The Hazards Of Hunting A Duke (37 page)

Broderick Abbey library.”

She shrugged. “As you wish. I real ly don’t have time to read, what with the redecorating of the green salon.”

He ignored the incongruency of the conversation. “The green salon?”

“Mmm,” she said, fitting a bit of sorbet on her spoon. “It’s quite dreary. Far too many portraits of positively ancient people, and the décor is really rather feudal.”

“How odd,” Jared remarked, shaking his head at the offer of sorbet from the footman.

“The furniture is French. I had it on good authority that it is the sort of furniture currently sought after in all of the finest salons.”

Ava snorted. “I suppose, if one prefers that sort of look.”

He smiled. “Please do as you like. You are mistress of Broderick Abbey.”

“Thank you,” she said, inclining her head sweetly. “I ordered some new fabrics from a tradesman in

Broderick and put it to your name.” She smiled at him. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he said, and meant it. As far as he was concerned, there was no limit for Ava. Whatever she needed to make her happy, whatever would stop the unhappiness from, as she said, seeping in under the doors and through the windows to swallow her whole, whatever would bring that sparkle back to her

eye he’d do. To the extent he was capable of doing it.

Certainly he knew what might make her happy —and if he didn’t know it, he was reminded of it on those occasions he visited her bed. The way she held him, the way she moved with him, the way her mouth hungrily sought his —it was obvious to him that her feelings for him had not changed, no matter how hard

she might pretend that they had.

But his predicament of not being able to fully commit himself to her body and soul —

What was it he feared? —continued to drive a wedge between them.

He tried to mend some of his mistakes. He tried to see Edmond more often, to insinuate himself into the boy’s life, but it was quite clear that the boy loved the man he believed to be his father. Jared was, he realized, six years too late with his efforts.

He hadn’t even known of Edmond’s existence until the boy was three years old. As a young man of

twenty, he’d fallen in love with Martha, Edmond’s mother. She might have been a servant, but Jared had loved her. He had, hadn’t he? Honestly, he didn’t know an ymore—

but he suspected that if he’d truly

loved her, he would have searched for her when she left him.

He never knew why she’d left him —but he’d been naïve enough to believe that she hadn’t loved him and had feared for her employment and reputation, just as Miss Hillier suggested. It wasn’t until three years

after she’d left that he found out the true reason for her departure —he had put a child in her, and Miss

Hillier had discovered it.

Of course Miss Hillier had told the duke, and the duke had sent Martha away, threatening to take the

child she carried if she ever revealed her lover’s identity. When Jared had discovered the ugly truth, he’d forced Miss Hillier to tell him where the duke had sent Martha and, ignoring his father’s threats, he’d set

out to see her.

But it was too late. The boy—his boy—thought Mr. Foote was his father. Mr. Foote, a kind and

generous man, had married Martha and given her and her bastard child his name. And Martha, Jared’s beloved Martha, professed to love Mr. Foote. She h ad begged him to go away, to leave them be, to give

her his word he would not tell Edmond who he was. Jared had left quite shaken, uncertain about what to do.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he must confront his father. But the duke was characteristically furious with him for going to Martha and Edmond and unearthing what he called a “

blight” on the duchy. He had threatened Jared with destroying the boy by telling him that Mr. Foote was

not his father. Jared had understood how painful that woul d be to the little mop-haired boy he’d seen, and had been swayed by his father’s threats.

But now, he couldn’t help believe that if he’d truly loved Martha in the beginning, things might have turned out differently.

He didn’t hear from Martha again until last year, when she wrote to him as she wasted away from consumption, begging him to give her husband and Edmond a home. Of course he’d done it—it was the

very least he could do. But when his father had heard of it —the gossip among the servants was ceaseless

—he had come to Broderick Abbey to see for himself, while Jared had been away in London. Unbeknownst to Jared, the duke had threatened Mr. Foote, promising to see him impressed into the Royal Navy and his son sent to God knew where if the boy was ever seen about Broderick or the abbey, for there was a resemblance between him and the marquis.

Mr. Foote had taken the duke’s threats to heart.

When Jared had learned of his father’s vicious threats, they had argued most bitterly, but as usual, to no end. Since then, Jared had been quite uncertain about what to do. He wanted to know his son, but he would not take the boy from the only father he’d ever known—that seemed to him the height of cruelty. And when his father threatened to have Mr. Foote impressed, Jared was even more uncertain. He

believed his father capable of such action and poor Mr. Foote lived in fear of it.

So he had let the matter simmer, indecisive as to the best course of action. He wanted to take part in his child’s life, but he could not see how to do it without causing pain to them all.

Yet he had, in these last few months, begun to question his own moral character. And it was his uncertainty as to his true moral character that kept him distant from Ava.

As a result, her appearances at the supper table grew less frequent. Worse, she seemed to feel quite uncomfortable in his presence when the two of them were alone. Yet he woul d hear her laughing in her rooms, would see her and Sally together in the gardens on some mornings, and he’d long to be with her.

But Ava held him at arm’s length —except in her bed. There she hid nothing from him, unabashedly released herself to him —and then seemed to regret it with increasing intensity the next morning.

“He’s there again,” Sally remarked one morning as they walked in the garden. “He’s there, just now,

watching you,” she said, peering up at Middleton, standing at the window in his stud y, looking down.

Ava would not look up. “No doubt he is about to sit and pen a letter to his beloved,” she said sarcastically.

“In truth, I’ve not seen one letter dispatched to her,” Sally said. “And how would you know, dear? You don’t read, remember?”

“I don’t read,” Sally said with a sniff, “but I know what her name looks like —I’ve seen it quite enough times.”

“Perhaps he posts his letters privately through a footman, or through the estate agent who comes here.” “And perhaps he doesn’t,” Sally said with a cluck of her tongue. “You are determined to see the devil in

him, aren’t you?”

“I’m determined to survive. And as soon as we return to London, I am to my old home, my stepfather be damned. I refuse to live in Middleton’s house.”

Sally shrugged and looked up at the sun, closing her eyes. “You might be slicing off your nose to spite your pretty face, mu’um.”

Ava snorted at that.

“Suit yourself,” Sally said with a sardonic smile. “Suit yourself.”

Frankly, Ava wished Sally would suit herself and go inside and leave her be.

She wished the whole world would go away and leave her be. Everyone but the selfish and perfidious marquis whom she could not stop loving —and he was the only one who did leave her be.

But that night, when he informed her they would be leaving for London the day after the morrow, she understood the world would not go away. If anything, in London the world would close in on her as all eyes turned to the newlyweds who had left a cou ntry party early because of the appearance of his mistress.

It was the sort of sordid mess that used to make her and Phoebe and Greer clamor for the Times every morning with the hope of reading something quite titillating.

T hey arrived in London just before sunset. As the carriage rolled down Oxford Street, Ava fit her hands

in her gloves, straightened her bonnet, and said, “If you please, my lord, I should like to be taken to my stepfather’s home.”

“I’ll have a carriage take you on the mor row,” he said with a bit of a yawn.

Ava folded her hands in her lap, her mind made up, prepared to do battle, and stated firmly, “I should like to go now, my lord.”

“Ava,” he said wearily. “It is too late to go calling.”

“I don’t intend to call,” she sa id softly. “I intend to reside there.”

Her declaration caught him by surprise. His hand froze in the straightening of his neckcloth. “What do you

mean, ‘reside’ there?”

“Exactly as I say. I intend to reside at my stepfather’s house.”

Slowly, Middleton lowered his hand, his expression perplexed. “Might I ask why?” “Isn’t it obvious?”

“The only thing that is obvious to me is that you are my wife, and therefore you belong in my house, not your stepfather’s.”

She gave him a withering look . “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that you are conflicted, sir. I merely intend to make it easier for you.”

“Deserting your marriage doesn’t make anything easier for me,” he snapped.

“You have such gall to say that I am deserting my marriage when you never ful ly entered into it. Will you now hold me against my will?”

His eyes narrowed coldly, but he reached up, pulled open the trapdoor that allowed him to speak to the driver, and gave him the direction of Ava’s stepfather’s house.

And he continued to stare at her until the coach pulled in front of the Downey town house. As a footman jumped down from the coach and ran up the steps to announce Ava’s arrival

—it was part of the protocol surrounding her new status as a marchioness —Middleton’s frown darkened. “You are making a rather grand mistake, wife. Have you no care for the scandal this will cause?”

“It can be no worse than the scandal in marrying you,” she said briskly. “The mistake I made was in assuming that marriage was somehow prescribed by a set of ru les. In believing that if I followed those rules, I would have all that I need.”

“And don’t you have what you need? Do you want for anything? Your sister and cousin—do they want

for anything?”

“You know very well what I mean. I do not have what I need to be happy. I can’t possibly be happy in your house. I am rattling an empty cage.”

His face darkened and he suddenly leaned forward. “Ava…there is something I need to tell you.”

The door swung open; Ava heard Phoebe’s squeal of delight and reached for the door opening. Thank

God! She didn’t want to hear how conflicted he was, how he hadn’t come to love her, but he hoped to in

time. “Good-bye, my lord.”

“For God’s sake, if you will just listen —”

“I believe we’ve said all there is to say,” she said, and took the footman’s hand and climbed down.

Phoebe instantly accosted her, throwing her arms around her, pressing her face to Ava’s bonnet, jumping

up and down. “You’re home, you’re home!” she cried happily, then reared back, grabbed Ava by the shoulders, and peered closely at her. “You don’t look the least bit different.

Lucy said you would look quite different somehow.”

Ava forced a smile. “I haven’t changed in the slightest,” she insisted. “I’m st ill the same Ava.” Sally snorted at that as she lugged a couple of bags past Phoebe and Ava.

Ava wrapped her arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. “Come, then, I want to read Greer’s latest letter,” she said, and tried to force Phoebe to walk inside.

“But what of Middleton?” Phoebe asked with a laugh, pulling back. “I should like to meet my brother-in-law now that he’s been forced to live with —”

“Lady Middleton!” Lord Downey called sternly from the door, his hands on his thick waist. “I would have a word with yo u if you please!”

“He’s going to Middleton House,” Ava said, and ignored Phoebe’s cry of alarm as she went to greet her long-absent stepfather.

She never saw the carriage roll away, but she heard it, and in Lucille’s arms, she closed her eyes tightly shut to keep the tears from falling.

Middleton House was, Jared thought, quite empty and cold. There was not a redeeming thing about it as

far as he could see—each room seemed stark and lacking any warmth. Just like him. Just as he was missing Ava, so was every room. She’d removed herself from him, and just like that, pieces of himself were removed from him, a little more every day until he worried there’d be nothing left of him at all.

He’d known for a while—days, maybe—that he loved her, truly loved her, and that he couldn’t be

without her. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t listen to him. He’d waited too long, had allowed the hurt to boil over and seep into her bones.

Once he’d spoken to his father—who was in Scotland hunting at present —he would tell Ava everything. How he’d not been able to sleep because he missed her so, how he didn’t care if she ever bore him a

child as long as she stayed close to him. How he’d wanted to tell her what was in his heart, but given the circumstance of their marriage and some unfinished business, he’d not believed he could. How he would

do anything—anything—if she’d only come back to him.

He’d already sent a note to his father requesting an audience when he re turned at the end of the fortnight. He’d already bought the expensive diamond bracelet he would give Ava when he went to fetch her from

her stepfather’s house and bring her home. He’d done everything he must to commit himself fully to Ava and their marriag e and their life together. He was ready. He was ready to love her, completely, unconditionally, solely.

Phoebe had questioned her endlessly as to why she had not returned to her husband’s house while Lucy

flitted around preparing for the soirée that Lo rd Downey, having determined he owed no dowry to

Middleton for having taken Ava from his hands, insisted on hosting to welcome the happy couple back to