The Duke's Dilemma (12 page)

Tears puddled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, but this time they were tears of gratitude. She had thought never to see him again when last they’d parted and she could live with as long as she knew he was safe, but the thought that this beautiful, vital man could be hunted down and disposed of like a rabid dog had been more than she could bear.

A jagged shaft of lightning flashed across the sky and seconds later a stentorious clap of thunder rumbled all around them. Jared ended their kiss and raised his head toward the heavens. “That was too close for comfort, little love,” he said, tracing the path of a tear with a gentle finger before putting her from him. “And this is not the ideal spot to be in when the gods start tossing their thunderbolts.”

He looked about him. “As I recall, there is a gardeners’ cottage over the next rise that has been empty since old Ben moved into the servants’ quarters at the manor house. We can shelter there until the storm passes. and we can talk. I have much I need to say to you.”

“Talk?” Emily echoed, unable to tear her gaze from the firm lips that had the power to give such unimaginable pleasure.

Jared’s laugh was deep and throaty and his silver eyes held a wicked twinkle. “We need not talk all the time,” he teased, pressing a kiss to his fingertip and planting it on her lips. “And think how much more comfortable we will be in a warm, dry cottage once those dark clouds overhead spill their rain.”

So saying, he lifted her into her saddle and bolted into his own. “It is not far. Follow close behind me and keep your head down. The wind has grown quite fierce,” he instructed and set off in the direction of the nearest hill.

The wind was indeed fierce, but with none of the chill of a winter storm. The little gray kept her nose close to the stallion’s tail and trailed along behind him trustingly. In no time at all, Emily spied the cottage they sought standing just beyond an oak that was almost as tall as the one they had just abandoned. She felt the first drops of rain splash against her cheeks as they came to a stop at the foot of the shallow stairs fronting the small structure.

“Go inside,” Jared said, dismounting and taking her reins after he helped her from the saddle. I’ll tether the horses behind the cottage where they’ll be protected from the worst of the storm.”

He watched Emily climb the stairs and push open the door. Then leading both horses, he started around the corner of the cottage. The wind had reached near gale force and the rain it drove before it, pricked his face like dozens of sharp needles. Unable to see ahead of him, he stumbled over a fallen branch, and the reins slipped from his fingers.

“Good lad,” he praised the stallion, who stood stock still despite his momentary freedom from restraint. “Where would we be if you and the little mare deserted us?”

Jared stared at the reins once again resting in his hand. “Where would we be indeed?” he asked again, slapping the reins against the palm of his other hand.

Stranded in this cottage until someone from the manor came searching for us after the two horses returned to the stable. That is where. And what then? Emily’s virtue would be hopelessly compromised, of course, and I would be honor bound to offer for her despite the disparity of our social station. She may not be nobility, but she is a lady and the niece of a countess, albeit one who according to Edgar’s research had acquired the title under questionable circumstances. Not even a high stickler like Aunt Sophia could fault him for doing his duty as a gentleman.

He pulled his hat farther down on his forehead to keep the driving rain out of his eyes and felt his soggy shirt billow out behind him when the wind whipped through it. Absentmindedly, he reached up to rub the stallion behind its ear, and wondered if he dared drop the reins and give him a sharp slap to send the restless creature back to the stable.

Why not? He wanted Emily Haliburton more than he had ever wanted any other woman he had ever known. She had no idea how passionate she was, nor how deeply sensuous. He longed with all his heart to teach her.

Moreover, he liked and respected her and found her keen mind and sharp tongue so challenging, he could even imagine spending the rest of his life with her—something he could say of no other woman he knew. He would not tire of her as his father had tired of his pretty, addlepated mother, nor drive her into the arms of another man—nor be driven himself to take mistresses and servant girls to satisfy his physical needs. Emily would satisfy all his needs quite adequately.

He had no desire to marry but if marry he must, then Emily Haliburton would be the ideal choice of a wife—in all respects except one. Her blood was as red as that which flowed in the veins of the lowliest cottager who worked his estates, and red blood was not meant to mix with blue—at least not blood as blue as Montford blood. And therein lay the rub, for his sole reason for marrying was to produce strong sons with noble blood in their veins who would be a credit to his ancient line.

Such a marriage would create a scandal in the hallowed ranks of the
ton
, to say nothing of the upheaval it would cause in a certain hallowed churchyard when his grandfather and all the Dukes of Montford before him turned over in their graves at such desecration of their noble lineage.

“No, my old friend,” he murmured, running his fingers across the sleek, dripping back of the stallion. “Emily Haliburton is not the woman destined to be my duchess. I have known that from the first moment I saw her and no amount of rationalization will make it otherwise. So I had best get this blasted confession of mine over and done with and be on my way before I create any more heartache for either of us.”

As if to punctuate his statement, a bolt of lightning split the sky above him, sending both horses into panic. The little gray simply made soft, whimpering noises and nuzzled herself against Jared. But the huge stallion reared onto his hind legs, and eyes wild and nostrils flaring, whinnied his terror at the top of his lungs. Jared took a tighter grip on the reins and sidestepped the frantic horse. It was all he could do to hold the reins and avoid the lethal hooves flailing the air.

Which was why he failed to hear the wind-tortured branch directly above his head snap in two before it plunged toward the earth.

E
mily made a dash for the cottage, only to find herself further drenched by the curtain of murky water spilling from the roof as she struggled with the rain-warped door. In desperation, she put her shoulder to the heavy panel, gave a mighty heave and finally managed to pry it open and stumble inside. But the sudden draft of damp air across her back told her that more than the door had given in that last push—namely the overtaxed seams of Lucinda’s riding habit. She gave a deep sigh—something she hadn’t been able to manage since she’d buttoned herself into the constricting garment—and turned to watch Jared.

He appeared to be having his problems. At least, he’d made little progress toward tethering the nervous horses; in fact, he was still standing a short distance from the foot of the stairs apparently deep in conversation with his wild-eyed stallion.

Emily watched the driving rain plaster his jet-black hair to his head and run rivulets down the finely chiseled contours of his face. She smiled, wondering how many men would stand in such a downpour calmly conversing with a horse. But then, in the short time she had known him, she’d come to the conclusion that this free spirited half brother of the icy duke had little in common with more conventional men.

The wind was intensifying by the minute, whining through the treetops like a thousand frenzied banshees. The very sound sent shivers down Emily’s spine, and as she raised her eyes to the boiling clouds, a shaft of lightning split the sky directly overhead. Her heart leapt into her throat and at the same instant the terrified stallion reared onto his hind legs, striking a glancing blow off the little mare ‘s withers.

She watched breathlessly as Jared lunged for the reins which had slipped from his fingers, and realized he was unaware that a branch high above his head had ripped loose from the great oak and was plunging toward him.

She screamed, but it was too late. To her horror, she watched it crash down upon his head, burying him facedown in the mud beneath a tangle of leaves and splintered wood.

Numb with fear, she rushed forward, slipping and sliding in the ankle-deep muck until she reached the spot where he lay. Heart pounding, she pushed aside the muddy debris and struggled to turn him over. His eyes were closed, his face deathly pale and caked with dirt. Blood oozed from a deep gash above his right temple. Frantically, she ripped a length of ruffle from her petticoat and bound the ugly wound.

“Wake up, Jared,” she pleaded, dropping beside him in the mud to hold his head in her lap. She tore off another section of ruffle and aided by the driving rain, wiped the worst of the mud from his face.

Something crashed behind her and glancing around, she saw the door of the cottage swinging wildly on its hinges in the gusting wind. Never had anything looked so inviting as that open doorway—or so remote. But somehow she had to get Jared through that doorway and into shelter. He had suffered a dreadful shock and he was soaked to the skin; he could be taken with lung fever if he lay much longer in the rain and mud.

Methodically, she ran her hands across his ribs and down his long legs the way she’d seen the village doctor do when she’d helped him tend a carriage accident victim. As far as she could tell, nothing was broken. Only his poor head had suffered in the accident and she doubted moving him would worsen that.

Scrambling to her feet, she bent over and slipped her hands beneath his armpits and dragged him slowly toward the stairs behind her. He was dead weight and heavy as an anvil. His chin lolled forward onto his chest and the boots encasing his long legs dug two tracks in the ever-deepening mud. But she could move him. Just barely. With each step Emily took, the seam of her riding jacket ripped further until she could feel the rain pelting her back and shoulders through the flimsy fabric of her chemisette. Finally she reached the stairs, and with the last of her strength hauled his limp body up stair by stair until she reached the open doorway.

Peering about the dim interior of the single room, she spied a high, narrow bed with two blankets folded across the foot. “Well I’ll never be able to hoist a great hulking fellow like you onto that,” she declared to her silent burden. “The floor will have to do, but I suspect you’ve slept on many a floor during your colorful career.”

With trembling fingers, she stripped Jared of his soggy shirt and wrapped one of the blankets around his shoulders and across his chest. His was not the first male torso she had seen; the field laborers back home often stripped to the waist in the heat of summer. Still, something about this particular bare, muscular chest left her feeling strangely weak of limb and flushed of cheek.

“Act your age, Emily Haliburton,” she chided herself. “You are no green girl and this is an injured man who needs your help, not your maidenly vapors.” Ignoring her pounding heart, she wrapped the other blanket around her own nearly bare shoulders, sat down on the floor and cradled Jared in her arms.

He moaned softly and turned his face into her breast like a babe nestling against his mother, and a surge of tenderness swept through her, so intense it felt almost like pain. Gently, she brushed a lock of blood-matted hair from his forehead.

With his eyes closed and his sensuous mouth twisted pain, he looked so much younger, so much more vulnerable than the wicked tease who had ridden into her life a fortnight before. So young, so vulnerable…so infinitely dear. Tears misted her eyes. Had she foolishly lost her heart to this impossible man? Was this terrible ache deep inside her the same emotion poets described with such fervor? If so, she found love a far more painful thing than their glowing words portrayed.

For long, terror-filled hours, she held Jared—watching with anxious eyes every expression that flitted across his face as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Sometimes his inky brows drew together in a scowl; sometimes a faint smile lingered at the corners of his mouth as if he were only asleep and dreaming pleasant dreams.

Once when he opened his eyes and stared at her, he grimaced in pain and mumbled, “I must tell you the truth, little sparrow.” But almost instantly, his eyelids closed and his breathing deepened, and Emily was left to ponder what mysterious truth he felt compelled to tell her.

With anxious heart, she waited for the raging storm to abate so she could find her way back to the manor for help. Much as she dreaded the thought of exposing Jared to the tender mercies of his arrogant half brother, she had no alternative—and she clung desperately to the belief that not even the icy duke could refuse to aid an injured man.

Eventually the hours took their toll. Emily’s arms began to ache and her legs felt as stiff as two broomsticks. She stirred cautiously, hoping to bring the circulation back into her tortured limbs without disturbing Jared, but the slight movement set him to moaning restlessly.

“Hush, my love,” she crooned, tightening her hold until his cheek once again rested against her breast. Jared nuzzled against her but this time, when he opened his eyes, the expression in their silver depths looked vacant and disoriented, and she felt a new wave of fear engulf her.

A powerful gust of wind rattled the cottage and splattered rain against the windows. Emily groaned. Rather than abating, the storm appeared to be gathering momentum by the minute.

Tenderly, she pressed her lips to Jared’s feverish brow and murmured a desperate prayer. “Please tell me what to do, dear God, for I am at my wit’ s end.” Tears welled in her eyes and splashed onto his pale cheek—and as if in answer to her supplication, the door burst open, revealing Mr. Rankin and one of the duke’ s grooms. They stopped dead just inside the doorway, their faces blank with shock.

“Thank heavens you’ve come,” Emily cried, so relieved to see them she failed to register their stupefied expressions. “But however did you find us?”

Mr. Rankin ignored her question. Dropping to his knees beside her, he lifted Jared from her arms. “Your grace,” he muttered in a choked voice. “What in God’s name have you done to yourself?”

Jared’s fingers closed on Mr. Rankin’s neatly tied cravat, sending it askew. “Is that you, Edgar?” he asked in a voice barely audible.

“It’s I, Jared…your grace. We’ve come to take you home. I swear to God I lost ten years of my life when that devil stallion returned to the stables without you. Every man at Brynhaven, including old Ben, is out looking for you. It was just luck I remembered this cottage. “

Your grace!
Emily stared dumbfounded first at Jared, then at the man who bent over him so anxiously. Shock and disbelief warred in her muddled brain, turning the terror that had gripped her just moments before into bitter, chilling anger.

“Are you saying this man is the Duke of Montford?” she managed between gritted teeth.

“Of course ‘e’s the duke. Who’d you think ‘e was, Miss?” The groom knelt beside Mr. Rankin. “Lucky we come in a carriage, sir. ‘Is grace don’t look up to makin’ it back to the manor anyways but flat on ‘is back.”

“Right you are, John Groom, and the sooner we get him there the better.” Mr. Rankin lifted the bloody bandage to check his employer’s injury. “Fetch the coachman. Tell him we need his help to lift the duke,” he ordered, and the young groom immediately pulled himself to his feet and disappeared through the doorway.

Mr. Rankin raised his head and fixed Emily with an assessing stare that made her humiliatingly aware she was not only muddy and disheveled, but missing part of her clothing as well. From the look on his face, she suspected he thought she’d been thoroughly ravished.

His gaze dropped to where the blanket had slipped aside to further show her
dishabillé
.

“Please be good enough to explain what happened here, Miss Haliburton,” he demanded with a chilling politeness. “In particular, how his grace sustained such a lethal blow to the head?”

”
His grace
was hit by a falling tree limb and I dragged him in out of the storm—an act of mercy I now heartily regret, I should have left the villain lying in the mud where he belonged.”

“Oh, Emily,” the injured man protested without opening his eyes.

Emily clutched her blanket tighter around her and rose to her feet. “You black hearted rogue,” she said bitterly, embracing her rage as if it were a shield with which she could momentarily fend off reality. Later, when she was alone, she would face the paralyzing hurt and humiliation of this bewildering betrayal.

She leveled an accusing look on the duke’s bespectacled man-of-affairs. “And don’t you say a word either. It is plain to see you were part and parcel of this
game
your depraved employer was playing.” To her everlasting shame, her voice broke in a sob. “My God, I
cannot credit to what lengths you shallow creatures will go to find amusement.”

Turning her back on the two men, Emily marched out the door and into the raging storm.

“Damn your eyes, Jared, you promised me you’d tell Miss Haliburton the truth,” Edgar muttered before the groom and coachman drew close enough to hear.

Edgar’s voice sounded far away, as if he were deep inside a cave, but Jared had no trouble understanding his words. Nor, even in his befuddled state, could he mistake the disgust with which those words were uttered.

He struggled to gather his wits sufficiently to defend himself against the accusation. “I tried, “he murmured thickly, but his head ached so abominably he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was he had tried or what had prevented him from succeeding.

Through half-closed eyes, he watched the groom and coachman cross the room to stand over him and moments later, felt himself lifted and carried through the rain to a covered carriage. The last thing he heard before someone closed the carriage door was Emily declaring she would rather ride up beside the coachman.

The decision to ride outside the carriage on the coachman’s seat had been a grievous mistake—one of those dangerous impulses her dear mama had often proclaimed would one day prove her undoing. If Mama was looking down from heaven now, she must surely be shaking her head and saying, “I said it would be so.”

Emily had been so shocked, so angry, so devastated by the perfidy of the man she had thought a common highwayman, she had made her stubborn stand without considering how strongly she would be buffeted by the wind and rain or how difficult it would be to keep the blanket clutched about her while she clung to the seat for support. Nor had she stopped to think how she would appear to onlookers when she arrived at the manor house with her hair whipped from its pins and her clothes looking as if they’d been forcibly ripped from her body.

She thought about it now, alone in her bedchamber. She thought about the crowd of anxious houseguests and servants waiting outside the manor house to greet the duke’s carriage. She thought about the horror and disbelief in Lady Hargrave’s and Lucinda’s eyes and the earl’s beefy face mottled with rage. She thought about the giggling housemaids and the stoic butler and the disapproving looks on the faces of the duke’s two aunts and Lady Sudsley’s look of smug satisfaction. She had not only brought disgrace upon herself but on everyone related to her.

No one had spoken a word. The entire assemblage had appeared stunned into absolute silence. Everyone, that is, except Mr. Rankin who very curtly ordered her to stay seated while he arranged to have the duke carried to his suite— then personally handed her down from her elevated perch. With his hand firmly gripping her elbow, he led her through the group of gaping spectators, up the stairs, across the great entry hall and finally to the door of her bedchamber.