Duke Herheart Final (7 page)

“Fishing for compliments? An interesting past-time fishing?” A dark brow rose, his eyes teased her.

“It’s a figure of speech…baiting you to tell me I look nice. Surely you recognize it from the young ladies at balls when they flutter their fans at you and look expectantly up at you to make some kind of comment about their gowns and tell them they look
lovely
?”

“Indeed?” He gave her a look of mock innocence.

“Oh you, you’re looking at me like I am a dummy. You knew that all along.”

“Yes, Miss Ragland, I think there has been compliment fishing since the beginning of time or the beginning of real fishing at least. But, as you say, I guess the ‘misses’ rather do
fish
a lot.” He laughed at the vision because he was certain she was right. It was a lovely image, especially if one considered a hook in the mouth of some of the more simpering misses. He of course was fully aware of the expression; he just loved to make her explain it to him as if her education and experience were superior to his. She was a wonderful sparring partner for his simple jests.

“And here I thought it only a man’s past-time.”

“Fishing is most definitely a practiced art form. But, you know, I like the real kind with hooks too.”

“You fish?” He could not be sure he had accurately heard this latest figure of speech. He had also not quite calmed from the overwhelming sensation of her small form slamming into his body, pressing her charms into his chest, the charms that were so amply revealed by the low cut neckline and supportive bodice of the simple muslin.

“Oh yes, the old fashioned kind that’s done with a bamboo pole and crickets or worms where you sit on the side of the family cow pond in the hour just before sunset. I could actually fish almost anywhere with any kind of gear…for hours. It is so relaxing and one of the few times I really am able to be quiet and patient and whoever I’m with has to be 38

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

quiet too.”

He had been guiding her down the stairs and now that they were walking abreast with her hand resting on his arm, Michael regarded her hair piled in ringlets as the image of a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. His guest’s freckles glinted ever so slightly, less he was sure than before, and the most radiant smile had softened her face. Michael knew he could bask for hours in her warm glow. Michael drew a breath and found once again that scent of earthy woman but could no longer make out the tropical flavor from before. It must have been bathed away and he was oddly saddened by the cleanliness of his family’s regular soap that had diminished some of the flavors of her tantalizing smell.

How had she described it?
The hour before sunset and the cow
pond?
He could not even register that this vexing
American
stranger knew his most favorite spot. The smell of cow, raw and dirty, dark descending, anticipation, then capture. Exhilaration, relaxation. She knew what it meant to fish. Michael could imagine Kathryn sitting on the bank of the quiet river with a pole lazily dropped into the depths, her fine legs encased in men’s breeches while her burnished skin freckled further in the sun. Heat stirred in his belly at the thought of joining her there, of her utter perfection at that moment, for what man could resist a woman who adored fishing? The vitality and life of the woman on his arm gripped him and she was in
his
house, under
his
roof. Immediately, he recognized the latest wrinkle in his rescue plans.

“Miss Ragland, as you undoubtedly know, English society is very strict about ladies staying as guests in the homes of gentlemen.

Fortunately, our current circumstance is being remedied as we speak. I have sent a note to my Aunt Agatha asking her to join us immediately.

For the short term, you will be chaperoned by my sister.”

“Chaperoned by your sister? Interesting phrasing but oh, wonderful.

Then I
am
looking forward to meeting her. Will she be at lunch?”

“No, she eats in her rooms.” As they approached the dining room and he reached for the knob, he turned to her. “My sister has been ill for some time…since her husband died. She rarely leaves her rooms.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there…”

“No. No one can force help on her, not until she wants it.”

He was unable to hide the note of sadness in his tone. Kathryn elected to stay quiet, and he left that last sentence hanging in the air.

Kathryn’s place was set to his right, intimately rather than at the end of the table as had been the custom when his parents dined in this room.

Today was his first meal at the head of the table and he contemplated the significance of that change as the footman set the soup bowl in front of 39

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

him with Hallthorpe supervising.

“My lord, I hope the meal meets with your approval. Cook has made some of your favorites. This is…”

“Yes, I can smell the lamb. I know it will be excellent. Thank you.”

“Miss Ragland, I am afraid you will have to endure the machinations of my staff with the seating and the menu. It appears that they have taken it upon themselves to see to my every need.”

“I think they’re glad to see you.” Her lips turned up and she graced him with a warm smile. As their eyes met, and he returned her regard, she seemed to him to become all of a sudden quite self-conscious. Their close seating arrangements must not have been lost on her either.

As she dedicated herself to her food, Michael wondered how she must feel wearing a stranger’s clothes with her hair styled as it was.

Probably very uncomfortable. She had been in breeches and wearing her mane of red-gold hair wildly long and loose about her. But now she looked astonishingly…perfect. He shook his head and attempted to bring her out of her brown study.

“You’re obviously correct, but I believe my staff is quite as glad to meet you as they are to see me.”

“And why is that?” She took a dainty spoonful of the delicious tasting soup.

“I am a stuffy old soldier. You are a fascinating traveler from America.”

“Actually I’m a lost, shoeless commoner who was lucky enough to meet a nice man, who felt sorry for me and brought me to his palatial home,” she catalogued.

“Lost and shoeless, yes. Common, no.”

“You are absolutely blowing your compliment quota out of the water. I believe that was another one.” She gave him a flirtatious grin.

“I will set about rectifying that by plying you with insults. I believe you are using the wrong fork for your figs, Miss Ragland.” She began to laugh and he watched her glance back and forth from her plate to the remaining silverware.

“What is funny, Miss Ragland? Am I now dripping my wine?”

“Oh no, Captain. That was pretty lame as insults go and I was just thinking about how, umm…
proper
I looked.”

“Please enlighten me on how that is funny.”

“Well, just yesterday I was wearing shorts, with my hair pulled into a pony tail and presenting a picture about as unfeminine and improper as well, as opposite as this.”

Shorts! He was visualizing men’s smalls! “Tell me, what are shorts 40

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

and a pony tail? It sounds intriguing.”

“Shorts are short pants, cut off above the knees. Shorter than your riding pants…I believe your society matrons would call them
positively
scandalous.
”

He laughed out loud at her very successful imitation of those feared ladies.

“A pony tail is the way of wearing hair pulled back into a rubber band so that it has the effect of looking like a horse’s tail.”

“You choose to look like a horse’s tail?” he asked with a low rumble barely concealing his enjoyment at her expense.

“No, not look like a horse’s tail. Just the hair part—the tail—not the… Ahhh, it makes doing strenuous activity easy, gets your hair out of your face,” she chided.

“Your hair is now out of your face.” He could not wait to see how she would answer his challenge. With a sigh, she put down her spoon and recognized he was once again, teasing her.

“Okay, this…” she swirled her finger over her head “…is not a hairstyle conducive to any activity except sitting demurely and looking pretty. For fishing or almost any physical activity, a pony tail is much preferred.”

“Well, I must say, you wear the sitting-pretty-and-demure-style rather well. I shall take you fishing so I can also see the pony tail style.”

“Captain, you and your staff are being so gracious but I don’t think I’ll be here long enough for fishing or pony tails. I’ve got to try to get on the road to London in the morning.” At that moment that he was looking at her with his eyes glassed over and there was a muscle twitching at his jaw. Was he angry? He sure looked like he might explode.

Then he did that eyebrow raise thing he did and the footmen in the room disappeared. He used that look very well. She could imagine the privates in his units shaking in their boots and wondered how many of them had actually wet themselves when he called them out for doing something wrong. She was certainly shaking in her shoes under the enormous pressure of being in this house, thinking of the distance she had to travel and the absolute absurdity that she had landed in this dream.

“Miss Ragland, I believe it is time you told me where you are from and how you got to Wilton. The
truth
would help.”

That stung but she wasn’t surprised he still didn’t believe her. “I know it sounds nuts but the honest truth is I went to bed in my own house and woke up here. I have no idea how I got here. I don’t expect you to believe it or understand it because I don’t either. I just know that I need to make my way back to London so I can figure this thing out.

41

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

Maybe catch a ship leaving for America.”

“You’re going to ‘catch a ship’ and that will get you home?”

“That sarcasm is not particularly flattering on you, Captain. It makes you look severe and sound well…mean. But to answer your question, I’m not sure. But staying here…”
unless falling asleep with the picture
again works
… “I truly have no idea how to get home.

“Where is home?”

“The US. I told you that and I’m not lying. Surely you can tell by talking to me and looking at me that I am an American?”

“Actually, your accent is quite unfamiliar as I believe I mentioned earlier. You sound like no one I have ever heard. As to your circumstances, I was now ready for more specifics.
Where
in America?”

“Okay, so if you thought the part about my being beamed over here was a doozie, well, I am from the state of Alabama which I don’t really think was even a state in your era. It’s in the South.”

Michael shook his head and tried to fathom just how he had landed with such a woman who was a best described as a conundrum. Bright, charming, an honest face and smile, with looks that had grown on him considerably but yet, clinging to a bizarre lack of trust in him. “Miss Ragland? If I concede that you are far from home and don’t know how to get back, will you concede that there is not indeed any reason for your precipitous departure tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.
That’s it
?”

“Yes. I can’t really fault your logic. Since I don’t know how to get there, I might as well organize my travel plans better first.”

As the last dish was cleared, Michael wanted to prolong their time together. Being with Kathryn was the most fun he had in years. He had thoroughly enjoyed this verbal contest with her. “Would you care to take a ride with me? I had thought to make my return known to the farmers whose cottages lie along the western boundary of my lands.”

“I would absolutely love to ride with you but I’m saying up front I’ll only do it if I can ride with my legs on different sides of the horse like we did coming here.”

“Astride?”

“Yes, that’s it. I can ride that way but I’m not about to get on a horse holding my legs on one side. Whoever invented the sidesaddle was not a woman!”

His fingers clinched and released as he all but blurted out the
reason
for women to ride sidesaddle. She was clearly unconcerned with that particular consequence. Her strident declaration just made it all the more 42

Duke of Her Dreams – Olivia Ritch

deliciously scandalous. A woman, on one of his prized beasts, riding astride down to the cottages of his tenants…Michael shook off the image. “You shall ride astride as you wish.”

“Awesome…I mean, oh thank you. That’s wonderful. Maybe as we ride you can show me how to really ride. All I’ve ever done is ride in circles at summer camp.”

“
Summer camp
?”

“Look at you raising those brows at me. You wield those things like weapons!” she teased.

“I guess I do. It’s a habit that I am too old to break. It worked very well with my soldiers. But, tell me of summer camp.”

“Summer camp…when city girls go off for a week in the country and live in tents, ride horses, fight off bugs, cook over open flames, go days without showering or shaving, swim in murky lakes, drink spring water, take long hikes…you know?”

“Yes, I just spent the last several years doing that. It was called war.”

“Are you always so on?”

“On?”

“Funny.”

“No.”
It’s something about
you
that
makes everything funnier,
brighter, more
. When she appeared at the stables in the same dress, Michael wondered what happened to the proficiency of the maid who had done such a remarkable job with the hair but this…

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you can’t ride astride in a dress with your legs…”

“With my legs showing? Don’t worry. I’ve got that part taken care of. I borrowed another pair of your riding pants. See?” And she lifted the hem of her dress enough to reveal a pair of buckskins that molded to her sculpted calves. The sight of her dressed so provocatively sent his blood thrumming. His mind dimly registered that the fabric of his pants was caressing her most private parts. Shaking his head to clear his unhelpful wayward thoughts, he moved away from her lest she see how she disturbed him.