The Hazards Of Hunting A Duke (7 page)

He could think of nothing.

Elizabeth carefully folded her linen and put it on her lap. She was so proper he was certain the slightest breach in etiquette would break her in two. He shifted his gaze away, caught his father glaring at him, and shifted his gaze to his plate.

Fortunately, Lady Robertson turned her attention to the Season’s social calendar, noting—for his benefit,

he supposed—the number of balls to which Elizabeth had received invitations. Jared scarcely heard a word she said, for her endless monotone gave him ample opportunity to relive the spat he’d had with Miranda last evening.

Miranda was growing weary of the ongoing disagreement with his father, which seemed to have grown more vitriolic since they had returned to London. “I can’t possibly imagine why you won’t do what he asks to appease him,” she’d said as she sat prettily on her chaise in her silk dressing gown. “Once you

put a child on some girl, then we might continue on, shan’t we, and it won’t be the least bit different than your father’s affair with Lady Sullivan, wi ll it?”

At the mention of his father’s long -standing affair with a woman who had survived his mother, Jared flinched inwardly. He was never really certain why, but the notion of his father bedding someone other than his late mother had always pricked him. He supposed it was because it was done so openly. He

could remember a time when he was a boy, the servants discussing before him the need to send linens up

to Lady Sullivan’s house, for the duke did not care for her coarse sheets. Even then, it had seemed insupportable for his father to take vows of fidelity before God and then forsake them.

Yet here he was, contemplating that very thing.

It wasn’t unusual, really. In some circles —his, to be exact—it was expected. Marry one woman for pedigree and fortune ; make love to another. It was, for better or worse, the way of many couples among

the Quality.

“For God’s sake, just do as he asks, Jared,” Miranda said again with great exasperation as she began to brush her long dark red hair. “It is the only way we shall ever be together in any measure of peace—of

that I am convinced.”

“We might be together in p eace if we were to marry,” he said, surprising himself as much as Miranda. He was fond of Miranda in a lover’s way, and in that moment, it occurred to him that if he would be forced

to marry, why not marry Miranda? “My father might disown me, but at least we would live as man and wife and bring our legitimate children into the world.”

Miranda made a cry of alarm and dropped her brush. “I think all that clean country air has made you mad, darling. Of course he would disown you, for I will never possess the credentials necessary to appease your father. And if he disowned you, you could not give our children the things you had as a child. I daresay you would never forgive yourself.”

She’d turned and looked at him pointedly. “And I daresay, neither would I.”

Her response had stung him. He understood how women were taught to think of marriage—power and wealth meant everything, apparently even to Miranda. Yet the confirmation that his title and fortune meant more to her than he did cut like a knife.

Now, as the Robertson meal was ending —just before he feared he would be driven to leap from the

table and fling himself out of the windows onto Audley Street below —Lord Robertson suggested the

ladies take their ices in the solarium with the duke. “I thought perhaps Lord Middleton and I might enjoy

a cheroot. You do enjoy a good cheroot, do you not, my lord?”

Jared glanced at his father, whose expression was so full of expectation that he wanted to scream. He shifted his gaze to Lord Robertson and smiled. “Thank you , my lord, but I must beg your leave.”

No one said anything for a moment until Elizabeth made a small sound of despair, and the duke…well,

the duke turned dark. A very unpleasant shade of red.

“Please do forgive me, but I have another engagement I simply cannot miss,” he added, almost cheerfully. “It is a parliamentary matter.”

“Middleton—” his father started, but Jared was already rising from his chair.

“I had quite forgotten it until this morning, your grace,” he said pleasantly, and smiled at his host. “You will forgive me?”

“Of course,” Robertson said, looking confused.

Jared quickly went to the mother and took her hand in his. “Thank you, Lady Robertson, for a lovely luncheon,” he said, and turned to Elizabeth. “Lady Elizabeth, I have thoroughly enjoyed your company. I look forward to the time we might dine again,” he said, and took her hand, brought it to his lips, kissed her cold knuckles, and quickly let go.

Elizabeth looked at her mother, her eyes wide with consternation, but Jared walked on, to the head of

the table, passing a string of footmen who had, no doubt, be en brought out to impress him. He offered his hand to a stunned Lord Robertson. “Thank you again, my lord.”

“But I thought…I thought we were to have the afternoon,” he said weakly.

“Another time, perhaps,” Jared said, and bowed low. He scarcely looked at his father.

“Your grace,” he said before he walked out of the room.

Let his father make good on his threats. Jared was beyond caring at the moment, for he could not

possibly endure another moment in that dining room. If he had to marry, so be it. But he would not, under any circumstance, marry Lady Elizabeth Robertson.

He went directly to his club and sent word for Harrison to join him if he was able. When Harrison appeared an hour later, Jared felt restless, and given that the day was bright and unusually warm, he convinced his old friend that they should ride in Hyde Park.

Naturally, he gave Harrison a brief account of the latest argument with his father and the luncheon he’d ruined.

“Sounds frightfully tedious,” Harrison agreed. “Does he still threat en to disown you?”

Jared laughed wryly. “Not only does he threaten it, I would suspect that as we are speaking, he is drawing up the order for the king’s signature.”

Harrison smiled a little, then looked at his friend. “What if he carries through with hi s threat? Have you determined your course?”

Oh, he’d considered it. Through many sleepless nights, he had wandered Broderick Abbey’s halls,

considering it. He had his own title, his own seat. Granted, he did not have nearly the wealth his father had, and would lose the substantial stipend he received as the son of the Duke of Redford. But he was

ready to face it—he had studied agriculture and was brimming with ideas for improvements to his estate. And besides, what he valued and wanted more than anythin g on earth was not a fortune, but the freedom

to be who he was.

Yet the duke had raised the stakes with his latest threat.

“I have considered it,” he said simply, and meant to say something more, but a sound brought his head up

—a laugh, a word, he wasn’t certain what —but his gaze landed squarely on the woman with blond hair and pale green eyes.

Fair…Fair

…Fair-something.

He could not bring her name to mind, but he remembered her quite clearly. She was in the company of two young women who resembled her, and all three of them were dressed in the black bombazine of mourning.

“Her name,” Jared said, taking in their black gowns. “I don’t recall it.” “Fairchild,”

Harrison offered.

Fairchild, of course. Lady Ava Fairchild. “Who p assed?”

“Her mother, Lady Downey,” Harrison replied, and glanced at Jared from the corner of his eye. “You should pay more attention to the society pages, Middleton. Occasionally, there is an interesting on dit about someone other than you.”

“Astonishing.”

Harrison chuckled and looked again at the three young women walking toward them. “I have heard that

Lady Downey died suddenly and without provision for the fortune she’d brought to the marriage. By law,

it reverted to Lord Downey. Unfortunately, that h as left the three of them somewhat destitute, save a small dowry for each of them. It’s a pity, really, for they seem to be agreeable young women—yet I daresay the lack of fortune won’t help them in the marriage mart this Season.”

“Perhaps,” Jared said th oughtfully. “But there are some men among us who don’t care a whit for fortune

—yourself included,” he remarked, glancing at his friend.

Harrison laughed. “Ah, but I’ve neither a father pushing me to wed a fortune nor a fortune so entailed that

I must wed for money, as Stanhope will likely do one day,” he said, referring to the fact that Stanhope’s

fortune was entailed to the hilt, leaving to him very little real income. “As my circumstances stand, I have

the luxury of time to wait for the perfec t wife.”

The perfect wife. Jared snorted. The perfect wife, to his way of thinking, had little to do with fortune. The perfect wife would be a comely woman with an agreeable personality and a lusty appetite in his bed. She would have a sufficiently high b irth to satisfy his father, but for God’s sake, without a fortune so large as Lady Elizabeth as to necessitate what felt like the joining of nations. And she would be an orphan if he had his way, so that she would not have dreadfully dull parents who could fill an entire hour of conversation with talk of repairs made to the east wing —

A jarring thought suddenly occurred to Jared and he looked at Ava Fairchild again. A moment later, he abruptly swung off his horse.

“What are you about?” Harrison asked.

“Bloody hell if I know,” Jared muttered, and stepped into the path as the women came upon them.

Ava Fairchild, deep in conversation with her companions, glanced briefly at him, then jerked her gaze up again, the surprise of recognition glimmering in her eye s. He was instantly and rather warmly reminded of those lovely green eyes in far more intimate circumstances.

That sultry, seductive kiss in his carriage —what had it been, almost a year ago? —had been an impetuous

act just like dozens before it, nothing mo re than a bit of harmless flirtation. But looking at her now—the

faint blush in her cheeks, the clear green eyes, the blond hair peeking out from beneath her black bonnet,

he recalled that the kiss had stayed with him well into the next day because she’d b een so…delightfully fervent about it.

He bowed. She blinked and looked nervously about. He lifted a quizzical brow as he put his hand out to receive hers. She managed to gather her wits and stepped forward to give him her hand.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” she said, curtsying.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Ava,” he said, and noted that her companions looked at her with great astonishment as he bowed over her hand. He deduced, judging by the way she closely watched him

as if she expected him to c onfess how he’d made her acquaintance, that she had not told anyone about their carriage ride together —an encounter that was now playing itself out in his mind’s eye.

When he let go of her hand, she gave him a brief and anxious smile. “I, ah…may I introduce you to my sister, Phoebe, and my cousin, Greer?” she asked, gesturing to each companion in turn, her eyes never leaving him.

The two curtsied politely but peered at him suspiciously.

“How do you do,” he said, and turned back to Ava. “I offer you my condolences for the loss of your mother.”

“Oh,” Lady Ava said, her lovely face falling. “Thank you. It’s been almost a year since she left us, yet she

is still greatly missed.”

“Lady Ava.” Harrison had come down off his horse and stepped up to greet her. “How do you do?” “Lord Harrison,” she said, smiling warmly. “So good to see you again.”

“Is Lord Downey still in France?” he asked. “When we last spoke, you rather t hought he’d return for the

Season.”

“At present, he is still in France, but we do expect him in the near future.”

Not thinking clearly and terribly uncertain what he was about, Jared asked, “Will you attend the Season’s events?”

Ava Fairchild blinked. “ We are in mourning.”

“For one month more,” her cousin hastily interjected. “When we come out of mourning, we shall be pleased to accept invitations.”

Lady Ava jerked her gaze to her cousin.

“Then I shall very much look forward to seeing you again in a b allroom, Lady Ava,” he said with a smile.

“I recall that you enjoy dancing.”

Her eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. “I do indeed, my lord —particularly a waltz.”

He almost laughed. “Then perhaps you will allow me the honor of reserving a waltz now?”

“How very kind of you to ask,” she said, and the corners of her mouth turned up in a beguiling little smile.

He understood, of course, that she did not necessarily agree to his request. He smiled with amusement, and noticed that she was indeed quite fair. He hadn’t really recalled just how fair.

Lady Ava’s cheeks flushed an appealing shade of pink at his scrutiny; she glanced at the timepiece

pinned to her breast. “Oh dear, we really must be on our way.” She lifted her gaze to him, her green eyes shining with some delight. “If you will pardon us?”

“Of course,” Jared said, stepping back to allow them room to pass. “I look forward to seeing you during

the course of the Season—and to the dance you have promised me.”

“Good day, my lord,” she said, smiling coy ly. She shifted her gaze to Harrison and curtsied, as did her sister and cousin. “Good day.”

“Good day, ladies,” Harrison said, lifting his hat. He and Jared watched as the three of them walked on, their heads together, their arms linked.

Jared’s mind was whirling around the improbable, inconceivable idea that had popped into his head without warning and now refused to dislodge itself.

As if he were reading Jared’s mind, Harrison sighed playfully. “Well,” he said, glancing sidelong at Jared. “She is an e arl’s daughter. I suppose you could do worse.”

Jared smiled.

“Have you considered, old chum, what a certain widow will make of it?”

“I’ve not considered a blessed thing,” he said truthfully. But as he admired Lady Ava’s derriere as she moved away, he wa s struck by the peculiar feeling of being particularly intrigued, just as he had been the first time he’d met her. He glanced at Harrison and winked. “Miranda…” He shook his head, reaching