“I loved her,” he said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to war. Perhaps I should have stayed and married her. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have caught pneumonia.”
“You can hardly control such things,” Juliet said.
“Perhaps if I had seen she was sick I would have called for the doctor with greater haste, and perhaps, because she would have been a duchess, the doctor would have prioritized his visit to her and would have called in the morning, rather than later, when there was little that could be done.”
Juliet’s face paled.
“You agree,” he said miserably.
“I don’t,” she said. “I wish I could bring her back to you. Perhaps it was simply her time.”
He nodded.
Juliet wasn’t the first person to say that.
“But perhaps life can simply be horrible sometimes,” Juliet added. “Perhaps there aren’t words that adequately explain that. People would rather spend time talking about how wonderful everything is instead.”
Lucas nodded.
The familiar pain moved through him. Honoria wasn’t here. She would never be here again.
“So, the botany,” Juliet said. “Did she give you the idea to study that?”
“Perhaps.” His voice shook, but he grasped hold of the memory, and soon his lips twitched. “Are you saying that you think I’m an unconventional botanist enthusiast?”
“It’s just that flowers can be quite small,” she said.
“And small is not the word you would use to describe me.”
For some reason, Juliet’s skin pinkened. The color was lovely and was found sometimes on the most exquisite roses.
“You don’t seem to enjoy speaking about botany,” she said.
He sighed. “You picked up on that? Honoria adored cataloging flowers. I thought I could finish the project. I—er—hired someone to assist me, but he quit my employ a few weeks ago.”
“Oh. He was at the house party on the coast.” Juliet shuddered at the memory of the man. Her friend Margaret had not been fond of him.
Lucas nodded. “But it’s of no concern. He’s not a person I miss.”
Juliet turned her gaze to him. Her eyes were intelligent, and he had the sensation that he didn’t need to say anything more for her to understand. They seemed to communicate quite well without words.
Lucas wasn’t used to that. Sebastian never read his mind. The only person who had done that before was—
His heart twisted.
They strolled over the hilltop, and Lucas watched as Juliet’s face grew paler. Her steps grew more languid, even though they were going downhill, and Juliet had never seemed prone to exhaustion before.
The gray towers of Sherwood Castle loomed ominously before them.
Well, Lucas thought they loomed in a threatening manner. Perhaps Juliet’s face was growing pale, simply because her heart was beating so much in excitement.
“We’re here.” Lucas pointed at a Gothic structure in a valley below. But her lips trembled. “That’s it.”
“Indeed.”
“It’s large.”
“Oh, yes. The largest castle in North England. It’s a good place to be a duchess.”
“Yes.” She nodded, but there seemed something small and brave in her action.
He longed to pull her toward him, to embrace her, but that hardly seemed the appropriate action to do when discussing the vast estate of the person in question’s betrothed.
Nothing about this was appropriate, though.
It wasn’t appropriate to linger on the beauty of her face, to marvel at her symmetrical features, nor to wish to bury his hands in her long auburn hair. It wasn’t appropriate to ponder what she would taste like, nor was it appropriate to consider just what she would look like without her clothes. He wanted to see her, he wanted to feel her: but she was engaged to another man.
His heart thudded, uncertain at leaving her here.
His closest friends were dukes. In fact, he’d just been at a house party with his dearest ducal friends. But the Duke of Sherwood barely ventured into the acquaintanceship category. There was something about him he’d never liked, despite all appearances to the contrary.
But perhaps what he’d felt had been premonition, premonition that one day the Duke of Sherwood would marry the woman who made Lucas’s heart soar.
Juliet.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Wonderful,” Juliet said, but her heart thrummed oddly. For a moment, she’d forgotten her fiancé and the reasons why it was essential she visit.
Juliet inspected the castle. Perhaps she felt somewhat intimidated by the castle, but that had less to do with the fact Horatius lived there than the architect had designed a foreboding facade. Slots for arrows should make one shiver.
“I used to pass this castle on carriage rides as a child. The tall towers and fairytale appearance captured my imagination easily.”
“And now you’re going to live there,” Lucas said.
“Yes.” When she’d learned an eligible man lived there, she’d vowed to secure a marriage proposal from him.
She’d achieved it.
Somehow she felt more trepidation than joy, and she shivered.
“And—er—my cottage is nearby,” Lucas said. “I can send you back to your house in a carriage.”
“I thought you left your carriage at the public house.”
He smiled. “I have more than one.”
She returned his smile.
“We shouldn’t be speaking at all,” she said reluctantly.
“I know.” A sad expression flitted across his face. “Let me sneak you inside.”
She widened her eyes. “You’ve been here before.”
Lucas’s face became rigid. He nodded, then turned. “Follow me.”
Juliet scrambled after him. “But I don’t understand. I’ve never heard Horatius speak about you.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said stiffly.
Juliet blinked. Men could be most odd. “Most likely you think Horatius only speaks about cricket like some other man. For your information, I have not heard Horatius speak about cricket a single time.”
A smile played on Lucas’s lips despite his frosty demeanor.
Juliet’s heart warmed despite herself. She reminded herself that it was natural for her heart to warm when she saw someone smiling. It was a basic, human reaction.
And if her heart seemed to warm at a faster rate than normal, it was only because the man was so tall. Simple science.
“I must mention you to him,” Juliet said.
“I would advise you not to.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t like me.”
Juliet frowned. “Oh.” She shifted her legs. “You must have offended him.”
“You could say that.” Lucas gave her a sad smile that sent an odd pang to her heart.
Lucas quickened his pace, and Juliet fought to keep up with him. “Perhaps he will forgive you.”
“I doubt it.”
“He’s a very honorable man.”
Lucas winced.
“If you like,” Juliet said, “I can speak with him.”
Lucas turned around, and his face darkened. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Juliet blinked. “Then I won’t say anything. I’ll be quiet. Like a mouse.”
Lucas didn’t smile.
“But why don’t you want to rectify things with him?”
Lucas exhaled. “Perhaps I don’t want him to forgive me.”
Juliet furrowed her brow. “But why—”
“No more questions,” Lucas said harshly.
Juliet tensed and blinked back tears.
Lucas sighed and turned to her. “I’m sorry. We’re only a short distance away.”
Juliet nodded, wondering why Lucas was striding away from the castle. A small barn appeared on the other side of a hill. Lucas looked both ways, no doubt searching for one of Horatius’s staff. No servant or farmer was present, and t
he air was silent.
“Now,” Lucas said, then ran toward the barn. Juliet followed Lucas inside. No livestock was inside: perhaps the farmers had taken them to a faraway field.
Dim light fell from thin windows, giving the barn a golden glow. Juliet stepped over hay, and her feet crunched.
“Lucas,” Juliet asked. “Why are we in a barn?”
“There’s a secret passage that connects to the castle,” Lucas said.
Juliet blinked. Then a thought occurred to her. “Lucas... Was Honoria Horatius’s sister?”
Lucas gave a miserable nod. “We used to come here often.”
Oh.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
Footsteps sounded outside, and Juliet stiffened. She glanced at Lucas. His face had grown paler, and he tightened his grip on her.
“Sherwood shouldn’t find me here,” Lucas said.
She didn’t protest. People were outside. Voices accompanied the footsteps. Gruff masculine voices. Voices that might not take kindly to the fact she was in a barn she had no right to be in. Voices that no doubt worked for Horatius.
Lucas darted his gaze about the barn. Then his expression firmed, and he guided her toward a stack of hay. He shoved one of the rectangular shapes aside. “Crawl in.”
She stared at him. “It’s dirty.”
“Do you want to be caught?”
The voices outside grew stronger.
“No,” she said miserably.
The man had a point. That was the frustrating thing about him. He was always making points. And sadly, they had a habit of being worthwhile.
It was not a quality one desired in a man one loathed.
She scrambled into the spot in the hay, hoping that bugs and beetles had not also pronounced it a superb location.
The hay scratched her fingers and face, and she was conscious of it prickling her dress. No doubt her lady’s maid would be bewildered. The point of wearing beautiful, fashionable dresses was not to tar them by crawling into haystacks, and her lady’s maid would expect her to know this.
Lucas crawled in beside her. She was conscious of a broad chest, long legs, and a distinct masculine presence.
“I’m sorry,” he said apologetically.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. When things were fine, her heart didn’t careen as if it were seeking to beat its way out of her chest, as if it found it to be too much of an embarrassment to stay inside.
She moved away from him, trying to get more space, trying to resist the ridiculous urge to lean against him.
She reminded herself that she despised him. He had put her in a haystack, after all. That was not an action that immediately sprung to mind when lauding a man. And yet... He had helped her last night. She might be in a worse position if he had not come after her.
The door swung open.
Juliet resisted the urge to contemplate the size of his hand or that the slight roughness of his hands spoke to an experience in the world she knew nothing about. Her own hands were soft. She’d been prone to bathe them in buttermilk before her betrothal, lest a prospective husband find them unduly coarse, even though most of the time she would be wearing gloves anyway.
“There’s something funny about this place,” one man said.
“Are you calling my upkeep funny?” another man asked in a belligerent manner.
“No.” The first man scoffed. “I ain’t going to pay any money to be entertained here. This ain’t some puppet show.”
There was a silence for a moment, perhaps as the second man assessed how insulted he should be that his barn had little in common with puppets.
“It ain’t supposed to be funny,” the second man said, his manner disgruntled.
Juliet tensed. The men were silent, but she braced for more coarse questions.
“I thought it was tidier before,” the first man said. “But it ain’t like you to keep things tidy.”
“Hey!” the second man called.
Juliet bit her lip. The farmers must have decided they weren’t going to spend a morning debating the merits of tidiness and their ability to meet those standards. Finally, the farmers halted their conversation.
Juliet remained still, waiting to hear a noise.
There was none.
But she could hear her heartbeat. And she was certain she could feel Lucas’s heartbeat against her. It was almost reassuring that she was not the only person who found discomfort in this.
“I think they’re gone.”
“Oh?” Juliet’s voice sounded too high, even though her voice never sounded high. She was a proud alto, singing the deeper notes her friends couldn’t maintain. But now everything was different.
“I hope you weren’t frightened,” he said, his voice solemn. He swept a strand of her hair behind her ear. The gesture was so tender, and somehow it made Juliet’s heart ache.
“No.”
She couldn’t see him in the dark, but she was certain he was gazing at her. Her heart continued to beat quickly, even though the farmers had left.
Cracks were visible around the large door frame, and a brisk wind swept through the barn. Juliet resisted the urge to snuggle close to him.
A door slammed, and Juliet quickly moved toward Lucas.
“Who’s there?” A surprised voice sounded behind her, and Juliet stiffened.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Please come out,” a voice ordered. “You’re trespassing.”
Juliet’s heart sank.
“Miss,” the voice said. “I see your shoes.”
The tenor voice, each word articulated with England’s highest most accent, was unmistakable: Horatius.
Fiddle-faddle.
She crawled from the hay, her face burning. Even in plain buckskin breeches, Horatio’s attire appeared immaculate.
“Lady Juliet?” Horatius widened his eyes. “It is you, isn’t it? “
Lady Juliet stiffened, then drew up her gaze.
She didn’t want to see his perfect face marred with a disapproving frown.
“What are you doing hiding in my barn?” Horatius asked, a perplexed expression on his face.
Juliet swallowed hard. She couldn’t confess the true reason for her presence. Her only option was to lie, even if that hadn’t been a skill practiced at her finishing school.
“My cousin Genevieve is here somewhere,” Juliet said. “Genevieve! Genevieve?”
Horatius furrowed his brow. “I haven’t seen her around.”
“Oh, she’s here,” Juliet lied.
“Why were you lying in the hay?”
“Me?” Her voice squeaked, then she forced her shoulders to ease. “I heard a sound. I didn’t want any men to find me. I didn’t know your estate was here.”
“You didn’t see my castle?” Horatius asked, a definite dubious note in his voice.
“No.” Juliet shook her head, hoping she appeared innocent. The last thing she wanted was for Horatius to think she’d come here alone to gaze at her future home.
“My ancestors should have made it larger,” Horatius muttered.
Juliet pinkened and pretended she hadn’t heard him. “We just came here because we saw some...bluebells.”
“Bluebells?” Horatius stuttered.
Juliet nodded and gave a bright smile. “The colors vary from region to region. The color of your bluebells was quite interesting.”
Something rustled from the haystacks. No doubt, Lucas was struggling to contain his laughter. Fiddlesticks.
Horatius furrowed his brow. ”The bluebells were not... blue?”
“The shade of blue was quite interesting,” she said, repeating the story Lucas had told her father. “I—er—had to stop the carriage to examine them.”
He frowned. “I did not notice any peculiarities in the shade.”
“Oh, it’s quite subtle,” she said quickly. “Quite subtle indeed.”
His gaze remained fixed on her. His eyes seemed studious and full of scrutiny, no doubt a
testament to his intellectual nature, and not, hopefully, to an inclination toward suspicion.
She cleared her throat and searched for something else to speak about. “I—er—thought you would have been at Genevieve’s ball.”
“I’m a busy man,” he said.
She frowned. “Perhaps...” She hesitated, and he gave her another one of his searching gazes. Butterflies didn’t flutter in her stomach, but then, perhaps butterflies were naturally shy.
It felt odd to simply greet him here, then rush home and wait to see him again on their wedding day. Perhaps that was the expected thing, but she still shrank from it.
“I feel it might be beneficial to see more of each other’s company,” she blurted.
His eyes widened, and her throat dried. She’d thought she might be making a shocking statement, but she hadn’t expected to find that shock so reflected on the man’s face.
The urge to apologize or to laugh as if she’d made a jest swept through her, but she refrained from that particular temptation. Instead, she raised her chin and kept her gaze on his face, despite the way his eyebrows lurched up and his mouth dropped.
Finally, he flashed his perfect smile, revealing his perfect teeth. “I’ll tell you what. Next time, there’s a ball in the neighborhood, I’ll try to make it.”
His words were reasonable, more than expected, and yet, not enough.
Genevieve’s family wasn’t planning another ball, and neither was her family. Besides, a ball would give them two dances together. Three if they were feeling scandalous, which they might, given the fact that they wouldn’t face the scrutiny of Almack’s hostesses.
And yet... One could hardly know much about one after three dances. Perhaps one might gain a sense of the person’s coordination and athleticism. One might even be able to hypothesize on the person’s musicality. Indeed, Juliet had done all three when she’d danced with Horatius in the past. In all three tests, he’d come out wonderfully. But perhaps there was more to being a good husband than being coordinated and reasonably athletic. One didn’t always require a man to leap and jut out his legs in rhythm.
My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2) Page 10
