My American Duchess (11 page)

“It’s the duke,” her fiancé said acidly. “Did I neglect to mention that His Grace is once again honoring London with his presence? Who else would be galloping such an ungodly large horse?”

Merry twisted about and looked up.

The Duke of Trent was walking toward her, tall and imposing, his inky blue eyes on her face. In that instant, her stomach tightened and her heart thudded . . . and then she remembered.

Brother-in-law.

Brother-in-law
.

T
rent was getting some exercise after a brutal week on the road from Wales, when he spied the unmistakable figure of his brother in the middle distance.

That was surprising, considering that Cedric had been drunk as a wheelbarrow when he arrived home the night before. Even more surprising, Cedric was leaning against his horse, looking down at a woman who was crumpled on the ground next to him.

He pulled up, dismounted, and approached the pair, his gut tightening as he recognized that the woman on the ground was Merry. She was not crumpled after all, but kneeling with her back to him, with one arm thrust into the hedgerow.

As he approached, she made no move to stand, or even withdraw her arm from the hedge but she twisted around and looked up. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

He was mesmerized by the sight. Merry’s hair was curling in the damp as if it had a life of its own, springing free from whatever pins she had put in it that morning. She wore a tight—and wet—riding habit, with buttons that ran down the front in a way that emphasized her magnificent chest.

Her face, like her coat, was streaked with rain and her lips were wet. He was struck by a violent urge to bend over and pick her up. He would bury his hands in that glossy hair and kiss her senseless. Kiss her until her cheeks were pink and her lips were warm.

Lust rolled over him like fog coming in from the ocean.

He swallowed a curse and flexed his hands. These bouts of lust were remarkably inconvenient.

Belatedly, Cedric’s voice penetrated the fog of desire. “You’re kneeling in the dirt like a chambermaid lighting a fire. Get up!”

Without thinking, Trent snarled, “Do not speak to her in that manner.”

Cedric’s eyes narrowed. “
You
are giving
me
lessons in comportment?”

“Gentlemen!” Merry called. “I’d be grateful if you could save your bickering for later.”

Trent dropped into a crouch beside her. “What is inside that hedge, Miss Pelford?”

She withdrew her arm and held the brushes back so he could peer inside. “A puppy with a cord around his neck. Whenever I stop petting him, he pulls and I’m afraid that he’s going to strangle himself.”

Trent reached into the tangle of bushes and after some maneuvering, managed to find the puppy’s neck. “Bulldog, I would say.” And then, a heartfelt “Damn, that’s wet,” as the hedge dropped a load of cold water over him.

“I suggest we leave,” Cedric said in a clipped tone, “and send a constable who will cut the animal from his bonds. He could have been freed by now,” he said to Merry.

The household servants quavered with fear in the face of Cedric’s reprimands, but Merry seemed unmoved by his displeasure.

“Please, could one of you fetch some help? I shall remain here.” She added the last firmly, without the slightest contrition in her voice.

“I can’t wrench the cord free without injuring him,” Trent said, straightening. “But I’ve got a knife.” He went to his horse. Like any man who spent most of his time in the country, he kept a knife sheath mounted on his saddle. He undid the flap and pulled out his blade, listening to Cedric and Merry squabble over what to do with the dog.

Leaving them to it, he crouched down again and began to work on cutting the cord where it was caught in the bramble.

Cedric and Merry’s exchange was building into a proper row. He could have told her that it wasn’t worth the energy; his twin had the endurance of Hercules when it came to arguments. At the moment, Cedric was characterizing Merry as “an uncaring foe to all animals,” because she had refused to leave the dog.

The cord gave way at last, and Trent got a good grip on the wriggling puppy and hauled him, wet but otherwise unharmed, out of his leafy prison.

Merry uttered an enchanting squeak of delight.

“You did it!” She reached out and took the puppy, bringing his face up to hers. “He’s the most darling dog I’ve ever seen!”

The pup resembled a bulldog, given his snub nose and loose, rumpled skin. But there might be a few other breeds
mixed in as well. His coat was longer and wirier than a bulldog’s; perhaps he had some terrier in his family tree.

“Look at that tail,” Cedric said with disgust. “It’s curled like a piglet’s.”

“Just look at his face!” Merry cried. “Half of it is white and the other brown. Well, brown-black. And he has a patch over one eye! Isn’t he adorable?”

In the Portmeadow ballroom, on the night they’d met, he had found Merry beautiful. But seeing her now, her hair falling to her shoulders, her riding habit plastered to her breasts . . .

She made Trent feel a little insane.

“I think I’ll call him George. Doesn’t he look like a George?”

“He looks like a street mongrel,” Cedric stated. “I trust you are not thinking of keeping it,” he added, displaying a positive genius for saying the wrong thing at just the wrong moment.

Merry pushed a mass of shiny ringlets behind her ear. “Of course I’m keeping him. You don’t think that I would abandon him, now he’s been freed? Your Grace, do you suppose that you could remove the cord from around his neck?”

She parted the folds of skin bunched around the puppy’s neck, exposing the much-too-tight cord.

“Keep him still,” Trent said.

Merry nodded and held the dog close against her.

Trent carefully inserted the tip of his knife under the cord and began to saw as gently as he could.

“Poor baby,” Merry told the puppy, who was crying as his hind legs scrabbled against her chest. “It’ll be over in a moment.”

“If that coat wasn’t already ruined, it is now,” Cedric said. “For God’s sake, Miss Pelford, put the animal down
and let my brother take care of it. The duke prides himself on his barnyard skills; he’s always out and about birthing a sheep or building a privy just for the fun of it.”

At that moment Trent’s blade broke through and the cord fell away.

“Oh, thank you!” Merry cried, giving Trent a huge smile. She cradled the dog belly up, and bent to kiss his nose. “That feels better, doesn’t it?”

“The animal is not an infant,” Cedric pointed out unnecessarily. “I would strongly suggest you put the mongrel down. I can smell him from here, and you may well catch fleas.”

Merry gave her fiancé a cool stare. “George is unbathed through no fault of his own.”

Trent looked at his brother with some interest. It was obvious that nothing short of an act of God would separate Merry from that puppy. Cedric should simply reconcile himself to a dog in the marital bed.

The thought of that bed chilled him more than the rainwater had. He should just get back on that horse and head off to his country estate.

Now.

Before Merry smiled at him one more time.

Or before his eyes drifted to her bosom again because damn it, that riding coat had been made by some devil who wanted men to crumple to their knees.

He’d be happy to fall to his knees. He would take the wet hem of her skirts and draw them slowly up. He would have to warm her legs with kisses, of course. She must be chilled through.

Pallid where she ought to be pink.

“That is
not
a lady’s dog,” Cedric declared. “You are holding a bulldog. It will grow into a monstrosity.”

His brother was making one mistake after another.

Eyes flashing, Merry drew herself upright like an enraged statue of Juno.

If he were betrothed to Merry, he would beg her to wear that riding habit every time it rained. Toss that. He wouldn’t take her out in the rain. He’d just take her into the bath—

Bloody hell. Trent wrenched his mind out of the gutter once again.

“I have always wanted a dog like George,” Merry announced.

“You didn’t even know what a bulldog looks like,” Cedric retorted.

“It’s possible we don’t have the breed in the United States,” Merry admitted. “Is his skin supposed to be so loose or is he very hungry? Just look at his darling expression. He’s so sad.” She dropped another kiss on the puppy’s round head. “There’s no need to be sad, George. I’ll take care of you. I’m going to feed you until you don’t have any wrinkles left.”

“You cannot possibly keep that dog,” Cedric said, true alarm leaking into his voice.

Not being stupid, the puppy twisted around so he could lick Merry’s chin.

“Not only will he grow to be large, but he will snuffle and drool. A bulldog is
not
a lady’s dog; they were bred for bullbaiting.”

Merry was tickling the animal, blind to his ridiculous pug nose, or the grime that had turned its white parts dingy. “You like being called George, don’t you?” she whispered. “Yes, you do. Hello, George.”

“Why George?” Trent asked. It was the name of the sovereign, and one of his school friends, and the local bishop . . . it didn’t jump out to him as a name for a fat puppy.

She gave him a mischievous grin. “George, for George Washington.”

“You’re naming the dog after your first president?”

She nodded. “We Americans love General Washington.” She bent over and kissed George. “And I love you,” she told him.

The little dog seemed to have a sweet temperament, since his only response to the indignity of being held like an infant was to lick Merry’s hand every time he had a chance.

“I think there are many who would find it an insult to the founder of your country,” Cedric pointed out, “though it is no concern of mine, I suppose.”

“I suppose not,” Trent murmured.

“If you insist, we will give him to my groom,” Cedric announced. “That way you could visit the dog in the mews.”

Trent sighed inwardly. His brother had a lot to learn about women. Even he—who had always avoided complicated relationships with women—knew that Cedric was about to go down fighting.

“You don’t mean that,” Merry stated.

“I do mean that. Now we must return to your house before anyone catches sight of you. Your appearance is unacceptable.”

Merry had been kissing the puppy’s snub nose, but she slowly raised her head.

Trent braced himself. He scarcely knew his future sister-in-law, but he judged that she was as strong-willed a woman as he’d ever met, and not someone to take an insult without a rejoinder.

But she surprised him. She did not lose her temper.

Instead, he watched with some fascination as the rage melted from her face. “In that case, I suspect that you won’t wish to hold George while I mount Dessie.” There was even a faint thread of amusement in her voice.

He’d forgotten that she was in love with Cedric. Love could blind someone to a person’s worst traits—one of
the many reasons he considered himself fortunate to have avoided the emotion altogether.

“Absolutely not,” Cedric replied.

Trent reached out and plucked the puppy from her arms. George began enthusiastically licking his hand. “He’s a charmer. I like the dark circles around his eyes. Very fetching.”

“Like a streetwalker in Whitechapel,” Cedric put in.

Merry was looking up at her mare. Even though she was on the tall side for a woman, she undoubtedly used a mounting block.

Trent glanced at his brother, but Cedric had taken out a handkerchief and was using it to wipe rainwater from the glossy surface of his tasseled boots. Trent could have put George down, but he didn’t want to have to chase him down the path.

So he draped the puppy over his shoulder, put his hands on Merry’s waist, and hoisted her onto her mount.

She smelled of perfumed soap and wet woman, a combination so potent that it almost knocked him down. She fit his hands as if she’d been made for them.

This was ridiculous. One look, one touch, and he felt starkly possessive.

It wasn’t merely that she belonged to his brother, which she did. Nor that if anyone could pull Cedric out of a cloud of brandy fumes, it was Merry.

Most importantly, Trent didn’t want to feel emotion like this toward the woman he married. He wouldn’t countenance an unfaithful spouse, but he also had no intention of running around London like a jealous fool, warning people away from his flirtatious wife.

George liked being on Trent’s shoulder. He scrabbled around, caught Trent’s neck cloth with his teeth, and shook it with a little growl.

“No,” Trent stated, his voice an adult version of that growl.

The puppy froze. As he pulled him off his shoulder, George hung his head, looking like nothing so much as a kitten being hoisted in the air by its mother.

“What the hell,” Trent exclaimed, feeling something warm running down his back.

Cedric gave a bark of laughter.

“I’m so sorry!” Merry cried, reaching out her hands. “George is sorry, too. He’s just a baby.”

Trent handed the dog over. He thought of using his handkerchief to blot the urine, but what would be the point? His black coat disguised the stain, but he smelled like a pisspot.

He untied his horse and leapt into the saddle. “I shall escort you back, since I’d better change my coat before my first appointment.”

“Surely that little episode settles it,” Cedric said, as they turned the horses back toward Portman Square. “The dog is fit for the stables, if that.”

Merry had settled the puppy in the crook of her arm again. She smiled at Cedric without a trace of irritation in her face. “His name is George.”

Trent was impressed by her self-control. She didn’t appear ruffled by Cedric’s colossal rudeness. In fact, he had the feeling that his brother had finally met someone who was as stubborn as he was.

His hands tightened on the reins and he was aware that his heart had started thudding against his ribs in an uncivilized manner. He scarcely knew Merry Pelford, so why did he feel this wave of possessiveness? Desire felt inked on his skin, as if it were visible to everyone.

He glanced over to see Merry’s slender arm cradling the dog, and felt another stroke of jealousy.

Envious of a damned dog. That was a first.

He had a sudden chilling awareness: he was losing his mind, probably from some sort of twisted fraternal jealousy. That he’d met Merry without knowing she was Cedric’s fiancée—and within minutes had decided to marry her—just made it more twisted. Those stories people told about twins were coming true.