The Hazards Of Hunting A Duke (30 page)

her husband, and kicked Bilbo in the soft part of his belly to send him bolting.

She heard the shouting behind her, but as Bilbo ran —surprisingly fast for his age with another

well-placed kick—Ava laughed like the devil. She yanked the reins right, headed him into the forest, and heard the shouting behind her aga in as she leaned over the old horse’s neck. When they had crashed into

the thicket—which she hoped she made all the more exciting by shrieking —she reined Bilbo up, jumped

off, and with a slap to his rump, sent the horse running again. She instantly dropped down, landing a little hard on her bottom, and then lay down on her back and squirmed about a bit before standing up.

She wasn’t satisfied that she looked properly thrown, and picked up a handful of dirt and twigs and, wincing at the unpleasant necessity , rubbed them about her gown.

By the time Middleton reached her a few moments later, she looked, she thought, rather abused. He

swept off the mare before he’d even reined her to a halt and strode forward so fast and so sternly that for

a moment Ava feared him and took a step backward. But he caught her up in his arms, picking her up off

her feet as he grabbed her and held her tightly to him. “Are you all right? Are you harmed?”

“No,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder, he held her so tightly. “A bit bruised, but I’m really

all right.”

He released his grip of her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pushed her back, examining her face. “ You’re certain you’re all right?”

She nodded.

“You didn’t harm yourself?” he asked as he put his hand to her chin and moved her head from side to side.

Ava shook her head.

He frowned slightly, put his hands on her ribs, pressed gently, then slid them down and around to her

derriere as he watched her eyes. Ava blinked as he cupped her bottom, but said nothing.

He moved his hands up her rib cage again to the sides of her breasts. “You seem no worse for the ride,” he remarked, pressing against her breasts, letting his hands linger there longer than was necessary to ascertain if she’d been injured.

Ava swallowed. “I’m really all right.”

He smiled a little crookedly and stroked her temple with the back of his hand. “And Bilbo? You didn’t harm Bilbo, did you?”

“Bilbo?” she repeated. “No…he’s…he’s fine .”

His smile widened, and he pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. “Come on, then, Lady

Middleton. We’ve had enough riding for one day.”

They emerged from the forest a few moments later, Ava securely in the circle of Middleton’s arms atop

the mare. The stableboys had easily caught Bilbo, who hadn’t run very far at all, having seen a patch of grass to his liking.

“Dear God, are you all right?” Lady Kettle asked as she pulled up next to them, looking quite concerned. “You gave us all a fright!”

“I am. Thank you,” Ava said, and pressed her cheek against Middleton’s shoulder. “I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”

“Do rest, Lady Middleton. That must have been very frightening.”

Ava nodded that indeed it was, and smiled sweetly as Middleton bid Lady Kettle a good day and headed back to the abbey. Once, on the ride back, she thought she heard him chuckle, but when she

looked at him, his face was full of concern. Twice, he put his h and to Ava’s cheek and kissed her temple.

At the abbey, he helped her down and pulled a twig from the shoulder of her habit. “Not to worry, Lady

Middleton. In spite of today’s setback, I think you will become a fine horsewoman.”

“

Really?” she asked hopefully.

He laughed softly and kissed her lips. “I am certain of it,” he said. He put his arm around her shoulders and led her up the steps to the main entrance, and Ava might as well have been walking on air. But as they walked into the main entry, Dawso n met them. He took Middleton’s cloak and extended a silver

tray. “The post, my lord.”

Ava saw Lady Waterstone’s letter on the very top, the distinctive curve of her handwriting burned like a

brand on the back of her eyes. She glanced up and saw the re cognition of the handwriting pass across

Middleton’s features, too.

“Put them in the study,” he said, and glanced at Ava. “I will have the pleasure of your company at supper, madam,” he said, his voice brooking no argument.

“Yes,” she said tightly. “Of c ourse.” With a smile pasted on her face, she walked away, all the lovely, summery feelings inside of her gone and replaced by a cold blast of winter.

A va walked straight to her suite, shut the door, and yanked the bellpull as hard as she could. And again. And every few minutes until Miss Hillier appeared, looking rather startled.

“Lady Middleton? Is everything all right?” “Where is Sally?” Ava asked.

Miss Hillier pressed her lips tightly together disapprovingly. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but there is a rather indelicate predicament about which I must speak with his lordship.”

Miss Hillier’s expression alarmed Ava —something had happened to Sally. “W hat predicament?” she asked.

“I’d rather not say—it’s rather vile. But it involved your lady’s maid.” “Tell me, Miss Hillier!”

The woman’s displeasure was pinching her face. “She was seen…cavorting…with one of the footmen.”

“Cavorting?” Ava echoed, not u nderstanding immediately. She pictured them running about the garden, playing at horse or some such foolishness.

But Miss Hillier narrowed her eyes and spat, “Cavorting,” in a manner that clearly relayed her meaning. Lord God, Sally! Not here! Ava’s mind r aced—she made a tsk-tsk sound and shook her head. “You

mustn’t pay her attention, Miss Hillier. Sally is indeed rather flirtatious, but she’s quite harmless, I assure

you.”

Miss Hillier’s face was now a very deep red. “One can hardly term her behavior harmless. You must remember, Lady Middleton, that you are the wife of a marquis now.

Your actions—or those of your servants —reflect on him.”

Her actions? What of his deplorable actions? “I am well aware,” Ava bit out. “But you must remember that Sally is fro m London. It’s different there. What is improper here is often tolerated in London.”

“Be that as it may, this is certainly not London.”

The old battle-ax had no bloody idea how true that was. “No, it’s certainly not,” Ava calmly agreed in spite of her ra cing heart. “But might we give Sally a day or two to acquaint herself with the habits here before punishing her?”

Miss Hillier seemed to think about that for a moment. But then she shook her head. “I can’t let that sort

of behavior go unremarked. And I mu st mention it to his lordship. I’ve known him since he was but an

infant. He’s suffered so much in his life, and particularly at the hands of unscrupulous servants, that I take

it as a personal mission to ensure nothing ever sullies his honor.”

Suffered? He had no idea what it meant to suffer! And besides, Ava failed to see how Sally’s indiscretions might dishonor Middleton in any manner, but it was apparent that she would get nowhere with his mother hen. “Very well,” she said stiffly. “I will sp eak to my husband about this matter later.

Now, then, will you send Sally to me?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Lady Middleton. She has been dispatched to the village.” “The village?” Ava cried. “What in God’s name have you done, Miss Hillier?”

“I did not turn her out,” Miss Hillier said icily. “I merely sent her home with the cook’s daughter. She will have a roof over her head until Lord Middleton has made his decision.”

Ava couldn’t contain herself any longer. “I beg your pardon, but do you mean to imply that Lord

Middleton will make a decision about who is to be my lady’s maid?”

The witch actually looked surprised by the question. “Why, of course! Is he not lord and master of this house? Is he not the benefactor of all of us?”

“He is my husband, not the bloody king of England!” Ava cried. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could scarcely breathe.

Miss Hillier gasped; she was truly offended.

Ava put a hand to her heart and sank wearily onto the edge of her bed. “Shall I help you dress?” Miss Hillier asked tightly.

“No,” Ava said, shaking her head. “I will manage.”

Miss Hillier wasted no time in leaving her room, which suited Ava very much. How had this happened?

How had she gone from fairy tale to nightmare so quickly? She had to manage her way out, think what to

do. In the meantime, she wished to God in his heaven that she could see her mother once more and tell her how wrong she was about marriage.

s p a c e

My darling, I wake every morning filled with thoughts of you. I spend my days walking about like the

dead, intoxicated by the memory of you. My soul aches to be near you, my heart is full of such love for you that it sets my blood afire….

The knock on his study door prompted Jared to toss Miranda’s letter in the fire.

It was Dawson, who bowed deeply as he stepped inside. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but Miss Hillier requests an audience.”

“Oh?” he asked idly.

“It would seem there is a bit of trouble with the new lady’s maid.”

That got his attention. “Show her in.”

When Miss Hillier entered, he could tell from her expression that she was very displeased. He was not surprised, really, for Miss Hillier was often displeased —if the flowers weren’t cut fresh daily, or a portrait hung a little crookedly on the wall, she was displeased. More often than not, she brought her displeasures to him.

He invited her to take a seat and tell him her woes, which were, not surprisingly, quite long and minutely detailed .

Later that evening, long after Miss Hillier had told him of the incident involving Ava’s maid, Jared’s thoughts turned to Ava. If Miss Hillier’s suspicions about the maid were true—and he rather suspected they were, given the maid’s behavior —he was intrigued by how she had come to be in Ava’s employ.

How could a young, naïve debutante —and Ava was, in many respects, naïve —have managed to employ

a woman with questionable virtue?

He thought of the butler in Ava’s house, a man who was intent on opening and closing doors. And the young man with the familiar face who had handled Jared’s horse the day he’d called on her…hadn’t he seen him working in the public stables? Whatever the explanation, he was looking forward to supper

when he might ask his wife directl y. He suspected the answer would be highly entertaining.

That was the thing about Ava he most appreciated, he supposed —she was full of life, full of

unconventional ideas and actions. She was unique, he was beginning to realize. An original. He could not imagine ever feeling stifled or feeling that the day was endless with Ava, as he’d felt with Lady Elizabeth.

“Supper is served, my lord,” Dawson inton ed from the open door of his study.

Was it as late as that? Jared glanced at the clock and noticed the time with some surprise.

He’d been sitting in his darkened study for more than an hour, mulling over things.

Women in general. Ava, to be precise.

His wife was waiting for him in the green salon, sipping a glass of wine. She came to her feet when he entered—but not anxiously, not as eagerly as when she’d first arrived at Broderick Abbey.

“Good evening, Lady Middleton.” “My lord.”

He took the glass of wine a footman offered him, turned, and held it up in toast. “To a pleasant evening.”

Her brows rose skeptically. She picked up her glass and held it out, like him. “To a pleasant evening.” She drank, put her glass down, and clasped her hands behind her bac k.

“I should like to speak to you about a very important matter,” she said, her voice strong and clear.

Jared took a seat and crossed one leg over the other. “Would it be about your lady’s maid?” he asked casually.

“Yes. My lady’s maid. I should like her returned to me as soon as possible.”

Frankly, Jared didn’t care if her maid was here or in London or riding a star. He did not agree with Miss

Hillier that a bit of foolishness with a footman necessitated her immediate dismissal. He did not condone such behavior, of course—at least not in public, where lovers risked discovery—but neither did he

condone throwing a young woman to the wolves for one misstep.

What he chose to reveal to Ava, however, was something else entirely. He looked at the footmen and dismissed them with a nod. When they had quit the room, he looked at his wife and asked simply, “Do you condone such behavior?”

“Of course not. I will speak with her.”

“And do you suppose she will heed what you say?”

“Of course!” Ava said, clearly agitated. “And I certainly won’t require Miss Hillier’s assistance in speaking to my maid.”

Jared almost laughed. He knew very well how self -righteous Miss Hillier could be. He idly swirled his wine around in his glass. “You are aware, are you not, that her behavior is insupportable.”

Ava sat heavily on the settee across from him, her hands pressed together. “It is insupportable—I couldn

’t possibly agree more,” she said earnestly. “Nevertheless, she is my lady’s maid, and I should have the responsibility of speaking to her myself.”

“I don’t know,” he said, toying with her.

Ava closed her eyes and sighed. Jared smiled.

“She is my lady’s maid, my lord,” Ava said. “She serves me —no one else in this house. I can’t possibly

do without her.”

“Should I decide that she must be sent back to London, Miss Hillier will assist you.”

Ava’s mouth dropped open. “What? Send her back to London?” she cried. “No! How dare you?” “Oh, I don’t know,” he said, quite enjoying himself. “It’s rath er easy, really.”

Ava made a sound of angry despair, suddenly stood up, and began pacing in front of the settee. “I must admit, my lord, that I find this all very distressing. I cannot do without Sally—”

“Where did you find her?” he asked.

Ava almost stumbled. “W-what?” she asked. “Where,” he said clearly, “did you find her?”