She Tempts the Duke (7 page)

Blinking, she glanced away. “Does it hurt now?”

“Sometimes it aches, but it is a minor inconvenience.”

She released a small laugh, filled with sadness and perhaps a touch of admiration. “Spoken like a true soldier.”

“It is what I am. A soldier. I don’t yet know how to be a duke.”

She returned to the bench, sitting where she hadn’t before, giving him the luxury of joining her. Once he was seated, she said, “I believe you will make an excellent duke.”

Better than his uncle at least. “You shall make an excellent viscountess.”

She glanced at her fingers, steepled them, wove them together. “I shall certainly try. Although I’m not certain you know me well enough to make a claim about my suitability.”

He realized she was still upset that he’d not visited before now, that he’d left her to discover along with everyone else that he and his brothers had returned. He regretted it, the impulsiveness of it, his inability to trust her now when she had saved him before. He regretted that he’d hurt her, but at the time it seemed the wisest course of action. He couldn’t risk losing Pembrook or his titles. Reclaiming them had filled his life with purpose. “Have you changed so much?” he asked.

She twisted around to face him. “Have you?”

Far more than he cared to admit, far more than he wished her to know. In spite of all he’d achieved, he suddenly felt unworthy. Not that she sat in judgment of him, but perhaps she should.

“Regrettably, I have. But then I suppose the years take their toll on everyone. I’d certainly not expected to find you grown up.”

“What had you expected?”

He wanted to laugh like a maniac at how naïve he’d been. “I’m not sure. To step back into the way things were, I suppose. Even knowing it was gone.”

“Have you been to Pembrook?”

He saw the sorrow in her eyes, as though she wished she had the power to spare him what he had seen. “Yes. It was like walking through a house of ghosts. Father never closed it up, never draped cloths over the furniture, the statues, the paintings. It was always kept ready. Now it is covered in dust and the hills are barren of sheep.”

She placed her hand over his bare fist, pressing into his thigh. “Before I came to London I rode to the highest hill on your father’s land, where I could see Pembrook. It seemed so dark and foreboding. I couldn’t bring myself to go any nearer. Not until you returned. Now here you are and I am the one who will not be in Yorkshire.”

He couldn’t imagine it. A heaviness settled in his gut. All these years, his thoughts had centered around Pembrook, yet it had never occurred to him that he would not hear her laughter echoing over the dales or catch glimpses of the sun reflecting off her hair.

He could think of nothing to say except that Fitzwilliam was a fortunate man, and he’d already told her that. What the deuce was wrong with him? Why was he suddenly without words, without thought?

“I’ve strayed from my purpose in coming here.” The words sounded as though they came from a great distance, were not spoken by him.

“I thought you came to visit,” she said softly.

“No, I . . . I came to thank you for your assistance all those years ago.” He removed a small wrapped package from his jacket pocket and extended it toward her.

He saw the hurt wash over her expression. Was he doomed to always wound her—keeping secrets, withholding his trust, talking only of superficial things, offering gifts for dangers confronted?

“You do not owe me. My actions that night were done with no expectation of reward.”

He didn’t know how to respond to her heartfelt declaration. He should have waited until Tristan returned from the docks so he could accompany him when delivering the gift. He doubted his brother would be tongue-tied. He’d make light of it. But Sebastian had not wanted to wait. The truth was he’d wanted a few moments with Mary alone, although for the life of him, he didn’t understand why the yearning had been so strong. Perhaps because she’d been a friend more to him than to the others. Now that she was grown, he didn’t appreciate that they’d noticed the beauty she’d become, or that they’d noticed her before he had.

“It is only a small token of our appreciation,” he finally said.

“So, it’s from all of you then?” Now she appeared disappointed.

He didn’t understand her mercurial moods. He’d known women over the years—many women—but he’d been only interested in determining how best to quickly divest them of their clothes. He’d certainly had no interest in figuring out anything beyond that. He felt as though he were lost at sea, drowning in tidal waves of uncertainty. What did she want him to say? He would say it if it would please her, would bring the smile back to her face.

“Yes. From all of us. I selected it.”

He must have gotten it right because the disappointment retreated. Thank God. That was troublesome. That he cared about disappointing her. When they were children, he had simply accepted that she’d always be there. He’d never weighed his words or his actions. Now he measured each one and found them sadly lacking.

His inadequate conversational skills didn’t bode well for his success in finding a woman to marry him. If he wished to place blame elsewhere, he could blame it on his throbbing face or the lingering results from the trauma of his wounds, but he feared the fault rested with something more, some deficiency in him that was doomed to unravel the friendship they’d possessed as children.

She lowered her gaze, hesitated. “A lady should not accept gifts from a gentleman.”

“It is from three friends. And we are hardly gentlemen.”

She lifted her gaze to his. The clover green in her eyes reminded him of the verdant hills of home. He could look forever, and never tire of them. On the top of one rounded cheek, he spotted a bold freckle. He wanted to remove his glove and trace his finger over it. But he feared his errant hand wouldn’t stop there. He would want to touch the whole of her cheek, trail his thumb over her plump lips, especially the lower one that appeared as welcoming as a pillow. He’d had little enough softness in his life, and the temptation to revel in it here was almost beyond enduring. He’d been on the verge of explaining that based on the idle banter Rafe had overheard at his club from those who were at the ball before seeking more wicked pleasures, the brothers were seen as little more than barbarians. But his thoughts toward her exemplified his point. If not for the maid standing nearby, he wasn’t certain he’d have been able to restrain himself. She was such a temptation—sweet, innocent, a beauty beyond measure.

And she belonged to another man, but that truth seemed to hold him in place rather than cause him to depart as it should.

“So many of your freckles disappeared,” he said quietly, knowing he was veering from one tawdry subject into another—one that had the potential to be far more dangerous.

“With you gone, I had little occasion to play in the sun. And then, of course, a lady should never be without her bonnet or parasol.”

“I rather liked the freckles.”

She smiled, a ravishing smile that transformed her lovely features into an exquisiteness that was breathtaking. “I abhorred them. And you
are
a gentleman. You may have come across as somewhat brutal last night, but I believe the situation regarding your uncle warranted it.”

Her words sent his thoughts careening back onto the path they never should have left. If only his menacing, harsh outlook were limited to last night, but a part of him embraced the brutality as a means of protecting himself. He wasn’t proud of it, but he knew he needed it to survive, to do what had to be done in order to reclaim Pembrook. “Because you’re our friend.” He nudged the box against her hand.

He could not have been more pleased when she took it, removed the paper, opened it, and gasped. It was a simple necklace that sported nothing more than a small oval emerald that matched the shade of her eyes.

“Oh, it’s so lovely.” Smiling brightly, she held out the box. “Will you place it on me?”

He would have to remove his gloves in order to grasp and work the delicate clasp. He was shaken by the immediacy with which his fingers trembled. The thought of them being so near to her skin, of his knuckles touching the silkiness at the nape of her neck—

He shot to his feet while he was still able to stand without his lower body revealing the errant direction of his thoughts. This was Mary. God, she deserved more than a rutting bull or a man with lascivious thoughts who would like nothing better than to take her behind the rose bushes for a leisurely sojourn into pleasure. She was a lady. Betrothed. Hardly deserving of the beast he’d become. “I’m sure that is a task more suited to your maid. It was a pleasure to see you again, Mary. I wish you well in your marriage.”

Before she could respond, before he could fully recognize the emotions that might have played over her face, he spun on his heel and slammed into the maid whom he hadn’t seen. Standing on his blind side, dammit. “Out of my way, woman!”

He stormed from the garden as though the very hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. How could so simple a request have unmanned him to such a degree?

He was the Duke of Keswick for God’s sake. But at that moment he wished he was back on a battlefield. It was so much easier to fight an enemy that was not himself.

W
hat the deuce had just happened?

Mary rose to her feet, stared after Sebastian’s stiff retreating back, and plopped back down in confusion. Had she offended him in some manner? His reaction was the strangest thing. He had been staring at her with such intensity that she’d barely been able to draw in a breath. For the briefest of moments, she thought he was on the verge of leaning in to kiss her. For the briefest of moments, she had wanted him to.

What a disaster that would have been! Dear, kind Fitzwilliam had been forgotten. Only Sebastian had filled her senses. The size of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the expanse of his chest. The fragrance beneath the cloves that was the true essence of him. He’d always smelled like the heady soil of Pembrook: earthy and rich. For a moment it was almost as though they were there, as though the pain and separation of the intervening years had never happened.

But they had, and he took great care not to subject her to his scars. Did he really think her so shallow?

The thought filled her with disappointment, caused an ache to settle in her chest. He knew as little of her as she knew of him. Once again she found herself wondering why her request to place the lovely gift about her throat upset him so.

“Would you like me to assist you in putting it on, m’lady?” Colleen asked.

She smiled at her maid. “No, I believe I shall save it to wear at the next ball.”

“The pink gown with the green velvet trim?”

“Yes.”

“It will look lovely.”

“I quite agree. You may go inside. I believe I shall sit here for a while and enjoy the gardens while I may.”

“The residence will not be the same without you here.”

“I shall try to visit. Often. Go on now.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Feeling like an ungrateful wench, Mary watched her go before turning her attention to the assortment of flowers that were blooming in riotous colors. She should find the energy to gather some for her room, but all she seemed capable of doing was thinking about Sebastian. She grazed her finger over the small emerald. She had once felt so comfortable with him. She could have told him anything. She could have bared her soul to him with no regrets. But the man who had visited with her in the garden now—she did not know him. She didn’t know the journeys he had traveled, what challenges may have shaped him. She possessed a romanticized bent that would see them sitting before a roaring fire, sharing every aspect of the past twelve years. But it was only fantasy.

Their time apart had truly separated them. Now they seemed to be little more than strangers fumbling into an acquaintanceship. They traversed separate paths, the distance between them ever widening. It saddened her to consider they might never truly converge.

During one horrendous night they’d shared experiences that had created an unbreakable bond between them. They would forever be connected. But a connection did not ensure a snug fit. At that moment, she wasn’t even certain that she liked the man he had become. He was irascible and harsh. She had yet to see a smile, and the laughter he released was more bark than joy. She had always expected the lad he’d been to return unscathed. She feared that nothing of the boy she’d known had returned at all, because she still missed him, still longed to see him again.

Chapter 6

L
ord Tristan Easton liked the way his name now rolled off the tongue. Although Captain Easton was equally as gratifying. He’d been down to the docks to check on his ship and crew and all seemed well there. He hired a couple of extra thugs to keep watch. He did wish that Sebastian hadn’t blurted out that he’d been to sea. He doubted that the Swine—the name with which he’d christened his uncle the first time a cat-o-nine had cut into his back—would have the wherewithal or intelligence to consider that Tristan had a ship and to come looking for it, but he wasn’t above being prepared.

Now he strode into Rafe’s office and quirked up a corner of his mouth at the sight of his brother at his desk, looming over a mountain of ledgers. Rafe had been such a sniveling puppy as a boy—he favored their mother to such a degree that their father had spoiled him as he hadn’t his heir or his spare—that Tristan had never garnered much respect for him. But he couldn’t deny that somewhere along the way Rafe had acquired an impressive backbone.

He finally looked up, and it irritated Tristan to have his brother’s impatient glare land on him. It was strange because in their youth he was the one who never had the patience to deal with the younger boy.

“Has Sebastian returned from visiting Mary?” Tristan asked.

“Yes.”

His brother had also become a man of few words. Even when he was into his cups, he didn’t talk. He was successful, Tristan would give him that, but he was an awfully gloomy sort. But then to various degrees, he supposed they all were.

“Do you know where I might find him? I stopped by his room. He wasn’t there.”

“He wanted a woman. I sent him to Flo.”

Flo, a buxom blond with legs that went on forever. “Excellent choice.”

With a scowl, Rafe returned his attention to his ledgers. He was damned protective of his girls, but then he seemed to be damned protective of everything.

Tristan wandered into the room. On his previous visits here, he’d been more focused on his brother than the things that surrounded him. Now he couldn’t help but believe that they were somewhat telling. In a corner stood an immense globe on a wooden pedestal. He went over to it and gave it a spin, caught glimpses of every sea he’d ever sailed.

From one side of the corner spread a wall of shelves lined with books dotted with an assortment of globes that revealed continents, islands, and oceans. Various sizes, shaded differently. He wondered if his brother had collected them as a means to follow his brothers’ travels, even though he knew not where they were. Or did the globes serve more as a testament that he’d been left behind? Tristan scoffed at his analytical mind that wanted to examine and understand all things. Perhaps his brother simply fancied globes.

“Don’t you find it odd?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“What?” Rafe didn’t even bother to glance up.

“That he goes to visit with Mary and returns in need of a woman.”

With a deep put-upon sigh, Rafe tossed his ink pen aside, leaned back in his chair, and gave his brother a withering glare. “You are obviously under the mistaken impression that I both have time for and relish your intrusion.”

Tristan was not to be put off. He strode over to the chair in front of the desk and sank into it with practiced ease. He took some pleasure in the tightening of his brother’s jaw. It was almost like when they were lads and he’d irritate him on purpose just to get him riled, hoping their father would scold Rafe, but it was always Tristan who was at the receiving end of the sharp tongue or the birch switch. “There was once a woman who I wanted to bed with a fierceness that nearly unmanned me, but she was the daughter of the tribal chief on the island where we weighed anchor. I could not have her but I nearly drowned in feminine bodies while I was there.”

“So you’re explaining to me that you’re a cad with neither morals nor conscience?”

“Considering the type of establishment you run, I would not be so quick to cast aspersions upon my character.” He quickly held up his hand as he saw the temper flare in Rafe’s eyes. “Forgive me. I am not judging you. My point was that if he lusted after Mary, he might return here to slake that lust.”

“Why should I make this my concern?”

“Did you fail to notice that he is hardly a handsome fellow these days? To face the situation squarely, we must admit that it will be a challenge for him to secure a wife.”

“So you wish to play matchmaker?”

A chill went through Tristan. Was that where he was going with this? Matrimonial bonds were exactly that. Bonds. Chains. Captivity. Did he wish that on his brother?

“I wouldn’t go that far. But it would be satisfying to see matters between them return to what they once were. He and Mary were always spending time together, traipsing through the forests. She has grown into a beauty, while he—”

“Is a beast?”

Sebastian’s voice barked behind him. It was a testament to Tristan’s stalwart disposition that he did not so much as flinch, that he gave no indication he was startled. Instead he merely glowered at Rafe. “Thank you, Brother, for the warning.”

A corner of Rafe’s mouth quirked up, a glimmer of mischief touched his eyes for the span of a heartbeat, and in that time Tristan saw a shadow of the boy his brother had once been. “I told you that you were under the mistaken impression that I had time for this nonsense.”

Tristan threw an arm back over the chair and twisted around to meet Sebastian’s unnerving stare. It was somehow worse that he could deliver such a powerful message with only one frosty eye. “How was Mary?”

“Well.”

“And Flo?”

If at all possible Sebastian’s glare became even more menacing. “I am going to Easton House to watch Uncle as he packs to leave. I thought I would see if you both wished to come with me.”

“I have more pressing matters that require my attention,” Rafe said.

“More pressing than reclaiming what is ours?” Tristan asked, studying his brother as though he didn’t know him. He supposed he really didn’t.

“I did my part by accompanying you both to the damned ball. I don’t need to see the packing.”

“Rafe is right,” Sebastian said. “He was with us when it counted most. What I intend to do now is little more than relish the outcome.”

Tristan rose to his feet. “Then by all means, let’s go relish.”

W
ith mischief in their eyes and secretive smiles, Ladies Hermione and Victoria arrived at precisely half past two. While Mary attended balls, parties, and soirees, she had never had an official coming out. She had simply begun to appear at events, tagging along after her aunt and cousin. She was tolerated with mild curiosity. Her betrothal to Fitzwilliam had raised her stature somewhat, but with no brother to inherit her father’s title, she was hardly sought after for gossip or connections. But whatever her lack in standing, the ladies sitting in her drawing room could hardly be bothered with it. They were on the hunt for much larger game.

“So they are friends of yours . . . these lords from last night?” Lady Hermione asked pointedly. Both she and Victoria were sitting on the edge of their chairs, as though Mary’s answer would determine their futures.

“Our country estates rest beside each other’s, so we grew up riding our horses over the same hills, exploring the same forests.” Her answer did not seem to impress the ladies. In fact, they seemed rather baffled by it, and she realized they had probably grown up caring for their porcelain dolls. Mary had much preferred the outdoor pursuits, especially when she could entice Sebastian away from his studies. Often Tristan or Rafe would join them, but they would soon grow bored with their adventures while Mary and Sebastian could always find something of interest.

“It was rather naughty of them to run away,” Lady Victoria said, her squeaky voice propelling Mary back to the present.

“Their uncle wished them harm.”

“My papa says we can’t know that for sure.”

Mary stared at her, hardly able to believe that after what they had witnessed last night, anyone would have doubts. But then what had they witnessed? Three younger men treating their uncle shabbily while he proclaimed to have their best interests at heart. Sebastian was correct. Even if she told them what she’d overheard they might not believe her. It could very well do more harm than good, so she held her tongue when she wished dearly to use it with ferocity.

“Their reason for leaving is hardly important,” Lady Hermione said, further confounding Mary. “The point is that they are unlike any gentlemen we’ve ever met. Frightfully fascinating in a rough sort of way. And devilishly handsome with a touch of wickedness about them. While the duke was carrying on with his uncle I managed to capture Lord Tristan’s gaze last night, and I swear he looked at me as though he could envision me without my unmentionables.”

She wanted to say that flirting with young ladies was probably the last thing on any of the gentlemen’s minds as they had stood on the stairs reclaiming their birthright. But these silly girls were so sheltered and innocent that Mary felt ancient sitting here with them. They viewed the lords as little more than the latest in entertainment.

“Have they means?” Lady Victoria asked.

Perhaps a bit more than entertainment. Possibly husbands apparently. “I’m not familiar with their individual fortunes, but Keswick has inherited a dukedom. At one time Pembrook was instrumental in the wool industry. I suspect it will be again.”

“Their clothes were finely tailored, well-fit, and the latest fashion. Shoes were polished. Hair was a bit long but I rather liked it.”

Mary was once again left speechless. These ladies seemed to only care about trivial matters. She supposed it was a result of their sheltered lives. They’d prepared for marriage, and suddenly a trio of fascinating men had stepped onto the marriage block.

Lady Hermione took a sip of her tea as though only out of politeness, then set aside her cup and saucer. “Here is the reason for our visit. We would like to call upon the duke and we were hoping that you could provide us with a proper introduction.”

“I have no intention of providing guided tours to his residence.”

“Of course not, but surely you will visit your old chums, and if we traveled with you . . . well, it could be quite pleasant for everyone.”

“Is your mother aware that you have this plan?”

Lady Hermione was taken aback by the pointed question. “Absolutely not.”

“To be quite honest,” Lady Victoria said, “we were warned to steer clear of them. Papa views them as trouble.”

“Which makes them all the more appealing,” Lady Hermione said. “If you will not escort us to their residence, will you at least encourage them to attend my ball late next week? You would be doing me an incredible favor. It would make my ball talked about almost as much as Lord David’s.”

“I heard his wife returned home to her mother this morning,” Lady Victoria said. “Ghastly state of affairs for her.”

“I would not want to be in her slippers,” Lady Hermione concurred. “But then I never understood her marrying him to begin with.”

“The possibility of title, wealth, and power,” Lady Victoria said. “It is the same reason that some lady will agree to marry the present hideous Duke of Keswick.”

“He’s not hideous,” Mary snapped.

Lady Victoria’s blue eyes widened as though she’d encountered someone who belonged in a mental asylum. “My dear, did you not catch a glimpse of his face?”

“A man is more than his features.”

“True, but one must consider that those features will greet one each morning at the breakfast table. I’m quite sure it would upset my digestion.”

Mary shot to her feet. “I believe you ladies have overstayed your welcome. I shall have the butler see you out.”

Both ladies rose. “But you will provide an introduction,” Lady Hermione said, her voice wavering between a statement and a question.

“After all the unkind words that have been said here regarding the duke, why would you desire an introduction?”

“Not one to the duke, dear girl. Lords Tristan and Rafe Easton.”

Mary shook her head. “I believe they would take as unkindly to your sentiments regarding their brother as I.”

“Do you fancy him for yourself? The duke?”

Mary could only stare at her in disbelief. “I’m betrothed to Lord Fitzwilliam. My regard toward him remains ever constant.” She was determined to dispel any such nonsense regarding her affections for Sebastian. Fitzwilliam deserved, and would have, her loyalty.

Lady Hermione turned to Lady Victoria. “Wait for me in the entry hallway.”

“But—”

“Please.”

Once Lady Victoria left, Lady Hermione gave all her attention to Mary. “She said unkind words, and I should not be made to suffer simply because we traveled here in the same carriage. I was quite taken with Lord Tristan and I would dearly love to ensure that he is taken with me. If you believe at all in love, please see to this favor for me.”

“You haven’t even spoken to him. How can you love him?”

She placed her gloved hand over her breast. “The heart needs not an exchange of words. It simply knows.”

With a sigh, Mary felt all the fight go out of her. “I cannot guarantee success, but I shall speak with the duke if our paths should cross.”

“I can ask for no more than that. Thank you.”

She walked out and Mary sank back into the chair. She wondered if Sebastian was aware that confronting his uncle might be the easiest of all his tasks. Being accepted by the nobility might prove to be much more of a challenge.