves if we were to follow such a course, and that would be an unpardonable mistake.”
He looked ready to press his suit, to argue his case as any good solicitor might, but instead he nodded in agreement, grudgingly perhaps, and held out his arm to her again. “Truly, you think it would be a mistake to run off with me?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Are you certain?” There was that coaxing tone of his. The one that whispered down her spine and spoke of passions as yet undiscovered.
He would know how to find them, unleash them.
He had a house for such things, after all.
“Yes,” she said as firmly as she could.
“Then let us get this done, Lady Standon. It is time you met the Duke of Avenbury,” he said, turning down the path and not, she noticed, holding out his arm to her.
Elinor had never felt so bereft in her life. So fearful.
She glanced at the others around them, but she couldn’t discern a single man who might be the duke.
The only other likely candidate around was an elderly fellow with a pinched expression and gray hair, so he couldn’t be the fair-headed Avenbury. That left only a few nannies, their charges and a few elderly couples taking a morning stroll.
“Are we early?” she asked.
“No, right on time,” James supplied.
Then a young boy came running up to them. “You remembered!” he exclaimed.
“I did, Your Grace,” James replied.
Those two words—“Your Grace”—sent Elinor’s world spinning. Your Grace?
Then she looked, really looked at the boy before them, and it hit her.
Sandy hair, even features, and an aristocratic profile, even at this young age.
“That appears to be a most excellent kite, St. Maur.”
“It is a gift, Your Grace, from Lady Standon. But here, I am being remiss.” James bowed to the boy. “Your Grace, may I present Elinor, the Marchioness of Standon.” Then he rose and bowed slightly to Elinor. “Lady Standon, it is my honor to present to you His Grace, the Duke of Avenbury.”
To the boy’s credit, he cut an excellent bow, and Elinor replied in course, by making a deep and respectful curtsey.
When he raised up, the charming lad grinned at her. “Lady Standon, are those your dogs?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“May I pet them?”
“Yes, indeed. I think you will find them most appreciative.” When she glanced over at James, she found the wretched bastard grinning smugly. He’d known all along the Duke of Avenbury was naught but a lad, and he hadn’t told her.
The laughter in his eyes and the turn of his lips said he was finding her discomfiture more than amusing.
He wouldn’t be laughing when they were away from “His Grace” and she had him alone and cornered. And even as much as she wanted to ring a peal over his head that would have him waking in fright for weeks to come, she could hear his defense now.
But my lady, you insisted. Avenbury was on your list. Your command was for me to introduce you to him. And I have done so.
And it was harder still to stay furious when she glanced down at Avenbury, rolling about with the dogs, who had all but swamped him, having recognized a kindred spirit—a child with a heart full of love.
“See, I told you,” James whispered over to her, still holding his offering. “The dogs would win him over more so than my kite.”
The dogs barked and yipped happily at their new friend, while across the green someone else was less than amused by this meeting.
“Your Grace! Indeed, Your Grace, stop this moment!”
Lost in the joy of being surrounded by newfound companions, the duke, who cared naught for his title or wealth but only for the chance to play, didn’t hear the admonishments.
The pinch-faced man Elinor had spied earlier ran over. “Madam, call off your dogs! Immediately!” Then he shot a harried glance at the duke. “Your Grace, remember yourself! Decorum!”
The boy’s face fell immediately, then he scrambled to his feet quickly, standing at attention.
Bastion, Ivo and Fagus were not so well-mannered, and they continued to circle the boy playfully, jumping and barking as if to tell him they weren’t finished.
“Your Grace, step away, those dogs could bite!”
