Unmasking the Duke, page 17
A strange little smile flickered on her lips. “Goodness, that was a long speech to justify an invitation. Even so, I would once have been delighted to say yes.”
“I hope you still are.”
She met his gaze squarely. “No, you don’t, Johnny. You are kind, but your mind and your heart are elsewhere.”
“Aren’t yours?” he asked evenly.
“Oh, I don’t have a heart.”
“Did you not even love your prince?”
She shook her head. “Not really. I am not capable of the kind of love you mean. If I were, he would have come closest. And you.”
“I can’t work out if I’m flattered or disappointed.”
She laughed. “Yes, you can.”
He smiled back. “Our time is past, but we are still friends. Martha will like to see you again.”
“There will be talk, Johnny. The world thinks you fought a duel over me. And against my worse nature, I have no desire to hurt your Kitty.”
“Don’t,” he said quickly, without quite knowing what he was forbidding. But where Kitty was concerned, he possessed a tender spot he could not bear to be prodded.
“She loves you,” Aline said flatly. “One of you should face up to that.”
He felt more than prodded. He felt pierced by something sharp and breathtaking, something equal parts pleasure and pain. Aline, damn her, was nothing if not perceptive. But he strove to keep to the point. “I will face up to everything if you come to Dearham as my friend. After all, with Meg gone, Kitty will need you.”
Aline sighed and appeared to think about it. “I thought my only male friend was Lord Harry,” she grumbled. “I liked it that way.”
“I am not too proud to substitute for Harry,” Johnny said meekly and let her punch his arm just a little too hard. He supposed he deserved it, though he wasn’t quite sure why. Until, as she turned away, he caught the faintest glitter in her eyes that might just have been unshed tears.
*
The following day, Lord and Lady Harry set off to join his regiment at their headquarters in the north. Apart from curtailing dancing lessons, their departure also left the house feeling empty and quiet without crying babies and over-exuberant children.
Kitty felt a little lost when they had gone, a little unsure. Not least, because as she had embraced her brother, Meg had murmured something in his ear, something that had startled him and sent his gaze flying straight to Kitty. It had been an odd look, one she could not identify but which made her suddenly afraid.
Had Meg—kind but practical Meg—warned him against her? Did Kitty take up too much of his time? Or had Meg guessed that Kitty adored her brother and realized it would not do?
It wouldn’t, of course, but maybe a few more weeks—just a few more—would give her the strength to leave.
“Shall we pack up and go to Dearham?” the duke said abruptly, over dinner. “How long will you need, Mama?”
“A day,” the duchess replied dismissively. “I no longer travel with my favorite furniture, paintings, and dinner services.”
“Goodness,” Kitty said, awed. “I wish I had seen you travel before. It must have been quite a caravan.”
“It was,” the duchess agreed modestly. “It certainly got me noticed.” She appeared to pull herself together. “Two trunks and my maid now suffice.”
“Then I propose we leave the day after tomorrow,” the duke said restlessly. “Will that suit, Aline? Kitty?”
“Of course,” Aline said at once.
Kitty laid down her spoon. “I would like to go to Maida before we leave.”
“I’ll take you,” the duke promised.
“There is no need. You will be busy—”
“I won’t be busy. I have an army of servants who are quite used to my sudden starts.”
Kitty opened her mouth to argue and unexpectedly caught Aline’s eye.
“Say ‘thank you, my lord duke,’” Aline drawled.
Confused, Kitty repeated, “Thank you, my lord duke.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dearham Abbey was massive. It made the London house look like a cottage. An impressive stone pile formed of three wings, surrounded by rings of formal gardens, parkland, forest, and farms, it dominated the countryside as it had clearly done for centuries. An original medieval great hall, now used as a formal dining room, dominated the east wing, while much of the rest was clearly much newer, added in the previous century.
“I will get lost,” Kitty said in awe, following the duke and Aline from the great hall and back into the marble entrance hall, from which a sweeping staircase curved up to a long gallery.
“No, you won’t,” the duke assured her. “At least, not after the first day or so! Until then, servants will always point you in the right direction.”
Kitty gazed up at the painted ceiling and the great windows shedding light down the staircase. “It must have been a great place to play as children.”
“It was. On rainy days, at least. Mostly, I remember being outdoors. Ah, here is Mrs. Brown, our housekeeper, who will help with anything you need.”
Mrs. Brown, a plump woman of middle years, with a vast array of ancient keys dangling from her belt, smiled and curtseyed. “Tea will be served in the small drawing room.” She pointed along the gallery. “Third door on the right along there.” She nodded and went serenely on her way.
Kitty followed the duke and Aline along the gallery and up another grand staircase, still gazing about her with awe. The house was on a completely different scale to any building she had ever seen before. “I thought it would be like Uncle Bill’s hotel,” she said.
Johnny cast her a crooked smile. “My ancestors built on a grand scale. Especially the first duke, who is responsible for the massive expansion. Here is your room, Aline.” He threw open a door on his left for the princess. “Your baggage should already be there. Kitty, you are just a little further along the passage…”
Kitty followed obediently.
Johnny lowered his voice, “Her Grace has put you on the edge of the family wing which, in case you had doubts, is acceptance. In fact,” he added, opening a door almost at the corner of the passage, “I think she likes you. These were Cousin Margaret’s rooms.”
Uncertainly, Kitty walked into a fine, comfortable sitting room, off which were two doors. One led to a well-appointed dressing room with a truckle bed, perhaps for a maid. The other gave on to a large bedchamber with heavy, dark blue hangings.
“All for me?” she said, backing once more into the sitting room to find the duke still leaning in the open doorway to the passage.
“Of course. Your things should already be put away for you. And the maid should be up shortly with hot water for you to change and join us for tea. Afterward, I’ll show you more of the house or the grounds if it’s light enough.”
“Thank you,” she replied, feeling very small and overwhelmed, with a sneaking longing for the simple coziness of the cottage at Maida. Reminded, she turned back to the duke, just as he pushed his shoulder off the door jamb and stepped back. “Sir?”
“Madam?”
“What were you talking about so earnestly with my uncle? The day before we left London.”
“Investing in his hotel,” the duke said unexpectedly. “With the extra money, he should be able to get the internal work done in time to open early in the new year, perhaps even for Twelfth Night.”
A surge of warmth caused her to take a step nearer. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“No, I didn’t. But I’m hoping to make a fortune out of it, so never imagine it’s philanthropy.”
“I would never so insult you.”
He grinned and sauntered off, leaving her alone in her overwhelming rooms.
*
She woke to the warmth of the sun on her face and remembered she had left open the bed curtains and the shutters because the country view had reminded her of Maida.
She stretched in her grand bed, then slid out of the covers to peer out the window. The sky was clear and blue, the trees and the hedges and the ground sparkling with frost. The outdoor beauty called to her, urging her to explore.
So, she washed and dressed hastily in front of the fire—already lit by some unseen hand while she had slept—wrapped herself in shawls and her old cloak and boots, and then sallied forth.
She could hear the movement and chatter of servants around the house, but she doubted anyone else was up yet. Just in case, she made no noise as she crept downstairs, though she exchanged cheerful good mornings with the maid mopping the entrance hall floor.
Outside, it was one of those mornings that made one glad just to be alive—sharp and bright and smelling of clean, cold air. She inhaled it as her boots crunched across the gravel drive toward the gardens.
They were pretty, she decided, and extraordinarily well kept, but without any of the fantasy or silliness of Maida. Briskly, she crossed a large lawn away from the house and headed toward the woods, enjoying the singing of the birds and the distant calls of sheep and cattle and horses. All around her was open farmland and meadow. True countryside rather than a park tagged on to the edge of London.
As she breathed in, she imagined herself growing with the land and laughed at her own foolishness. Still, she could be content here… Maybe.
She wandered with her head so far in the clouds that she lost her sense of direction. In the distance, she could hear soft footsteps so muffled by the spongy ground that she couldn’t work out if it was two humans or a horse. Either way, she felt a sudden longing for the open sky and turned toward the sun. Which should, she thought doubtfully, bring her back out facing the house.
It didn’t. But as she emerged onto a meadow, she was still glad to be in the open once more, under the benign, wintry sun. If she skirted the wood, now, it should bring her home, only a little later than she had intended.
And then, as she walked briskly through the meadow, a horseman emerged from the wood just ahead of her. Her stomach tightened, for after the fire, it seemed she had learned to be afraid of strangers. Had Alf Smith followed her here? Or was it another assassin about to mistake her for the princess?
The rider took off his hat, which was, she thought, too polite for anyone who meant her mischief. The sun glinted on his dark blond hair, turning it golden, and she smiled with relief because it was the duke. Looking casually splendid as only he could.
“Lost?” he teased.
“Exploring,” she said with dignity. “It’s such a beautiful day to be outside, and there is so much space!”
“Come, I’ll show you some more.” He bent from the waist, stretching down his hand.
She glanced nervously at the head of the horse, who snorted and stamped his feet. “You know I can’t ride.”
“Trust me,” he said. “Up you come.”
And somehow, she was hauled up in front of him, almost sitting in his lap, hemmed in by his powerful thighs and his arm at her waist. She sat side-saddle like a lady, though her skirts spread over his legs, and she grasped his coat with both hands.
“Dear God, how do women actually stay on, let alone ride like this?” she demanded.
“With a proper lady’s saddle, of course. I’ll keep you safe for now.”
She swallowed. “It’s a long way to the ground.”
“Then look ahead. Prince here is much too polite to even try to throw us.”
“He doesn’t seem very polite,” she said doubtfully, remembering his impatient head-tossing and stamping.
“That’s because he wants to run. Like you. But he’ll be good until I let him. Look, my favorite view of the house is from this hill…”
Gradually, as he pointed out various landmarks and farms and villages, she began to relax. Most places came with funny stories that made her laugh. He pointed to a gracious house in the distance, Alvern Park, one of the Marquess of Staunton’s estates, and where Lord Harry had been brought up.
“We’re invited to dinner there tomorrow night,” he said casually, “and Staunton and his family will no doubt be around Dearham a good deal, too.”
She saw the town of Dearham, but only from a distance. “Since we don’t want to shock the good townspeople,” he explained wryly, reminding her, just when she had relaxed, of the improper closeness of their ride.
“What about shocking your lady mother?” she retorted. “I knew I should not allow—”
“Are you uncomfortable?” he interrupted.
In truth, she had never been more comfortable in her life. Alone within his arms—and his legs—and absorbing the heat of his body even though the cold weather and the thickness of their winter clothes, her whole being sang with secret pleasure.
Incurably honest, she shook her head, though she could not look at him.
“Good. Then let’s add a little excitement.” And his leg moved against hers, sending a jolt of unexpected pleasure through her. However, there was nothing amorous about the action, he was merely urging the trotting horse into a canter which made her gasp and then to a gallop across open country.
She clung to him again in mingled terror and delight at the sheer speed. Her stomach seemed to have been left yards behind, but still, she laughed aloud with pure joy because she wanted the wild motion to go on forever.
At last, with Dearham Abbey once more in view, he slowed the horse with his voice and the surprisingly gentle tug of the reins.
“Oh, my goodness,” she uttered in breathless wonder, smiling up at him. “That was…overwhelming! Will you teach me to ride, Johnny?”
Only from the triumphant gleam in his eyes did she realize she had used his Christian name. She blushed and was glad he wouldn’t notice because of her already wind-blown cheeks.
“Yes, I’ll teach you to ride.” The amused crowing faded from his eyes as they stared into hers. And suddenly, her excitement had nothing to do with the horse or speed but only with the man holding her. Her heart seemed to dive among the butterflies already playing in her stomach, and when his gaze dropped to her lips, everything seemed to plunge even lower.
“I’ll choose you a horse,” he murmured, his voice low and distracted. “We can begin this afternoon if you like.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, afraid to breathe because his head had dipped as though he would kiss her.
It had happened before like this, as if he was giving her time to avoid his kiss if she wished. She didn’t. Nor did she have any intention of evading him, for she longed with every fiber of her being to feel his mouth on hers once more. She parted her lips from sheer instinct.
And then his breath rushed against her mouth, and he drew back. “We’ll be seen. Come, we’ll get down and walk the rest of the way.”
Still stunned, she was vaguely aware of his leg sweeping over the horse’s back. Then he jumped to the ground, and he held up his arms. She jumped into them and was lowered to the ground. She might have imagined that he held her against him for the merest instant before he released her and stepped back.
Confused and not a little disappointed, she walked blindly along beside him as he led the horse toward the stables at the back of the house. He spoke about various things, and she knew she answered, but what she chiefly noticed was the soft smile in his eyes when they regarded her.
It made breathing difficult, and yet nothing in the world had ever been so exciting or so wonderful.
*
From that moment, their relationship was subtly altered. Or so it seemed to Kitty. It wasn’t that the duke’s manner became suddenly loverlike or even over-attentive. Indeed, he was busy a great deal of the time about estate business, and when he wasn’t, he still teased and bantered with his guests as though they were his sisters.
But every day, Kitty found herself alone with him at some point—a walk, a riding lesson, a long talk in the magnificent library when she went there ostensibly to read, a visit to a tenant. For her part, she looked forward to these casual moments with fierce longing and treasured them with all her heart because she felt she was truly getting to know the man who had always made her pulse race. And there was always something new to discover, such as his surprisingly deep knowledge of the classics, history, and various sciences.
“He is actually very clever, isn’t he?” she blurted to his sister, Lady Calvert—Meg’s twin, who was still known at Dearham as Lady Martha—who had arrived that day with her husband and children.
“Johnny?” Martha glanced at her with unexpected interest as they walked among the gardens once the rain had gone off. “Yes, he is, surprisingly enough. He got a first at Oxford, but no one ever talks of it, least of all Johnny. Cleverness is never what people remember about him because he is so entertaining, or a walking scandal, or simply a duke. But no one has ever called him a fool. Except my father, of course, but even he didn’t mean it. He was just afraid that Johnny would never settle down and take up the duties of the dukedom. It never entered his head that one could be done without the other. But Johnny goes his own way.”
Kitty smiled and discovered Martha’s gaze on her once more.
“You like him,” Martha observed.
“Of course,” Kitty said lightly. “Who does not?”
The trouble was, the liking that had always been there had become almost an obsession. And with her physical attraction to him only growing stronger every moment she was near him, his every casual touch threatening to dissolve her, she began to fear her hopeless devotion would be on display to the world.
