Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5) (23 page)

He didn’t permit shooting for entertainment on his land. It was a damned foolish occupation, picking birds out of the sky because a man had nothing better to do. Almost any occupation was better, and certainly kinder to the animals that graced the land.

The gurgling of a rushing stream filled the air, and he headed down toward it. The silvery bit of water marked the end of his estate and the beginning of a small tract of land belonging to the Englishwoman. Why in God’s name an English widow would wish to have a small bit of the Highlands was beyond him, except for the fact she seemed to like to invite hordes of Sassenachs and behave as though her tiny patch of land was Sodom and Gomorrah.

It should have been a pleasant day.

He should have been out managing the herds of great Highland cattle.

He should have been speaking with tenants, assuring them that Scotland’s woes were behind them now that Parliament, in all its pompous wisdom, had decided to ease many of the cruel laws against the Northerners.

But it wasn’t.

Frankly, any day a Scot had to come face-to-face with a Sassenach since the Battle of Culloden was a bad one.

Just as he was about to swipe at an ancient and massive holly bush, despite its prickly leaves, he curved around the foliage and bashed into a soft form. His foot caught in the long hem of a cape, and he slipped on the wet grass.

A feminine yelp of dismay burst from said soft form, and just before he could land full bore atop the woman, he twisted his body, wrapped his arms around her slight form, and took the force of their tumble, landing on his back.

Every single one of her womanly curves seemed pressed against his body.

He held absolutely still. For surely, if he held absolutely still, his mind would stop the sudden riot that had commenced within his usually perfectly ordered head.

L
ady Allegra Penthurst clutched her itchy wool cap then pulled it down over her ears. A full month of shorn hair still left her feeling completely exposed, but if she intended on passing as the stable boy she claimed to be, red hair that fell to one’s bum would hardly do.

She’d known her life was about to take a remarkable turn the moment she’d left her London townhome and taken to the roughly-grooved roads, burying herself deep in the Devon countryside where the sea and land met in the sort of furious beauty that stole one’s breath away.

But she hadn’t counted on how wonderfully mundane life as a stable boy would be.

Mundane, that was, until
he
showed up.

She bit down on her lower lip and wished she could sink into the slightly muddy stable yard ground.

What was
he
doing here?

A traitorous shiver traveled down her spine. A deliciously frightened shiver at the possibility that she might be discovered and by such a man. It had been no small risk, abandoning her life and her home, but she could still feel Juliana’s hand in hers. That promise? It was in everything she did now. From the way she rose in the morning and embraced the day, to the way she tumbled aching into bed after a long day at work.

She was going to be herself and live her life to the very fullest, as her sister hadn’t been able to.

Given that, she shouldn’t be so paralyzed by the Duke’s presence. After all, she’d sworn off marriage. Not men. There was just one thing. She was a boy. At least until she decided if France was her next step in her abandonment of a life of courtesies and tea cups.

My goodness, there was something all too astounding about the fabulously powerful Duke of Roth who had the whole stable yard clambering. She should be clambering, too, but her feet seemed to be stuck.

Whatever it was about him, it thrilled and terrified her at once. Perhaps it was his charcoal black hair which fell in sharp waves about his harsh cheekbones. Or perhaps it was the sheer width of his broad shoulders, stretching the expensively tailored blue coat and white linen shirt, open at the neck, exposing perfect, burnished skin. Then again, it was absolutely possible it was the way he towered over everyone, his six foot four inches giving him a command that made her tremble in her five foot two inch frame.

Whatever it was, whenever
the Duke
was near, it was all she could do to stop the flutterings in her belly. 

The Duke of Roth was the kind of man girls were warned about. And didn’t that make him all the more tempting? No. She had a semblance of a plan and English aristocrats were not a part of it. Freedom from titled men and all that they came with was the only thing for her.

Allegra groaned under her breath. Good lord, he was beautiful. He was also a bloody inconvenience. Perhaps she should sneak back to the servant’s quarters and claim a weak stomach.

She’d never met the Duke of Roth in London, but she had no desire to draw his attention.

At present, he was far too close for comfort. She was supposed to be hauling hay into the barn. Instead, she was half hiding behind said tall pile of hay. If she scurried, something she was completely unaccustomed to, for timid mouse she was not, she might be able to get by him unnoticed.

It would be tricky. The Duke of Roth stood not even four feet away beside the wood fence surrounding the paddock, one black booted foot propped on the bottom beam. He stared out at the mare, Mab, as she took her delicate but sure paces. The young mare had been brought in to breed with the duke’s prized stud, rather ironically named Devil. To Allegra’s shock, his grace had come down to the paddock to oversee the events himself.

Dukes weren’t supposed to be present for such things. They were supposed to be off doing dukely things, like running the government or overseeing their lands. In a grand study
not
a muddy yard.

In fact, old Gregory, her lady’s maid’s uncle, had assured her that the duke was seldom at his estate at all. It was why she’d felt so confident hiding from her family at Rothton, the duke’s family seat. She wasn’t really certain what favor Gregory owed her maid, Rose, but whatever it was, it had guaranteed his compliance. . . And to Allegra’s shock, Rose, who had also been Juliana’s maid, had been remarkably determined to help.

Since the duke’s return, contrary to Gregory’s claims, the duke was in his stables almost every morning to take his hellfire beast of a stallion out. At those hours, Allegra made a point of being as far away as she possibly could.

So far, she’d succeeded in the stables, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the ground, shuffling past whenever he turned up striding about and giving off the general air of one who was going to tear someone to bits at any moment.

She inched to her right, ready to fall to her hands and knees, in search of some bit or imaginary bob so she might keep her head down.

As she moved, the duke turned slightly.

He spotted her. Hard eyes as black as obsidian caught her in their gaze. “You. Boy.”

Allegra froze, her own gaze trapped by his. After a painful moment, she managed to drop her stare and gave her cap a little pull out of respect “Your Grace?”