The Notorious Nobleman

The Notorious Nobleman

by

Nancy Lawrence

Anglocentria, Inc.

Aurora, Colorado

The Notorious
Nobleman

By Nancy
Lawrence

Published by
Anglocentria, Inc. at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Nancy
Lawrence

Smashwords
Edition, License Notes
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any
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Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. For information,
address: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. The events and
characters described herein are imaginary and not intended to refer
to specific places or living persons.

Previous Editions of this book were published
in the United States of America in 1998 by Kensington Publishing
Corp.

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SWEET COMPANION

The Notorious
Nobleman

Gavin Northcote, Duke of Warminster, had just
reached the outermost boundaries of his Sussex estate when he
chanced a look at the late afternoon sky and saw the green-grey
clouds of a thunderstorm forming overhead. The clouds were low and
heavy with rain, and he knew in an instant he wouldn’t be able to
outrun the storm. He had been galloping like a hellion for miles
and his horse was nearly spent. He knew himself to be faring no
better.

His head was throbbing and his arm felt
as if it were on fire. He had been riding since he left London
early that morning, so his backside hurt. His temper was frayed and
his nerves were on edge; and he cursed the luck that had already
failed him once that day

the
same luck that now showed every promise of failing him once
again.

He topped a hill just as he saw the first
flash of lightening in the distance. His horse snorted and
caricoled in warning. He gave the animal’s neck a gentle pat. “I
know, boy. I know.”

From the vantage of the hilltop, he could
discern the roofline of a small cottage partially hidden by trees
in the dell below. He made for it, sending his horse flying down
the gentle slope of terrain with a speed and recklessness he would
have found invigorating under any other circumstance. Now all he
could think of was the amount of precious time he would lose by
having to wait out the storm—time that could be better spent
putting as much distance as possible between himself and London and
the havoc he had wrought there.

He reached the cottage just as a drop of rain
splattered against his cheek. Along the back of the cottage had
been erected a small lean-to and he led his horse to it. He had
just finished tethering the animal beneath the shelter of the shed
when a low rumble of thunder sounded and the rain began to fall in
earnest.

Gavin made his way around the cottage as
quickly as his stiff and weary legs could carry him. A flash of
light warned him to expect yet another crack of thunder and he
pushed at the cottage door. The door didn’t give.

Cursing, his patience at an end, he threw his
considerable weight against it, sending the door crashing back on
its hinges at the same moment a low roll of thunder rumbled across
the roof of the fragile little cottage. He stepped inside and
slammed the door shut against the weather with the same force he
had used to open it; and this time, he heard the wood of the door
splinter.

The cottage was nothing more than a single
room with only one small window to allow in the daylight; but with
the storm clouds blocking out the sun, the room was dim and
shadowed and uninviting. He grumbled yet another curse and gave
himself a slight shake, sending droplets of rain scattering across
the floor. Sweeping his dripping hat from his head, he tossed it
negligently onto a small table set beneath the window and
immediately heard the distinct sound of a gasp coming from the
shadows in the far corner of the room.

Suddenly alert, he willed his eyes to
penetrate the darkness of that corner. At first, he couldn’t see
anything, but his instinct told him he wasn’t alone, that someone
else was there with him. Then he saw her.

In the shadows he could just distinguish a
woman’s face. Against the darkness of the cottage, her complexion
contrasted very well, for she was quite pale from shock and her
eyes were wide as saucers as she stared, unblinking, back at
him.

He relaxed slightly. She was no threat; in
fact, she appeared even more startled to see him than he was to see
her.

“
That’s a hell of a storm,” he said, as
he gingerly pulled his gloves from his hands and tossed them onto
the table; but when he unbuttoned the front of his caped-coat and
began to slowly shrug out of it, he heard her gasp
again.

He looked over at her then, realizing for the
first time that she hadn’t spoken or moved. “What in the name of
hell is the matter with you?” he demanded.

The woman stared back at him a moment.
“Why

Why are you taking off
your coat?” she asked, in a voice that was little more than a
croak.

“
Because it happens to be
wet.”

“
You won’t remove anything else, will
you?”

He let loose a derisive grunt. “Not for the
time being, so you need not behave quite so theatrical!”

That taunt banished the last of the
fear from her expression. “Theatrical? May I remind you that it
was
you
who startled
me
? There was really no need to have
broken the door down, you know!”

He draped his coat over one of the two chairs
at the table and said, in a weary tone, “The door was jammed
shut.”

“
I
was able to
get it open easily enough.”

There was no mistaking the challenge in her
tone, but the Duke chose to ignore it. He pulled the only other
chair away from the table and sank slowly down onto it, wincing
slightly as he did so.

The young woman trained a wary gaze upon him
and asked, rather tentatively, “Do you suppose anyone else might be
out in the storm? Do you think anyone else will seek shelter here,
too?”

“
If you’re asking if there is another
person alive as foolish as we to be out in weather like this, the
answer must certainly be no.”

She stiffened slightly. “I’m not foolish. I’m
just not very adept at reading the skies and judging the
weather.”

He allowed his gaze to rake over her in
a manner calculated to dampen any further conversation. “You are
very foolish,” he pronounced. “But then

so am I.”

The woman left the shadows to step further
into the room. Her tone of voice had a note of natural dignity as
she said, “You needn’t be insulting. If we are to remain together
until the storm is over, we should at least be civil to one
another.”

He flicked a disdainful glance her
direction. “
Should
we?”

Now quite determined, the woman cast him a
smile he immediately recognized as one customarily worn by
society’s best hostesses.

“
Of course! I don’t imagine we need
stand on ceremony,” she said. “Perhaps we should introduce
ourselves? I am Lady Julia Pettingale.” She waited, and when he
didn’t answer, she prompted, “And you are . . ?”

For the first time since he entered the
cottage, Gavin took a good look at her. His dark eyes swept over
her, covering every visible inch of her body in a slow, deliberate
manner.

He looked at her not once, but twice
and almost groaned out loud. She was right, he realized.
They
were
going to have to
wait out the storm together; and, dammit, she wasn’t even
pretty.

Oh, she seemed passable-looking, with
large eyes of a color he couldn’t distinguish in the shadows of the
cottage. She was young

No
more than five-and-twenty summers, he thought. She had a straight
nose and a soft, full mouth. The fit of her emerald green riding
habit told him that her figure was good; she was deep-bosomed and
slim-hipped and he usually liked his women that way. But if the dim
light of the room could be trusted, he could see that beneath her
stylish tricorn hat, she was a redhead.

Once again he silently cursed the luck that
had already failed him twice that day. If he had to be marooned in
an abandoned hut with a woman, did she have to have red hair? She
might as well have had a horn growing out of her forehead for all
the attraction he felt toward her.

He resigned himself to his fate. He said
simply, “Warminster.”

“
Warminster?” she repeated. She took a
step toward him and asked, with interest, “Are you the Duke of
Warminster?”

“
Yes. Do I know you?”

“
Oh, no!” she said, and she laughed
slightly. “You don’t know me, but I believe I know of you.
You’re
the man everyone whispers
about.”

He shot one dark brow skyward. “You’re very
blunt!”

“
I see no reason to speak other than
the truth,” she answered reasonably.

“
Is that so? Then allow me to be
equally truthful and tell you that you are trespassing on my
land!”

“
No, am I? Goodness, I must have gone
farther abroad than I thought. I didn’t realize I had strayed so
far from the vicarage.”

He looked at her darkly. “The
vicarage
? Don’t tell me you
live
there!”

“
No, but my best friend, Harriet
Clouster, does. She’s married to the vicar, and I’ve come to visit
for a few weeks.”

The irony was almost too much for him.
Had he been stuck in a rainstorm with any other woman, he wouldn’t
have cared. A wench from the village, a tart from the back slums of
London’s Bear Alley

with one
of them he could have found a most agreeable way in which to wait
out the storm.

But instead he was stuck with a redhead. A
redhead who was a prim-and-proper, well-born lady. A redhead who
had taken up residence at the vicarage.

If he’d been a religious man, he would
have thought that God was trying to punish him for what he had done
earlier that morning

And that
He had found a good way to do it.

“
You’re miles from the vicarage,” he
said. “How the devil did you get here?”

“
I was riding. I guess I wasn’t paying
attention to where I was going or how far afield I had
gone.”

He shot her a dark look of disbelief. “If you
were out riding, where’s your horse?”

“
Why, he is just outside.”

“
You mistake. There was no sign of a
horse when I arrived here.”

Julia Pettingale uttered a small, incoherent
protest and went to the window. “I assure you, I was riding a
horse. I left him right there outside the cottage.”

“
Did you tether him?”

“
Well, no, I—I didn’t,” she said,
rather defensively. “The storm came up so fast and . . . and I
suppose I was thinking only of getting into shelter.”

“
Didn’t you know there was a shed
propped up against the back of this hut?”

“
No. Is that where you put your
horse?”

He nodded, and immediately felt a shard of
pain travel up his arm to his shoulder.