Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (40 page)

“No! No! I will do it!” she assured him, and
without a thought to her surroundings, kicked off her
embossed-satin shoes and tucked her stockinged feet under her many
petticoats to be more comfortably situated amongst the cushions.
“Now, please, we will concentrate on the game because I want so
much to win.”

From the outset the game belonged to the
Duke. He made careless moves which had his men captured many times,
but only to mete out the same treatment to Antonia. Try as hard as
she might, she could not get herself in a winning position. The end
result was a gammon for the Duke. Antonia took the defeat well,
though she complained he had prolonged the outcome by allowing her
men to escape his inner table only to be recaptured and eventually
shut out.

“It will always be the same,” she said
without complaint. “We could play at backgammon all our lives and
you would still be the better player.”

The Duke stared at the dice in his hand.
“Believe me,
mignonne
, I would like that more than anything
in this life.”

She hung her head. “Please, M’sieur le Duc.
You mustn’t say such things to me because I-I—Oh! I do not know how
to tell you how it makes me feel!” She scrambled off the chaise,
slipped into her shoes, and smoothed out her petticoats with an
agitated hand. “Grandmamma is coming and she will scold me for
sitting with you too long.”

From the corner of his eye the Duke saw the
Countess sweeping towards them with a decidedly firm tread. He
smiled crookedly. “Your grandmother sees me as a corruptive
influence,
mignonne
.”

“Corruptive influence?” Antonia repeated
with surprise. “But she is the last person who should point the
finger, Monseigneur!” And in the wake of her grandmother’s
displeasure she dropped onto the footstool by his left knee. The
intense look in his dark eyes and the frown of concern sparked
within her a tiny sliver of possibility and so she added
mischievously, “If you have corrupted me then I am very glad of it.
We had six wonderful days together, did we not? And I find that I
like making love with you very much. But when I take lovers in
future, I will strive to be more like the females you usually bed.
Next time I will be sure not to allow my feelings to get in the way
of my affairs—”

“Antonia! You are not to say such things! Do
you hear me? You are nothing like those women,” he whispered
menacingly, grabbing her arm and giving her a little shake. “I
don’t want you to be at all like them! I have never wanted you to
be anyone but yourself. As for a next time, there won’t be a next
time!”

Antonia lowered her lashes and smiled to
herself. She sighed her regret. “I know that, Monseigneur,” she
said sadly. “You made that very clear to me in Paris…”

“With other men, you little wretch,” he
hissed, pulling her closer to drop a swift kiss on her forehead.
“Understand me?”

“Girls of your age should be in their beds!”
snapped Lady Strathsay, standing over the couple who reluctantly
fell apart. She glared at her granddaughter. “You are making a fool
of yourself, my dear.”

Antonia rose to her feet, but she ignored
the Countess, saying with a smile to the Duke, “You did not ask for
your reward, Monseigneur.”

He smiled into her eyes. “Tomorrow, while
the household are playing at cricket, come to the library and I
will have my reward.”

“I won’t allow it! It would be most
improper—”

Antonia slowly looked her grandmother up and
down. “You are the last person to lecture M’sieur le Duc on
propriety, my lady,” she said haughtily.

“How dare you…” began the Countess, so
enraged she could not finish the sentence.

“To bed, petite,” the Duke said gently,
“before your dear old grandmother puts it about I keep females from
their beds rather than in them.”

The Countess gaped at them both, the color
in her face a match for her upswept hair, and she finally turned to
the Duke when Antonia bobbed a curtsey and reluctantly took herself
off. “You encourage her willfulness, Roxton! And I won’t stand for
it.”

The Duke chuckled and sat back to polish his
quizzing-glass with a corner of a linen handkerchief. “Then you’d
best sit down, my dear, for methinks I have a fine duchess in the
making…”

The Countess was still out-of-sorts with her
granddaughter’s behavior of the previous night as she sat in state
under a marquee watching the autumn cricket match. Why men had to
play at cricket at this time of year escaped her and only served to
darken her already black mood. The wicket had been set up on the
lower field beyond the Ornamental Gardens; an expanse of low lush
grass bordered by ancient oaks and the beginnings of extensive
farming lands. The proximity of a flock of sheep, and the fresh
crisp air of a sunny autumn day, did little to improve the
Countess’s irritability.

The little black page fanned her while a
footman stood at the back of her chair to attend to her every whim,
should she want a glass of canary or of burgundy, or a plate of
food to nibble on from the buffet set out on trestle-tables under
the marquee. Lady Paget, Miss Harcourt and Antonia, reclined on
cushions on a woolen rug spread out across the grass near the
Countess’s chair. They were busy chattering amongst themselves and
the game took second place, especially for Antonia who had never
heard of cricket nor seen it played, and could not fathom what the
men were doing with the bats and a ball and why they should choose
to run back and forth between two sets of sticks.

Those gentlemen not required on the field
and not taking part in the match sat with the ladies, in comfort
under the marquee drinking, conversing and helping themselves to
the buffet. And those servants not absolutely required up at the
house, or needed at the marquee, were permitted to enjoy a picnic
of their own down by the oak trees; their wives and sweethearts and
children making up a boisterous group of cheering spectators.

Lady Strathsay had attempted to engage the
Vicomte’s attention but after half an hour’s stilted conversation
he had wandered off to the tables to find a glass of wine. He drank
continuously for most of the morning and brooded in silence,
kicking at clods of earth and wishing he was back in a civilized
country. He had been approached to play in the gentleman’s team and
flatly refused. It was unthinkable he would consent to lower his
dignity and play sport against menials. The English truly were
absurd. He could not wait to return to Paris on the morrow, and
take Antonia with him.

He watched her laughing and talking with the
ladies and his blood boiled to think she could not behave the same
way with him. It was his father’s fault, his and the Duke’s. They
would pay, and pay dearly, for turning her against him. A shout
near his ear brought him out of such thoughts and he lost the
contents of his snuffbox to the grass. It was Miss Woodruff’s
voice. The Lady Strathsay’s blunt answer to a question had made the
blonde laugh. He thanked God he could not speak English; it grated
so on the ear.

“Ellicott is batting very well I think,”
said Antonia to Charlotte. “He is a fast runner between those
sticks.”

“Wickets, my dear,” Lady Paget told her
kindly.

“Bravo for the valet!” declared Miss
Woodruff with a brittle laugh. “Now we know why Roxton keeps him.
He is a fast runner between sticks.”

Antonia bristled. “That is not so, Miss
Woodruff. Ellicott speaks excellent French, is a good shot with a
pistol, and expertly dresses M’sieur le Duc de Roxton. He can also
cook quail in a lovely red wine sauce. So, he is indispensable,
yes? Why do you laugh at me, Charlotte? It is true, I tell
you!”

“My love, you have such a charming way of
putting things into perspective,” said Lady Paget with a chuckle,
looking over Antonia’s fair head at Miss Harcourt.

“If Ellicott can cook quail I’m not
surprised his Grace treasures him,” said Miss Harcourt.

“His quail, it is very good,” Antonia
assured them with a dimple. “One day, he Ellicott, made for us this
quail, because Frédéric, that is M’sieur le Duc’s chef, was at his
brother’s wedding in Dijon—”

“I would have thought the valet kept on
because he knows too much about the Duke’s many indiscretions to be
dismissed,” said Miss Woodruff and turned an innocent stare on
Antonia.

Miss Harcourt thought it time to intervene.
“I was pleasantly surprised to see Lord Strathsay captain of the
household team. But shouldn’t his Grace be leading his men into
battle as it were?”

“What? Roxton play cricket?” said Lady Paget
with a snort. “He thinks the game damn silly enough in summer so a
thoroughly ridiculous occupation in autumn , to quote him.”

“No, that is not true Miss Woodruff,” stated
Antonia, ignoring the turn of conversation. “Why should Ellicott be
dismissed just because he knows whom M’sieur le Duc has
bedded?”

“Antonia!” said Miss Harcourt.

“
Eh bien
! What is wrong with the
truth?” asked Antonia. “Monseigneur has never made a secret of whom
he beds. How then can there be any scandal?”

“
Touché
, my love,” said Lady Paget
and looked over her shoulder at the Countess. “That says it neatly
enough, don’t you think, Gussie?”

“Roxton’s whores are of supreme indifference
to me,” shrugged Lady Strathsay. “I think Theo is doing a marvelous
job as captain. He always does. It was just as well you arrived
early this morn, Charlotte, or he would have been sorely
disappointed.”

“He is doing an excellent job of it, my
lady,” agreed Miss Woodruff. “So much better to watch a younger,
more athletic, gentleman run between sticks. I dare say his Grace
don’t play because he is too old for such youthful pursuits. It
stands to reason. My father and he are of an age when men are apt
to suffer the gout—”

“Pshaw! That is a great piece of nonsense!”
Antonia said hotly.

“Shall we go for a walk in the gardens,
Antonia?” suggested Lady Paget. “Theo will be batting awhile so I’m
sure we have the time…”

“Nonsense? Dear me, Miss Moran. Had I
realized you would take that piece of truth to heart I’d not have
ventured an opinion,” said Miss Woodruff silkily. “Far be it for me
to open your eyes. But I’d have thought any nobleman who had worn
his coronet at the coronation of the second George and his Queen
Caroline must needs be considered old today. Why my papa was side
by side with his Grace in the Abbey.”

“Don’t be so shatterbrained, Susanna!”
snapped Lady Paget and jumped up to follow Antonia, who had rudely
walked away to the tables in the middle of Susanna Woodruff’s
spiteful monologue.

“I don’t know why you bother to go after
her,” was Lady Strathsay’s parting shot. “There was nothing in what
Susanna said that could possibly offend the girl!” She waved the
page away and sent the footman off to refill her glass. “She’s as
damnably mule-headed as her grandfather—horrid man!”

At any other time Antonia would have found
the Grecian Walk in the Ornamental Gardens enchanting. Many of the
trees and shrubs had lost their leaves but it was enough just to
marvel at the contrived layout of pebbled walkways, follies,
grottos and the placement of statuary. A meandering stream twisted
its way through this walk in a series of cascades down to an
Oriental garden complete with pagoda, Chinese bridge, and lanterns
hung in the branches of willow trees. Carefully placed slabs of
stone laid across the stream permitted easy access to the Oriental
garden. Antonia managed to make the crossing without soaking the
hem of her petticoats, and without the help of the Vicomte.

The Vicomte d’Ambert had rushed on ahead of
her and jumped across the stepping-stones two at a time. When he
had reached the other side he did not offer her his hand. He waited
until she was almost to the middle of the stream then blocked her
path, dodging this way and that until he was sure she would trip,
only then did he step back and see her to safety. When he offered
his hand she pushed him off and continued on the walk as if he was
merely an apparition.

She had not asked for his company. She had
refused Lady Paget’s invitation to join her. When Étienne offered
to go in this lady’s place Antonia was glad Lady Paget kept him
detained so she could slip away. But not ten minutes into a serene
stroll he caught her up. She had tried to make conversation about
the gardens but he was only interested in taking up the argument of
the previous evening. When she refused to be drawn, he not only
became persistent but a nuisance. One moment he would be dancing by
her side and the next go off in front of her, only to jump out from
behind a statue or a shrub.

When she stopped to admire a particularly
beautiful grotto complete with fountain he jumped up on a marble
bench and watched her.