What the Duke Wants (14 page)

No. He couldn’t take the risk. She had to know, without question, that he would not deviate from the course he meant to follow.

“I apologize, Miss Radclyffe, for the affectionate display. I was…overcome, but you must know, it changes nothing. I am going to marry Lady Beatryce, and this mistake won’t happen again.”

He stopped just short of adding “I mean it this time” lest she question his resolve.

God, why did it feel like he just ripped out his own heart? He couldn’t help but look at her as he said the last, and to see the hurt in her eyes, it almost had him kissing her again and begging for forgiveness, to plead with her until she believed him when he said he didn’t mean it. It was too much. By God, it even hurt to breathe.

He was a weak fool, taking the coward’s way out by hurting her in this way, but he couldn’t take the chance of allowing her false hope; it was best for everyone if she hated him.

He expected her anger then. He needed it to steel his resolve, but instead, in so soft a voice he almost didn’t hear her, she said, “I understand, Your Grace. You can put me down now. I can manage on my own from here.”

Oh God, her soft words unhinged him more than anger ever could. He wanted to shake her and tell her not to give up on him. He wanted her to cling to him and beg him to carry her away. He was going mad. He was so caught up in his inner hell he hadn’t even realized he was still holding her. He laughed like a maniac in his mind. His behavior was a complete contradiction to the words spewing forth from his mouth.

Despite his warring emotions, he set her down with care. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingertips—he couldn’t resist—and said, “I’m sorry. Really, I…”

He cut off the last thought. He had said too much. Done too much.

“Miss Radclyffe” was all he could manage now, and with a quick bow, he turned on his heel and stormed off to the house. Yes, it was rude. Yes, he did it again. He had no choice. He was at the end of his self-control. Another word or another look and he would have thrown it all away and begged her for another kiss, and that was something he could not do.

He didn’t look back as he walked away. Not once, even though the urge to do so was almost overwhelming. He could feel her eyes drilling into his back. He knew if he showed any hesitation, a faltered step, a shrug of his shoulders, or worse, stopped and looked back at her, he would be lost. He’d turn around and run back to her. Beg her. Worship her.

He felt like he was turning his back on his future rather than walking toward it. He gritted his teeth, clinched his fists tighter, and carried on without pause. He had ahold of self-discipline again and he buried himself in it. Marrying Lady Beatryce was what he was supposed to do. Had to do. It was the only way to move toward the future he’d so meticulously planned.

He pushed any remaining doubts from his mind. He had never questioned his decisions over the last ten years, and he would not start now.

Chapter 10

Several moments passed before Grace realized she had not moved from the spot where the duke had left her behind. She was still staring at the last place she had seen him before he entered the copse of woods leading back to the house. She was too astonished to move. The change in his demeanor was so complete and swift it was almost droll, but of course, it wasn’t really. She was devastated, more devastated than she had ever been, which was shocking and unsettling. She had lost her parents, both of them. Surely that was more distressing? She lived with relatives who would rather chew off their own lips than offer her a smile. Shouldn’t that be more painful?

And she didn’t know this man—clearly. Not only had she just met him, but his mood swings were foreign to her. Up until the past year, her life and the people in it were reliable and steady. She was happy and privileged to live a normal life. An everyday-nothing-to-stir-the-pot ordinary kind of life. And she was always calm and steady because of it. Until today. First, there was her anger at his high-handedness over…well, she wasn’t really sure why he thought he had the right to be so angry before, really. Then, there was her fright over her unplanned swim…
Why isn’t that near-death experience playing the starring role in my thoughts?
Then, there was the happiness and peace found in his kiss—followed swiftly by blazing passion. Now, though, she felt lost. Hollow. Rejected.

She jerked as the reality of it all hit her. The muscles in her legs twitched from physical exertion. Goosebumps traversed her arms and neck. She glanced about to see if anyone else was around to witness her bleak moment. But only for a moment. Who would care? A soft but cool breeze blew a lock of drying hair into her eyes, and she absentmindedly brushed it aside. She started walking to the house. She knew she needed to get inside and change before she caught a chill—not to mention that her dress and corset were gaping from being cut. Both barely covered her chest but for the sleeves of her frock holding them up. She could only just manage to step one foot in front of the other. Her legs were weak and unsteady. Yet she was calm and that scared her more than any of her riotous feelings earlier.

She made it to her room without encountering anyone else along the way. A warm bath awaited, and she, again, marveled at Bessie’s ability to anticipate her needs.

It wasn’t long before Bessie was there with her, humming softly while undoing the remaining buttons of her morning gown. By unspoken agreement, they voiced no words. Grace was relieved. She allowed Bessie to pamper her and bathe her, simply going through the motions without conscious thought.

When she was dressed, Bessie broke the silence to ask of her plans. She shrugged and said, “I guess I’ll head down to the first floor drawing room to see what activities are planned for the afternoon. Thanks, Bessie, for your help, as always.”

“Och, I don’t know why you always offer your thanks; it is my job, you know. And of course, I love being there for you. You just let me know if there’s anything you need gettin’ off your mind, and I’ll be here with ready ears.”

* * * *

Grace trudged down the long, curved main staircase. Her mind was blank, and her emotions nonexistent. Despite not thinking about anything, it took several moments to register the loud voices emanating from the drawing room below. The voices were tinged with heightened emotion, the air marked with expectancy. What could have put everyone in such a state? She had been in her room for the last hour, so there was no chance the uproar was caused by one of her unfortunate accidents, unless…

A door slammed above, followed be several more, followed by more than one pair of muffled footsteps. Something heavy was being dragged across the floor. Grace looked up as if she could see through the ceiling. Confused.

Horses whinnied and nickered, drawing her attention to a nearby window. She walked over and looked down to the courtyard below. Several carriages were lined up on the cobbles of the front drive. Footmen, valets, and maids scrambled in concentrated haste. Like well-organized bees.

Realizing that the best way to get any answers was to proceed to the boisterous drawing room below, she squared her shoulders and picked up her pace. As she neared the downstairs landing, she heard snippets of conversation; most of it nonsensical:

“Why now? What could be that important?” said one voice.

“I heard she’s in a right tiff over it all,” said another.

“How could he?” offered a third.

“I think something set him off—perhaps there won’t be a wedding after all?”

That last statement caused her to stumble and almost miss the last few steps. Somehow she kept her balance as her curiosity reached heretofore unknown heights.

All conversation seemed to stop the moment she entered the tightly packed room. Most of the guests were there and dressed in their traveling clothes. Most stopped for several moments and stared rudely at her before looking away.

What have I done? No one could possibly know what happened this morning, could they?

“Grace,” her aunt called to her over the din as everyone else, thankfully, resumed their conversations. She cringed at the shrillness of her aunt’s voice, but dutifully sought her out among the crowd. It was obvious Aunt Mary was dismayed about something, but trying to pretend all was well in front of the other guests. At last, she was going to find out, one way or the other, for better or for worse, what had everyone in such a state.

“Grace, where have you been?” Aunt Mary spoke quickly and quietly now. Grace had to stare at her aunt’s rapidly moving lips in order to hear her over the crowd.

“Actually, never mind that. Stonebridge was called away to his estate, Stonebridge Park, rather unexpectedly. You know how important he is, and sometimes these things happen, of course they do. The rest of the house party has been cancelled. The duke, er Stonebridge, wishes to see us in London in two weeks’ time, so we’re all packing, and that includes you. I know you’ve never been, and you don’t have the wardrobe for it, but we’ll simply have to make do. You only need to go to those events that are absolutely necessary, so we’ll manage. I just wished he had got on with the betrothing beforehand, but no matter—he will. Of course he will. You had best be off to make sure your inept maid gets everything packed properly and quickly. Now, don’t just stand there and dawdle. I want to be settled in at the first stop on the road to London before the vultures arrive. Hurry. Quickly now.”

* * * *

Grace made her way out of the drawing room in a daze. It seemed coincidental that the duke was called away, but what did she know about the affairs of a duke? She couldn’t help but fantasize that perhaps he was having second thoughts; that perhaps he was as moved as she by their encounter, despite what he had said.

Her musings were interrupted when a strong hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into an alcove created by the curve of the stairs. She turned to face her detainer with her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes.

“You know, I’m not the most graceful woman at the best of times; therefore, you must certainly know that to…to…manhandle me like that is to invite disaster, Lord Middlebury. What is it?” She stamped her foot in exasperation. Good. At least some emotion had returned. Even if it was bad.

“Miss Radclyffe, I honestly didn’t mean to startle you so completely. In the madness generated by Stonebridge’s sudden removal, I felt compelled to see you before everyone departed and the opportunity was lost.”

She was too stunned to speak, but didn’t dare show it. She continued to stand there, tapping her foot, arms crossed in front of her. She knew if she bided her time he would eventually say what he wanted—it worked with children anyway. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Miss Radclyffe.” Middlebury leaned forward and inhaled her scent. She was reminded of a dog sniffing another. It was decidedly not sensual, as she supposed he meant it to be.

He continued quietly in her ear, “Aaah, Miss Radclyffe, you smell like summer and heather. If only we had had more time to get to know one another—” He pulled back and stared at her lips. “—better. Must I wait until the next society event to see you again, my pet? You must know that your beauty renders me near speechless, and I find myself compelled to further our acquaintance.”

“Lord Middlebury.” She paused; she wasn’t sure what to say, really. For a moment she wasn’t sure whether or not she should be flattered or appalled. No one had ever spoken to her so suggestively before. She decided to harness her ire.

“First of all, I am not your pet. Secondly, I do not find you even remotely appealing, especially after your aggressive manhandling of my person when we barely know one another…”

“So you wouldn’t mind the manhandling if we knew each other better?” he interrupted. He grinned as her eyes widened in surprise. “If you’ll recall, I have already expressed my desire to address your second point. It is my fondest wish to get to know you, much, much better. Perhaps we could start with an innocent little kiss?”

She was speechless. He was shockingly bold; it must be a combination of his good looks and overconfidence. His status as rake of the first order was probably well deserved. Yes, he was a complete rogue and probably not used to woman rejecting him, ever.

Well, he was in for a surprise because she was not so shallow as to be swayed by a pretty face and suggestive words, a duke’s notwithstanding. But she knew she was in over her head this one, and that it was futile to try to reason with him. Therefore, rather than try to match wits, she turned on her heel and stormed off just as he moved to make good on his threat. His kiss met nothing but air.

*

Middlebury chuckled to himself and smiled. He admired her shapely derrière as she marched away. He found himself amused, which he rarely did when dealing with the innocent. Hell, he rarely found amusement in anything these days, though most wouldn’t know it—he was good at hiding his true thoughts and feelings.

His plan had worked at any rate. Several other guests had passed by the alcove during his conversation with Grace and none had tried to hide their curious looks as they noticed their little tête-à-tête going on in the recess. No doubt the rumors would be making their way to London faster than he could get there himself.

With her back to the foyer, Grace couldn’t have seen the raised eyebrows and questioning looks coming from the other guests, and they couldn’t see her unamused expression of distrust in return. All they could see were the smoldering looks he gave the little hellion and the intimate way he stood too close to her. It would be enough to satisfy the gossipmongers and Beatryce would be thrilled. He tamped down the inconvenient prodding of his conscience.

*

Grace turned blindly toward the stairs and was nearly to the first step when Bertram, the head footman, called out to her.

“Miss Radclyffe, Lord Swindon would like to see you in his study, directly.”

“Yes, of course,” she responded with alacrity. She wondered what her uncle could possibly want. He rarely spoke directly to her, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t concerned about what he had to say.