What the Duke Doesn't Know (23 page)

James sat in his sunny bedchamber, holding the sheet of paper and experiencing a positive flood of thoughts and emotions. A shift had been building in him for some time, he realized. It had started small, with his jocular request to Ariel to find him a wife. That hadn't been so much a real wish as an indication that he wanted a change. And then he'd met Kawena. James smiled. You could hardly call it “met” when she'd popped up out of the bushes to threaten him with a pistol. Say rather that Kawena had burst into his life. Nothing had been the same since then. His vague yearning for some new direction had built into a strong current, carrying him right out into uncharted waters. And then it had left him there, drifting. Or floundering.

James nodded in the empty room. Floundering was definitely a better word for the way he'd been veering from one thing to another without a proper course. He had a sudden vision of a ship caught in irons, sails flapping uselessly.

He slapped the letter with his free hand. No more. It had taken time—not too long, he trusted—but he saw clearly now. Kawena had scorned the idea of waiting ashore while a naval husband sailed off for a mission that lasted years. And why shouldn't she? She deserved more than that. So did he, for that matter. He would fit himself into the life she wanted. The house she'd bought, or…whatever it was. He'd had ten good years on shipboard. He felt a brief qualm when he acknowledged how much he would miss the sea. But there would be many compensations for a man with a wife like her. He couldn't lose her.

James took up a pen and drafted a reply to the letter. He rather enjoyed thanking the fellow for his efforts, in terms that left no doubt of his true opinion. He informed him that they were no longer necessary. He was resigning from the navy on his own terms.

He had one more bout of uncertainty as he was sealing the missive. But he shook it off. He'd commanded his own vessel. He'd fulfilled nearly every ambition he'd had as a boy. He was ready for something new. Just as long as it included Kawena.

He swallowed. If she refused him.

James stood, letter in hand. He would not contemplate such a disaster. She'd welcomed his caresses. They'd talked and laughed together on their travels. He was…almost certain she returned his regard. James set his jaw. The letter would be his sacrifice to the gods, to show that he was utterly serious about winning her for his wife.

In her bedchamber on the other side of Oxford, Kawena pounded on the coverlet, whirled and kicked a stray shoe across the room. Over and over, she was thwarted by this…properness. She was sick of the silly rules and restrictions of this country. Being in England, living in their houses, wearing their clothes, eating their food, speaking their language, she'd somehow begun to imagine that she must conform to English ways. She'd started this rigmarole about a proper husband in order to show Lord James how wrong he was. And with each step she took, it seemed she'd created more of a tangle.

Kawena felt an intense nostalgia for the moment when she'd arrived in Oxford with a pistol and demanded what she wanted. She'd gotten it, hadn't she? There'd been no talk of rules then.

She pulled the pins from her hair and let it tumble down her back, shaking her head with relief at the sense of freedom this produced. She didn't want or need England. Her future plans scarcely involved this place.

But…

She stood still, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She did want Lord James Gresham. She acknowledged it openly for the first time. At least, she wanted the man of fire and passion in whose arms she'd lain. She wanted the lively traveling companion and strong ally. The one who shared her love of the sea and thirst for exploration. In the time they'd spent together searching for the jewels, she'd fallen in love with that man. Not the…the mutterer who said, “Take me,” however.

“Take me,” she said aloud. “Have a biscuit. And more wretched tea. Put on your bonnet. Do not laugh too loudly.”

She'd been playing this silly propriety game for him—somehow, the reasons had gotten rather muddled in her mind—but all it had produced was a lukewarm, practically insulting, proposal. And if she had to change herself in order to win him, what was that worth? Neither of her parents had asked that of the other, despite their vast differences.

Had she been going about things all wrong?

Kawena plopped down in an armchair, throwing her legs over the arm as she had been told not to do, letting her skirts ride up and slide off her knees. She imagined kidnapping Lord James, spiriting him away from stuffy rooms and oppressive rituals. They could be together as they had on the road, with no one else to please. She could find some English henchmen. “Henchmen,” she said aloud, liking the word. “
Proper
English henchmen.” They would throw him into a carriage and bring him to her like a gift. She would unwrap him with delight.

Feeling warmer, Kawena kicked off her shoes. If only she could magically transport both of them across the world to her home. There would be no talk of propriety among the palms on her favorite stretch of beach. In that tiny cove, where no one had ever disturbed her, they would find clothing, and hesitations, entirely unnecessary.

Kawena closed her eyes, remembering every thrilling caress of their times together, feeling her whole body flame. She wanted him so, more than she'd ever wanted anything, perhaps. Except…

Kawena let out a great sigh and sat up. The folds of her gown fell about her bare feet. She wouldn't give up the adventure of being in charge of her own life, not even for him.

That was why the future she'd dreamed for them seemed so perfectly right. Ian Crane had told her that the work she'd ordered was nearly done. Should she simply take Lord James and show him? But then, would he be choosing
her
, or a…situation? She would never know for certain.

She sighed more softly and drooped just a little in the chair. People here had been kind to her. Mrs. Runyon had exerted herself mightily on her behalf. Flora had done her part, even though she was mired in a dilemma of her own. An English duke, whom she had barely met, had taken an interest. She rose to retrieve her discarded shoes. She needed to be very sure of her plans before she threw English propriety to the four winds.

* * *

When James returned from posting his letter, he found Ariel alone in the garden parlor with a book. He took it as a sign that his grand gesture had worked, that his luck was changing. “Has Mama gone out?” he asked when he entered—just to be sure.

“She's writing letters upstairs,” Ariel replied.

That would keep her busy for a good while since, even with two of his brothers right at hand, there were plenty still to address. He sat down opposite his hostess. “Robert said that you gave Nathaniel and Sebastian good advice about…matters of the heart.”

“Did he really? I assumed he'd forgotten all about that.”

“Er…no.” James didn't understand her acid tone.

“And yet, he doesn't think to…” She shrugged and shook her head. “Never mind.”

James was glad to comply. “Umm, so, I wondered if you could…help me?”

“With Horatia Grantham?”

“Who?” It took James a full minute to recall the name. “Oh. Her. No, I never…she was a bit…obsessive for my taste.”

“You surprise me.”

Again, she spoke in a dry, satirical tone. James had never found his brother's wife so difficult to talk to before. He gazed at her, uncertain what to say.

She appeared to take pity on him. “With Kawena then?”

He nodded. “I offered for her, and she didn't answer me,” James complained.

“What, not at all?”

“That wretched Haskins came up, and she didn't have a chance.”

“Haskins? Who is Haskins?”

“Some fellow her uncle brought to the concert.” James glowered. “And I would certainly like to know what he's up to.”

“You proposed in a crowd of people at the concert?”

“I couldn't get to her before that.” James felt both aggrieved and defensive. “Nowadays, she's always out, or guarded by her new duenna, and Flora. I had to take my chance. And then she started talking about finding a proper English husband, and…I lost my train of thought and blurted it out.”

“What did you actually say to her, James?”

He hesitated, not wanting to confess it. But you couldn't form an effective strategy without complete intelligence. “Well…I said if she wanted a proper English husband, she should take me.”

Ariel stared at him as if she couldn't believe her ears. “Take you?”

“Why the dev…deuce did someone tell her that I asked you to find me a proper English bride?” James queried. “I suppose it was Robert. Sort of thing he would do. That was just a joke, you know. Mostly a joke. It turned out to be a joke.”

“You said, ‘take me'?” Ariel repeated, not diverted by his counter salvo.

“Yes, all right, it wasn't the smoothest sort of offer. I was flustered.”

“You must have been.” Ariel seemed to be suppressing a smile, which was worse than the earlier sarcasm.

“I don't understand what she's doing,” James complained. “Engaging a chaperone, dressing like a deb. Kawena never planned to stay here. And now she's bought a house.”

“She's only renting it.”

“No, Ian Crane said she'd bought…well, something. Sounded like it might be a house. Not here. Someplace else.”

Ariel gazed at him, her head cocked to one side. “I had put you down as the most calm and practical Gresham brother, but I begin to wonder.”

“I'm calm,” he protested, and heard that he sounded just the opposite.

“Let us go back to the beginning,” she suggested. “Kawena arrived.”

James smiled, as he did every time now when he remembered that first moment. “She was wonderful, wasn't she? Jumping out of the bushes, waving her pistol.”

“Yes, she was. And then the two of you went off together to search for the jewels. I expect a good deal happened on your…travels.”

Her sparkling hazel eyes seemed to see right through him. James nodded, afraid she'd ask for details that he couldn't give without ruining Kawena's reputation. But she didn't.

“When did you begin to think of marriage?” she asked instead.

“Well, I, er, mentioned it early on, but she said she didn't want to marry.” The freedom and dust and delights of the house by the sea came back to him in an overwhelming rush. He ached for her in every fiber of his being.

“And you were relieved,” Ariel said. It didn't sound like a question.

“How did you know?” Was she some sort of seer?

“But now you feel differently?”

“Yes!” He stood, unable to be still any longer. “Everything's different now. I didn't really know her. Now that I do…we can live wherever she wants.” He paced a bit. “I quit the navy,” he added.

“What?” Ariel looked shocked.

“She said she'd never sit around England for years, waiting for her husband to come back from the sea.”

“She wouldn't want you to give up your profession.”

James dismissed this with a gesture. “I didn't wish to go on with it. In the way it would go. I've been realizing that, gradually, since I got home.”

“But, James.”

He turned and faced her. “So will you talk to Kawena for me?”

Ariel shook her head. “That's not what I do. I'm not an…intermediary. And, in any case, what would I say? That she should take you?”

James winced. It had been a daft thing to say. He knew that. But the knowledge was no help. “What am I to do?” he asked.

“It seems to me,” began Ariel, “that someone told Kawena she isn't ‘proper.' Was that you, perhaps?”

“I never said that,” James protested. Under her steady gaze, he added, “I explained some English notions, here and there. Things she didn't understand. I didn't want to see her hurt or insulted. I was trying to help her!”

Ariel nodded. “And it seems she listened. She's set up a proper household. You must be very pleased.”

James glowered at the colorful garden border outside the window. A bird somewhere above filled the air with annoyingly cheerful song.

“Although you don't look pleased,” Ariel added.

“She isn't like…herself.” James remembered the wild, laughing woman who'd spurred Rex into a gallop and then clung to his back as they thundered along the beach. Strong and at ease in her boy's clothes, her hair coming loose. She'd kissed him like… He felt a pain in the region of his heart; she was unlike anything he'd experienced before.

“How not?” murmured his hostess.

“She's…dimmed down, hidden, muted.” He couldn't find a word that satisfied him. But he knew one thing. “She shouldn't be! She's magnificent just as she is. Was.” James would have liked to pound something, but there was nothing to destroy in Ariel's pretty room. If he could get hold of that dratted bird.

“I'm just remembering,” Ariel mused. “I read a play once about an Egyptian princess who came to visit the hero's kingdom. I forget what his country was. Not Illyria. That's one of Shakespeare's. I think it was a made-up name. But the important thing is, his people mocked her foreign ways.”

“People?” replied James, bewildered by the sudden change of subject, and what this had to do with anything.

“She fell in love with the hero because he didn't mock her,” she continued. “He admired her, and defended her.”

James gazed at his brother's wife. What had made her suddenly go off the rails this way? He was certain it wasn't anything he'd said.

“For example, she had an asp on her crown.”

“A…what?” He couldn't have heard that right.

“An asp,” Ariel repeated. “It's a kind of snake, I believe. Yes! Remember, an asp killed Cleopatra in Shakespeare's play.” She nodded. “Of course. Everyone knows about the asp. It just slipped my mind for a moment.”

That was twice now she'd mentioned Shakespeare. What did he have to do with it? And why was it always him? “Are you feeling quite well?” he asked.

“They're very poisonous,” she added.

“This princess wore a poisonous snake on her head? I dashed well think people mocked her foreign ways.”

“Not a real snake,” said Ariel impatiently. “A replica.”

“Oh.” James contemplated what still seemed an idiotic idea. “Like a pheasant wing on a hat?”

Ariel gave him an impatient look. “My point is, the hero stood up for her. Instead of telling her that she was wrong not to be like his people, he showed respect.”

James took a moment to work out what she meant. “I never thought Kawena was wrong.” He examined his conscience, and concluded that this was mostly—almost completely—true. “I was just afraid other people would.”

“I wonder if she knows that?” Ariel replied.

“Of course she does!” But as soon as he said it, he wondered, too. And as soon as he wondered, he cringed at the idea that she might not. James remembered how happy
he'd
been to leave English social obligations and propriety behind when he went off to sea as a boy. They had this in common, as so much else. When he thought of the time they'd spent alone together, he saw that they were kindred spirits. He was suddenly desperate to tell her so. “I can hardly get near her now.”

“Of course you can, if you're clever,” said Ariel.

“Perhaps I'm not. Perhaps I'm a dunce.” He'd certainly made a mull of things so far.

“I don't think you are.” She smiled at him in a way that almost reassured. “There's another lecture tonight. We're all attending, and I'll make sure Kawena is there. Actually, Flora might be quite interested. It's something about ancient history.”

James repressed a groan. “We'll be in a crowd again, just like at the concert,” he objected. “We're always surrounded by a blasted troop these days.”

“True. But, you know, you might want an opportunity to
show
her how much you admire her before you speak of marriage again.”

James only half-heard her. His brain was buzzing with ideas about how to manage a few minutes alone with the woman he loved.