The Dangerous Duke (15 page)

“Do you ride?” he asked.

It was a fortunate question since Fenella immediately confessed how much she was missing her morning rides. Within minutes, they were chatting like old friends on the niceties of horseflesh. While to outward appearances he conversed eloquently on the topic, Sir Marcus’ head reeled in confusion. His entire plan of action was thrown into disarray. Although Sir Marcus had initially been intrigued by the engaging idea of having a novice, and possibly virgin, young lady to himself, somewhere in the deeper recesses of his soul a feeling of nobility had stirred. In his heart, he had felt that what Lady Penelope proposed was wrong, even evil. However, he had surmised, there was no harm in a little playful flirtation just to rouse Devlin’s ire. No harm done—just a look, perhaps a warm pressing of the hands, an arm slipped around her waist, and maybe a stolen kiss.

Fenella had destroyed his intentions in a matter of minutes. Here was no shy, gawky country lass bowled over by a touch of town bronze and a few compliments. There would be no stolen kisses, blushful protestations and fumbling hands. Here was a woman worthy of adoration. As the minutes progressed and Fenella’s peals of laughter rang out at some clever comment he made, Sir Marcus knew he was doomed. He could not tarnish this woman’s reputation; he could not hold her up to public disapprobation. In truth, Sir Marcus found himself grappling with a confusing new set of emotions …admiration, respect, deep liking and perhaps even love.

Lady Penelope’s voice sounded in Sir Marcus’ ears: “Riding and reading if I remember correctly; that’s what she likes doing, so talk about that. A real bluestocking as you can imagine.” This comment had been followed by cruel titters of derisive laughter.

This was no bluestocking, but a fine mind encased in a superb form with beauty, charm, wit and exquisite breeding. He wondered about the Spanish connection. It seemed very possible there was noble blood in her lineage.

When Fenella fell silent after laughing at one of his jokes, Sir Marcus felt her slight discomfort.

“Miss Preston, I am perfectly harmless and beyond pestering you for good conversation, will not make a nuisance of myself in your company. I know we have not been properly introduced, as good manners dictate we should, but I shall try to find some willing person to perform the task as soon as humanly possible!”

Fenella went bright red. “I do apologise. I don’t know what to say!”

“Say nothing more on that score,” he admonished her gently, “but continue to enchant me with your sparkling personality and delightful wit.”

However, the moment had gone. A silence hung in the room, so she stood up to leave. Sir Marcus rose, disappointed to have his entertaining company flee so precipitously. As Fenella extended her hand to him, the door flew open and Lady Vane sashayed into the room.

“Marcus!” she trilled in mock anger, wagging a reprimanding finger at him. “You naughty man! Here I am hunting high and low for you and I find Miss Preston has secreted you away with her in the library. I vow I have so many people all dying to meet you.” She smiled sweetly at Fenella. “I’m sorry to spoil your little assignation. May I steal him away, my dear Miss Preston? Just for a few minutes and then you may have him all to yourself again.”

Fenella’s voice was cold and firm. “I beg of you, Lady Vane, do not concern yourself with my pleasure. Sir Marcus and I are barely acquainted and therefore cannot have any kind of relationship that includes or would lead to a secret assignation.”

As Lady Penelope gaped at her, Fenella gave a small curtsey and left the room.

Sir Marcus broke into soft, mocking applause at the expression on Lady Penelope’s face. “Round one to the milksop, I think.”

Lady Penelope glowed with triumph. “She likes you, Marcus, I know she does. You’ll have her eating out of your hand in no time at all. I don’t care what she says. She wouldn’t stay here talking if she did
not
like you.”

Sir Marcus strode to the cabinet and busied himself with pouring what he termed real alcohol into a glass. “Well, it matters not whether she likes or despises me, m’dear.”

“Why ever not?” Lady Penelope’s face was a picture of outraged indignation. “You’re not backing out of this one, Marcus. You promised!”

He swung round, tossed down the liquid in one swallow and gazed back at her. “I know, but what I promised is not strictly right and I don’t like it. I didn’t like it before and I’m sure I don’t like it now.”

“Don’t you dare let me down!” Lady Penelope stalked up to him with what Sir Marcus always termed her Valkyrie look, her hands raised as if to score his face with her nails. “Since when have you ever known or cared about what is strictly wrong or right.”

He stepped back, placed his glass down and grabbed her hands. “Pull yourself together, Pen!” he snapped. “I’m not Devlin whom you twist around your little finger. I’m my own man. I don’t see the need for this seduction caper any longer. Devlin will surely propose, so set your mind at rest.”

In fact, Sir Marcus felt a momentary pang of sympathy for Devlin as he spoke. However, it was the Duke’s business if he wanted to shackle himself to such a harpy for the rest of his life.

Lady Penelope was taken aback by this sudden show of both manliness and chivalry. Changing tactics, she squeezed out a small sob and managed several tears as she choked piteously, “Oh, Marcus, I’m so afraid Dev will not propose and that this girl will somehow turn his head. I just need your attentions toward her to convince him he would be dealing with entirely the wrong kind of woman.”

Secretly, Sir Marcus felt the shoe was truly on the other foot, but he was in so deep he felt helpless, as if he could not stop the flow of events.

“I won’t seduce her and I won’t play any part in muddying her name,” he said gruffly. “Yes, I’ll pay her attention if you like, but only because it will be a pleasure to do so, not to please you or to further your part with Devlin. If he takes offence, well, so be it. He has no claim on the lady, anyway.

“Thank you, my dear, true Marcus,” Lady Penelope squealed, launching herself into his reluctant embrace. She clutched her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “Of course if you do win over the milksop by fair means instead of foul, I will still be your friend.”

Sir Marcus smiled wryly and straightened his rumpled coat as she danced out the room. He would chance his luck with the exquisite Miss Preston, but now the stakes would be completely different.

The next day dawned bright and clear and even the usual country harbingers of bad weather were chuckling as they peered at the glorious skies heralding sunshine. Fenella woke early and stretched her cramped limbs; she longed for a ride. She was sure Butterball was as eager to gallop across the emerald fields and feel the song of the wind in her ears. That was it. She decided to steal out before breakfast and spend a happy hour riding. She flung aside the sheets and dressed hurriedly.

Fenella caught a glimpse of herself in the cheval mirror as she opened her bedroom door. In a moment of vanity, she had yielded to the temptation to wear her new riding habit. She stopped to savour the unaccustomed pleasure of admiring her own reflection. The habit was perfect in fit and detail. Her cheeks glowed with pleasure as she espied the dashing young woman facing her. She seemed so sophisticated, a real lady of quality and style.

It was hard to imagine she was just Fenella Hawke, once genteel but now obliged to earn her living.

She gave a wry shrug; it was no use moping over what had been. Besides, the allure of her reflection could not be ignored. The hat was a vision to delight the most exacting sartorial eye and the feather curled in cheeky fashion back from its brim, seeming to imitate her fresh mood of rebellion. The skirt swirled behind her as she pirouetted, her new boots peeping out from under the hem as she danced. The colour deepened the violet of her eyes and enhanced the burnished glow of her curls that, she regretted, were hastily bundled up on her head, secured with a few pins. Molly would not have been pleased to behold the sight of her “half-dressed” as she was wont to say.

Fenella felt a momentary pang at wearing the finery; it seemed not quite the right thing to do. She wrestled with her conscience and vanity finally won. After all, she argued with herself, it was hers to wear and had nothing to do with the Duke, it having been a gift from Lucifer. Her lips curled into a soft smile as she remembered those brief happy moments when they had enjoyed a kind of oneness, a unity between them. She stumbled in mid-twirl and the jerk broke the daydream.

Better to think of reality
when the facts are staring me in the face—he is to marry Lady Vane. To him I am little more than a servant
.

She slipped unseen through the silent house, whose occupants were still sound asleep, and made her way down the back stairs, across the rear courtyard to the stables. Finch was buttoning his waistcoat when he saw her in Butterball’s stall, struggling to heave the saddle across the palfrey’s back. He was chewing a slice of bread that he hastily swallowed as he leaped to assist her.

“’
Ere, Miss, let me do that. I dinna know ye was goin’ ter ride this mornin’ so early or else I’d have been ready sooner. There’s no one about right now, Miss.”

“I know, Finch.” Fenella smiled at him. “That’s why I wanted to slip off for a ride on my own.”

“But ye cain’t go alone, Miss!” Finch protested. “Me job’s not worth it, Miss.” He shook his head. “Not after what happened the last time.”

“I shall accompany Miss Preston.” A deep, now familiar voice came from behind them. “If she’ll have me as escort and companion.”

Fenella and Finch turned. Sir Marcus, elegantly attired in an olive green riding jacket and fawn breeches, bowed to Fenella.

“Good morning, Miss Preston. What a fortunate encounter, for both of us I fancy. It would give me the greatest of pleasure to accompany you on your excursion.”

Fenella hesitated. Part of her was so eager to get away she could not have cared less if an ogre had offered his company; the other half of her was unsure she should be riding alone with a man she hardly knew.

Finch grinned broadly when he saw her hesitation. “Don’t worry, Miss. Sir Marcus kin ride like ’is Grace, I reckon. Ye’ll be safe, I vouch for it.”

Sir Marcus gave a small smile and inclined his head in the direction of the enthusiastic Finch. “There you have it, Miss Preston. Corroboration from a country man himself that I am not a complete numbskull when it comes to horses.” He turned to Finch. “Which one do you think, my man?”

“The bay, Sir, fer yer size and weight, beggin’ yer pardon, Sir.”

Sir Marcus nodded. “I am in your hands, Finch.” While Finch saddled the splendid bay, he turned to Fenella. “I hope you will do me the pleasure of accepting my invitation. You’ll be quite safe with me and Finch here knows I am your escort, should anyone ask for you.”

Fenella smiled and flung caution to the winds. “Thank you, Sir Marcus. I’ve been so cooped up inside of late that I fear I shall go stark raving mad if I don’t get away for an hour.” She blushed as she continued, “I’m sure I sound like a country yokel when I say riding is a passion of mine; I’ve been spoiled these last three months. I find it hard to give up such a marvellous privilege.”

“And one you justly deserve,” Sir Marcus replied. He indicated that she should place her foot in his cupped hands and he easily threw her up into the saddle. “If anyone asks, please say Miss Preston is suitably accompanied and we will return within the hour.”

“Very good, Sir.” Finch touched his forehead in salute and went back to his work as the pair trotted off down the drive.

“May I compliment you on an excellent seat, Miss Preston?”

She laughed and flushed with pride. “Thank you, Sir Marcus. I used to ride with my fa–.” To her horror, Fenella stopped in mid-sentence as she realised what she had been about to reveal.

Sir Marcus, however, did not even blink. “Yes,” he smoothly interpolated. “It is fortunate when one is able to ride from an early age. I fancy my father put me in the saddle before I was able to toddle. I thank him for it.”

Fenella was grateful for his discreet intervention although a fleeting thought persisted: why did he not question her further?

However, Sir Marcus distracted her with references to the beauty of the countryside around them, pointing out clusters of brilliantly hued wildflowers, the likelihood of the good weather holding and amusing anecdotes of sophisticated life in London.

After a while, Fenella relaxed and turning impulsively to Sir Marcus said, “Perhaps it’s forward of me to say, but you are quite excellent company.”

His eyes gleamed. “Thank you, Miss Preston. That’s a compliment I am quite unaccustomed to hearing.”

Her curiosity aroused, Fenella scrutinized his face. “Why? Have you done something so dreadful that society should shun you?”

He burst into a peal of laughter, startling both the horses. “No, no, nothing quite so dramatic or interesting. It’s just that I have what is genteelly termed an unsavoury reputation.”

“Oh.” Fenella was taken aback. “I thought you had done something terrible. An unsavoury reputation is something many gentlemen acquire. I think it is to do with dissipated pastimes and bad associations, possibly the result of living in a metropolis such as London where vice and degradation seem to be accepted as quite commonplace. I’m sure it’s far worse on the Continent.”

Her candid appraisal of the situation brought a chuckle to his lips. “I have never had my salacious reputation diminished in quite so blunt a fashion before now, but seriously, Miss Preston, it is something to consider. People may try to dissuade you from associating with me.”

She laughed and her eyes sparkled with wicked glee. “Sir Marcus, it grieves me to tell you this, but I don’t think I am important enough for anyone to bother telling me with whom I should associate.”

“I somehow feel your employer will be none too pleased.”

“Her Grace?” Fenella frowned. “I think she would be glad of my finding intelligent and amusing company. She’s not at all high in the instep; even though she may not wish for an association with a certain person, she would allow me to make my own decisions in the matter.”

“I was speaking of His Grace.”

Fenella clenched her jaw. “Him?” Her voice was flat and hard. “I can assure you that His Grace considers servants to be well below his notice and I am confident he would neither notice nor care about my friendships.”

Sir Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you should discuss our association with the Dowager, just to be safe?”

Fenella was surprised at his words but a slow comprehension began to filter into her brain. Maybe there was good reason for his concern. “Have you done something very depraved, like seducing an innocent lady?”

He laughed. “I can assure you I never seduce ladies of quality so you are quite safe!” He then gave a lugubrious sigh. “Alas, I also find women of intelligence impervious to all ploys of seduction. Moreover, I never attempt to seduce ladies who are my friends. You are quite safe.”

Fenella blushed and then burst out laughing.

“Forgive me for prosing on, Miss Preston, but as a man of many years your senior, I am conscious of my social duty.” His tone was light-hearted as he bowed his head to her.

“Not so much older, surely?”

“Although not in my dotage, I fear I am stricken in years. You, in comparison, are a mere spring chicken.”

“You, Sir, are becoming nonsensical!”

“We certainly cannot have that on a beautiful day when the breeze is calling us,” he quipped as he lightly spurred his horse forward. “I think our steeds have had enough of talk and want a dash.”

He rode past her and within seconds, the two horses were galloping across the fields. Fenella rode like the wind and passed Sir Marcus by a few lengths, although she had the feeling he let her win.

When they finally slowed and allowed the horses to walk, he made her a bow from the saddle. “I promised myself not to flirt with such an elegant and exquisite companion, but will you allow me to compliment you on a fine performance…and a fine appearance. Your outfit is most becoming.”

Fenella dimpled prettily as she tried to tuck a few stray curls back under her hat without much success. “Thank you and I will not count your remark as flirtation.”

“I am relieved to hear it.” He laughed. “I have not seen you at dinner. I am disappointed to be deprived of such an animated dining companion.”

Fenella gave a bleak smile. “I can assure you, Sir Marcus, that Her Grace is a most warm and congenial employer. She treats me as one of the family. However, I cannot trespass upon her kindness in the matter of social gatherings. I feel it is more diplomatic to retire for the evening than for Her Grace to endure raised eyebrows.”

“But the ball?” he asked. “Surely you will not deny yourself that pleasure?”

“Indeed, Sir Marcus, I am made of such stern stuff that I could easily decline to attend but Her Grace has her heart set on it, no matter what people might say, therefore I am obliged to accede to her wishes.”

Sir Marcus gave her a warm smile. “They will say what I and every other person will say: you cannot deny us your lovely presence on so special an occasion as the first ball at Deverell House in a very long time.”

She smiled in return but without any real enthusiasm at the prospect. As the horses turned back in the direction of the stables, the conversation drifted to subjects with which Fenella felt more at ease and she put Sir Marcus to the test by conversing on topics such as literature, music and languages.

“You challenge my mind, Miss Preston,” he said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. “I am undone. I shall have to creep down to the library every night and brush up on my Horace and Ovid.”

“Don’t let Blenkins find you,” she laughed. “He’ll probably split your head with a candlestick, thinking you’re a house-breaker.”

* * * *

As they trotted to the stables, Devlin stormed out of Lucifer’s stall and strode up to Butterball. He grasped the reins, pulling the startled horse to a halt. Fenella was astonished at his forceful behaviour; Sir Marcus raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He and Devlin gave each other the briefest of nods and Finch rushed forward to assist Sir Marcus. Finch looked extremely downcast.

“Is anything the matter?” Fenella asked, scanning Devlin’s face with anxiety. “Is it Her Grace? I’ll go to her at once.”

She swung her leg over the pommel of the saddle and Devlin grasped her waist to lift her down. He was silent, but the tense set of his jaw and the crease between his brows betokened annoyance. Fenella gasped as her heart began a sudden frenzied pounding.

“Allow me, Miss Preston,” he said curtly as he placed her on the ground. Finch led Butterball away and Sir Marcus discreetly left the stables; however, Fenella and the Duke did not even notice them.

“Is there something Your Grace wished to say to me?” Fenella asked, her voice sounding tight.

She felt faint with desire and angrily berated herself for giving way to these sensations. He remained holding her waist, staring down into the depths of her violet eyes. Her glowing cheeks and dancing curls, which had finally escaped from the confines of her hat, indicated a happy gallop and an enjoyable time with Sir Marcus Solesby. Seconds ticked by and Fenella tried to take a step back. Involuntarily Devlin’s fingers tightened on her waist; then he dropped his hands.

“Yes.” His tone was peremptory. “There
is
something I wish to say to you, Miss Preston, and if you will be so good as to meet me in the library, I would be most grateful.” He strode off in the direction of the house.

“Is there something the matter with the Dowager?” Fenella panted as she tried to keep up with him.

“There is nothing wrong with my mother. There are other issues I wish to discuss with you.” Mystified, she followed him into the library. He closed the door behind her and stood with his arms folded, his gaze boring into her.

She sat down on a nearby chair and took off her hat, realizing too late that a cascade of glossy curls would tumble down onto her shoulders. Blushing, Fenella immediately tried to pin back her curls. “I beg your pardon,” she mumbled, while ducking her head to affix the pins.

Devlin gave a low growl of anger. She looked up and was startled to see naked desire written clearly in his eyes. Her throat dried up and she gave a small whimper of recognition of his feelings. As he moved toward her with the lithe strides of a panther, she stood up and almost precipitated herself into his arms. He stopped dead, his face just inches away from her lovely, upturned features. She ached for his touch, the feelings she knew she would willingly welcome. A burning fire raged through her body. She felt rooted to the spot, unable to break the magnetism drawing them closer. Her lips parted as he bent his head but before they could touch, a loud clatter outside the library door broke the enchantment.