Two Turtledoves (11 page)

"Good morning, cousin!" Benedict announced far too
loudly while pounding him heartily on the back.

Baldwyn cringed at the sound ricocheting through his
brain like a French cannonball.

"I see very little good about it," he whispered.
Benedict only smiled back at him like he had lost his mind. Baldwyn
peered at him through half-open eyes.

"It's a lovely morning! And there shall be ice
skating!" If it were possible, the devil's grin grew even wider.
There was something wrong with him.

"Why are you so—" Baldwyn searched his mind for the
perfect word to capture the essence of Benedict's ailment.

"Handsome? Intelligent? Well-endowed?" Benedict
offered.

Baldwyn snorted, then cringed at the stabbing pain.
"I was going to say
happy
. I don't think I've ever seen you
so disgustingly merry."

"And so I am… all of those things!" His cousin threw
his head back with a raucous laugh and slapped Baldwyn on the
shoulder once more.

"Cousin, you
must
stop doing that." He
clutched his head in his hands and closed his eyes. When he opened
them again, the devil duke stood beside him grinning like an
imbecile and staring across the room at none other than Lady
Katherine Bourne, the accident-prone wench the dowager had designed
for his future.

Nausea rolled through his stomach and he shook his
head in disbelief.

"Oh, no." There was no hope. No hope for a man such
as Baldwyn if even the devil duke was susceptible to the dowager's
schemes. Hot fury rose in his chest. He wanted to kick. He wanted
to scream. If only neither of those activities would make his head
explode.

"Excuse me, Benedict," he muttered. Baldwyn would get
to the bottom of her hold on him. The
ton's
last great
bachelor could not go down so easily.

In four long strides, he stood beside her. His
indignance overshadowed the throbbing pain in his head. He grabbed
the plate from her conniving little hand and began scooping large
amounts of eggs onto it. "Allow me."

Lady Katherine stared at him in amused confusion.
"Thank you—" her voice broke off with a questioning lilt, and she
reached for the plate to take it back, but Baldwyn pulled it back
just out of her reach.

"What the devil did you do?" He was seething. He had
to stop this. Had to break her spell over the last great hope of
bachelors everywhere.

"Pardon?" Such an innocent face. But underneath she
was a scheming hoyden, out to put a stranglehold on all eligible
gentlemen.

This would never do. It was one thing to force the
two dukes to marry. To forge betrothal contracts in their names. To
plot their demise. To design and plan and weave a twisted web in
which to trap the two. To force a marriage with any young chit.

But it was another matter entirely to engineer a
match that sucked every last bit of life out of the notorious rake,
leaving him nothing more than a shell of his former moody self.
Baldwyn couldn't take it.

And he knew. As he had known the first night in the
garden at the Montmouth ball.

His heart was next in line for the fall.

****

Anastasia hadn't slept. And now she was wishing she
had remained in her room until everyone else had finished eating.
It felt as though all eyes were on her when she stepped through the
door, as if they knew what had transpired between Anastasia and her
betrothed the night before. But how could they?

Across the room Lady Katherine accepted a plate from
Baldwyn and smiled at him. She was forever smiling at him.
Baldwyn's gaze reached Anastasia. She thought there was a spark
behind his eye. A spark that was for her. Undoubtedly a spark of
resentment.

He blamed her.

He'd attacked her in her own house, and somehow it
was her fault? And after all that duty and responsibility talk. The
speeches about guarding her virtue. Give the man a few drinks, and
he was an absolute rake.

And he was coming her way.

Warmth spread through her as he approached.

"Good morning, my lady. Did you sleep well?" He
reached for her hand and planted a quick kiss on her wrist. It was
difficult to read him. His eyes were glassy and his voice was
low.

"Not at all, your grace."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Any reason in particular?"
He glanced around the room as though he cared little what her
answer would be.

"Surely you jest, sir." Anastasia stared at him in
disbelief. Was he truly going to pretend nothing had happened?
Still he wouldn't meet her gaze.

"Are you—" she began but was abruptly cut off by a
sudden commotion amongst the servants.

"Look alive! She is here!" one footman called.

"Quickly, quickly!" another rushed toward a group of
maids near the door.

Anastasia glanced around the room to determine the
cause. Her father's servants were rarely this upset. Was Casper
crying?

Beside her Baldwyn seemed to tense and freeze. She
traced his gaze to the door on the other side of the room. There
stood the Dowager Duchess of Durbin wearing an icy glare as she
looked down her long aristocratic nose at everyone.

"I didn't know my father had invited her."
Anastasia's voice was no more than a breath, but it reverberated in
the air between them like the clash of a cymbal.

He sighed and turned to Anastasia. "I believe our
best course of action is to join the ice skating."

"As you wish, your grace."

The sky was clear and deep blue as they sat around
the frozen pond lacing up their skates. A few feet away, the
servants stoked a small fire and heated mulled cider alongside the
roasting chestnuts.

A gust of winter wind blew Anastasia's bonnet from
her head, and it flapped against her back avoiding her grasp.
Beside her, Baldwyn caught the offending article, replaced it on
her head, and retied it securely under her chin.

His gaze was intent on the task at hand, though
Anastasia couldn't help but search his eyes. They seemed a deeper
blue out in the sunshine. His fingers fumbled with the strings of
her bonnet, lingering longer than necessary.

"That should hold," he said finally, allowing his
hand to brush her chin and glancing to her eyes briefly before
abruptly turning away and offering his arm. "Ready?"

"Yes, thank you, your grace." She slipped her hand
into the crook of his arm and buried the other deep in the fur muff
hanging from her neck as they slid onto the ice.

Baldwyn was silent as they made their first pass
around the ice. After several minutes Anastasia ventured to
speak.

"How is your head, your grace?"

He glanced at her as though startled by the
question.

"It is causing me some discomfort, I must admit," he
answered at last. "How do you fare this morning?"

"Lovely. Thank you." In truth, she had hardly slept a
wink all night and was frightfully tired, but it didn't seem the
proper thing to say.

Anastasia allowed the silence to encompass them again
for several minutes. When it grew burdensome, she cleared her
throat to speak again. She wanted to say something. Anything to
clear the air. Perhaps speak of the kiss the night before. Somehow
to understand how things stood between them.

"Your grace, I—" she began, but in that moment the
Duke of Banbury and Lady Katherine skated up beside them.

"Paisley, you skate like a woman," Banbury baited his
cousin with a wicked grin. "I am certain I could make it twice
around the pond before you made it halfway to the other side."

A tiny smirk played on the corner of Baldwyn's lips,
and he turned to Anastasia. "My dear, I fear a challenge has been
made. Shall I accept it?"

The special attention sent a tingle of joy through
her heart.

"Most sincerely, your grace. You must defend your
family honor."

"Very well. Banbury, I accept." They swung a wide
graceful arc and made their way back to the bank. Anastasia fairly
floated on his arm as they went.

Katherine and Anastasia settled onto the bench to
watch the race.

"May I wear your colors, my lady?" Baldwyn asked with
a gallant bow and a wink at her.

"Paisley, you're stalling," Banbury taunted.

Anastasia slipped her handkerchief out of her muff,
tied it around his wrist, suppressing a giggle when he kissed her
hand and spun around to the starting mark.

This was the Baldwyn she remembered from long ago.
The playful knight. Rescuing her from her distress, fighting for
her honor, chivalrous to a fault.

Beside her on the bench, Katherine sighed faintly in
disappointment. Banbury hadn't asked for her favor.

Baldwyn regarded him a moment, but when he made no
move toward Lady Katherine, Baldwyn took it upon himself.

"Lady Katherine, might I wear yours as well?"

The lady's eyes lit up. Anastasia's heart fell.

Chivalrous to a fault.
Of course he wouldn't
let Lady Katherine be disappointed. Part of Anastasia told her it
was thoughtful, but another part wanted to pounce on the lady and
tear out her hair in great handfuls. Still another part was fully
occupied with restraining the second part from taking over the
whole of her.

Lady Katherine tied her own handkerchief around
Baldwyn's other wrist, and he kissed her hand and smiled broadly
into her eyes.

Banbury's face reddened as he watched the scene
unfold, a mirror's reflection of Anastasia's own concealed
rage.

At least Lady Katherine had the decency to blush when
Baldwyn kissed her hand. Little better than a common strumpet.

"Lady Katherine," the Duke of Banbury said, his voice
was a low growl. "On your word."

She clapped her hands and stood. "Ready. Go!" she
shouted.

The ice sprayed back onto Anastasia's skirts as the
two launched forward, skating furiously for the other side of the
pond. The few other guests clapped and cheered as the race went on.
Some called out for Paisley. Others cheered for Banbury.

Anastasia herself said nothing, but sat holding her
breath, awaiting the outcome with her hands clenched together
inside her warm muff.

When the two reached the far side of the pond, they
were dead even. The turn was bumpy, but Baldwyn appeared to have
the better move and turned on a pin. Banbury stumbled on his turn
and lost several strides as he struggled to keep his feet under
him.

"Trouble, Ben?" she heard Baldwyn shout back at his
cousin.

Banbury answered with an unrepeatable curse, but
Baldwyn just laughed and slid to a stop in front of the bench a
full five count before his challenger's arrival at the finish
line.

A light danced in his blue eyes as he glanced her
way. His smile took her breath away, and she imagined it was for
her alone.

He bent into a deep mocking bow toward Banbury. "A
pleasure, as always, your grace-less."

Banbury smoldered in response — his usual frightening
expression. Then as if a light suddenly dawned, he cocked an
eyebrow at Baldwyn and an evil grin spread across his dark
features. "Speaking of
graceless
, did any of you happen to
hear the commotion in the corridor last evening?"

Anastasia could feel the blood draining from her face
and knew she was as white as her fur muff. But Baldwyn didn't even
wince. He leveled his gaze at his cousin, still wearing his playful
grin, as if not a single word of what Banbury had said struck any
chord of remembrance.

"I heard nothing. In fact, I was so exhausted when I
found my room, I fell asleep before I got more than three steps in
the door. I awoke this morning drooling on the cold floor. What was
the matter?"

The smirk remained on Banbury's face, and he
considered Baldwyn's reaction. For Anastasia's part, never was she
so happy to melt into the background, for she was certain he would
read the guilt on her face.

"A broken vase."

"Perhaps one of the servants being careless in his
work."

"Generally speaking, housemaids tend to do their work
during daylight hours."

"Hmmm… how very odd." Baldwyn turned his attention to
Anastasia and Lady Katherine. "I am honored, ladies, to have won
the challenge for two such lovely ladies." He loosened the silk
favors from his wrists and returned them to their owners.

Anastasia was both mortified at Banbury's insinuation
and humiliated by the flirtatious glint in the eyes of her
betrothed when he bestowed Lady Katherine's handkerchief. She
cleared her throat in disgust.

"Would you be so kind, your grace, as to fetch a mug
of hot cider?" she asked Baldwyn.

He nodded. The smile disappeared from his lips. "As
you wish, my lady."

She watched him stride away but found herself, in
spite of the marvelous view, struggling with the impulse to
viciously attack the lady on her left. Glancing back at Lady
Katherine, she found the lady's gaze following Baldwyn as well.

Fortunately for everyone, Banbury chose that moment
to clear his throat and draw Lady Katherine's attention.

"Care to skate, Kate?" he asked. He stepped between
the two ladies and offered his arm to Katherine.

As they glided away arm in arm, Baldwyn returned with
Anastasia's cider.

"Is it terrible of me to hope the ice cracks and she
falls in?"

Baldwyn chuckled, then thought better of it and took
a long draught of the steaming liquid in his own mug. When he
brought the cup down, his expression was stern once more. "Quite
terrible indeed," he chided. She sighed.

"However," he held up a single finger and arched his
eyebrows as though he was to make a vitally important observation,
"Lady Katherine does have a frightful propensity towards
mishap."

It was Anastasia's turn to stifle a laugh.