Never Deny a Duke

by Hunter, Madeline

  “When was this?” No longer so friendly. Not gentle at all. Yet, oddly, that tremor did not cease so quickly. If anything, it grew stronger.

  “I was perhaps seventeen. Maybe a year or so younger.”

  “You trespassed, no matter when it was.”

  “Because it should have been ours, trespass is the wrong word. We disturbed nothing and did not dally. We did not enter the house.” Memories of that day came more clearly. “My father wanted to, but he realized the house was inhabited. Visitors, he said, or members of your family.”

  Silence fell beside her, an utter void of sound, as if he had disappeared. She looked over and realized he had, in a spiritual way. All his sight turned inward. The firmness in his face had slackened. No tremors between them now. Utter stillness instead, as if the air froze in place.

  He appeared . . . lost.

  “Anyway,” she continued, pretending she had not noticed, “we left quickly and never entered the graveyard. Yet, if the son and heir died, that is where he should be, I think. Not at the church.”

  “I will go to see.” His voice sounded normal. She looked over and saw he was himself again.

  “He will not be in either place, because he did not die.”

  “More likely he will be. It is time to find out. I will set out at week’s end. Let us depart this dusty place. You have seen all there is to see.”

  Once out in the open air, she declined his offer to bring her back to the duchess, or to her own home. “I could do with a good walk.” She took her leave, but paused after a few steps. “If you are going, I am going too.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Are you implying I can’t be trusted to tell the truth about what I find?”

  “Not at all. However, this is my quest, and if it is to end in failure, I want to see and hear the evidence that dooms it. I think I am entitled to that. Also, leaving London might be wise. Mr. Haversham intends to play matchmaker.”

  “At least he will do better than those fortune hunters at the theater.”

  “No matter whom he finds, the problem remains. Someone who seems to know the male nature warned me not to tie myself to a man who might later blame me for thwarted expectations.” She turned to walk home. Fifty yards away, she glanced back and saw that the duke was still watching her.

  * * *

  “The ladies are most annoyed with you.” Langford offered the news while he threw himself into a chair.

  Eric ignored him. He had asked to meet Langford and Stratton at their club to speak of important things, not the mood of the ladies, especially because by the ladies, they meant their wives. The way Eric saw it, Clara would always be annoyed with him, and it would be years before Amanda would ever express it, what with what he knew about her.

  “Now that you are both here, I need to know if you are going to support the bill on abolishing slavery in the colonies. As far as I know, neither one of you have interests on the islands at least.”

  “You are implying that if we did, we would not support the bill out of self-interest,” Stratton said. “That is rather insulting.”

  “If you had interests, you would have already either divested yourself of them or freed the slaves on your property, in which case I would have heard of it. All of London would have,” Eric said. “It is not insulting to attribute basic human morals to a man. Now, will you stand with us on this? Unless we get a certain number, there is little point in trying this year.”

  “Of course,” Stratton said. “Although I don’t think you will get the number you want.”

  “I’m with you,” Langford agreed. “Now that we have settled that, I repeat: The ladies are very annoyed. Vocally so. Aren’t they, Stratton?”

  “That they are,” Stratton muttered within a slow sigh.

  “His tone of resignation means that when the ladies are annoyed, it is their husbands who suffer their lengthy scolds at the world,” Langford said.

  “Then it is good I called you here, so you could gain a respite,” Eric said. “Now, because you are with me on this, I need to ask a favor of you.”

  “He doesn’t care, Stratton. Our domestic peace is in shatters all because of him and he doesn’t give a fig. Instead, he asks for a favor.”

  “How do I get blamed for your domestic affairs? If your wives are unhappy, find out why and fix it, or go rusticate until they calm down, or do whatever husbands do when wives harp on something.”

  “A wise husband blames someone,” Stratton said. “In this case, that would be you.”

  Eric looked from one to the other, exasperated.

  “Miss MacCallum is leaving London,” Stratton added, by way of explanation.

  “The ladies blame you,” Langford said.

  “I can’t imagine why,” Eric said innocently. “Did you tell them to?”

  “They think you have bullied her, and frightened her, and glared at her, and in general been Brentworth with her,” Langford said.

  “On the contrary, I have been gracious and helpful. I deserve a medal for how I have controlled myself. Not once have I accused her to her face of being a fraud trying to steal from me.”

  “I should hope not,” Stratton said.

  “Well, I am a gentleman. If she were a man, however—”

  “Which she is not. She is a woman, and a helpless one at that.”

  Helpless? Helpless? Did Stratton see the same female when he looked at Miss MacCallum. That woman was anything but helpless. “I have not bullied her. Nor has she ever seemed frightened of me, which is somewhat refreshing. And I do not glare. Go home and reassure your wives of that and all will be well.”

  “Do you know why she is leaving?” Langford asked.

  “Do you?”

  “No, nor do the ladies. That is why I asked if you do.”

  “How would I know if the ladies don’t? I am not Miss MacCallum’s special confidante.”

  “I thought perhaps when you and she had that meeting I helped arrange, she told you. She made the decision soon after, or at least informed Amanda the next day. The ladies find it all precipitous, as if she is running away from something.” Langford eyed him. “You didn’t try to kiss her that day, or do something else that—”

  “I did not. If that is what the ladies are conjuring up within their ire and ignorance, please make it very clear to them that I swear as a gentleman that I have in no way imposed on Miss MacCallum in that manner. The very suggestion is laughable.”

  Langford shrugged. “It might have been an impulse.”

  “I do not have impulses like that with women.”

  Stratton grinned. “Come now, we all have those impulses, even you, even if you never give in to them.”

  Eric gave Langford a hard look. “You will please make sure the ladies are disabused of such a notion.”

  “I will, but I think they may be disappointed. I overheard them talking, and the word comeuppance was spoken. I think they have worked out an elaborate plot with you as the pining swain and Miss MacCallum as the spurning woman.”

  “You did not say anything to encourage such nonsense, I trust.” Comeuppance indeed.

  “Of course not.”

  Of course not, hell. Langford talked too much. Eric pictured him and Amanda in bed, with Amanda probing for gossip and Langford, in his sated bliss, nattering away.

  “You say you do not glare, but you are glaring now,” Stratton said. “Perhaps you should let us know about that favor you want.”

  “Things are moving along about the bill. I have to leave town for a spell and would like each of you to sound out these peers for their positions.” He reached in his coat and handed each of them a short sheet of paper.

  Stratton studied his. “I will do it, but I doubt I will receive firm answers from half these names.” He tucked it away. “The only way that bill or any like it will pass is if the slave owners are compensated. Perhaps when the economy is better—”

  “The economy will never be better enough. It will cost millions,” Eric said. “We mi
ght as well face the numbers now as later.”

  Langford had not looked at his paper. Instead, he looked at Eric. Intently. “You are leaving town?”

  “For a brief spell. I leave tomorrow next.”

  “Alone?”

  “I always travel alone.”

  “Not always. You have on occasion brought mistresses to some of your properties.”

  “This is business, and I travel alone when I travel for financial reasons.”

  Now both of them were looking at him.

  “It must be very important to drag you away right when you need to shepherd this bill,” Stratton said.

  The two of them were spinning webs of nonsense now, all because he left London when that woman did. Not that she needed to go anywhere. She was just being obstinate. “It is important enough.”

  A twinkle entered Langford’s eyes. “Perhaps you will come across Miss MacCallum while on your journey. At a staging inn or some such place.”

  “Unlikely. If it happens, however, I will be polite and ask if she is faring well. Now, are you going to talk to those men?” He pointed to Langford’s list.

  “Oh, absolutely. They should all fall in line. After all, how awkward for them to be less moral than I am, of all men.”

  “So where are you going?” Stratton asked casually.

  Eric had expected the question to come from Langford if anyone. Friends could surprise you at times. “West.”

  “West,” Stratton said to Langford.

  “I heard. It appears we can tell the ladies that while he is also leaving town, he is going in a completely different direction from Miss MacCallum.”

  Eric would have taken satisfaction in a lie well told, except it was obvious neither of them believed him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Davina rose from the bed. She had arrived in the afternoon and taken a nap, which she almost never did. The journey had been long and tiring, however, even making use of the coach and four Amanda had insisted she have.

  That coach had left already, to return to London, after bringing her here to her childhood home in Northumberland. She stood in the center of the chamber, steeling herself for the nostalgia that had almost drowned her when she first walked in the door. It waited for her when she left this bedroom, used by the housekeeper back then.

  Leaving London had not been easy. Mr. Hume had expressed displeasure that she abandoned her duties to Nora. She found another woman to take her place for a fortnight, so the child would not be left to her own devices. She explained to Mr. Hume that any evidence would be found in Scotland, not London, so she needed to go find it. He had finally acquiesced and, except for an unfortunate overture at bringing her north himself, had wished her well.

  Prior to leaving, she had written to the duke, explaining her plans and demanding he join her in Northumberland so any visits to the baron’s property would be made by them at the same time. If he did not respond at once with his agreement, she had written, she would go on her own and not share whatever she might learn in this place where her grandfather had lived.

  She slipped on her shoes and straightened the sheets on the bed. Amanda had sent the mattress in the coach, and the sheets and coverlet, because, she said, after so many years, the house was sure to be in poor repair. Davina, upon entering, was grateful her duchess friend had not always been a duchess and proved to be so practical. Before the coachman left, she had him take the old mattresses and linens out and burn them.

  She ventured into the kitchen, found a bucket, and went out for water. Upon returning, she eyed a large brown stain and hole on the ceiling. That was what had sent her to the housekeeper’s chamber rather than upstairs when she decided to nap. The damage indicated water had been entering, probably from the roof. Above this was a chamber her parents had used when her mother was alive. If the roof had gone bad, it would not be habitable. Perhaps none of them up there were.

  It took her two hours to wipe down the kitchen so she could use it, and another to wash the dishes and implements. Night was falling by the time she finished. She ate some food she had brought, fetched fresh water, then took her damp cloth to the sitting room and wiped more dust away. Taking a chance the chimney still functioned, she used some coal left in the bin to start a fire.

  I will agree to your plan so you are not wandering the countryside unprotected, the duke had replied to her letter. Better if you remained in London. In other words, I will allow you to complicate this more than is reasonable because I have no choice, but you are a nuisance.

  He had then written that he would take lodgings in Newcastle and come to Caxledge the afternoon after she said she expected to arrive. Her direction to this house had not been the best. It had been so long since she lived here that she might have gotten some of it wrong. Still, she expected him to arrive as indicated. One of the benefits of being a duke was that you probably could find any place and any person you wanted.

  After a final wipe of her little chamber, she put herself to bed. Rain woke her in the middle of the night, but its sound and drips lulled her back to sleep. Happily, sunshine greeted her in the morning.

  So did a large puddle in the middle of the kitchen floor. She looked up at that hole. Perhaps her father had paid a caretaker when he was alive. If so, he had neglected to inform her, and she had not seen to it after his death. Blaming only herself for the state of the house, she tied up her dress above her knees, retrieved her bucket and a mop, and got to work.

  The duke said he would be arriving in the afternoon. After she finished this, she would walk into the village and do a bit of investigating before he came.

  * * *

  Eric watched the outskirts of Newcastle give way to countryside and villages. He resented the inconvenience of this coach. He doubted Miss MacCallum had a horse, however, or even rode one much, so this had become a necessary inconvenience, like too much else about this journey.

  His coachman had the directions she had provided, but a few words at a coaching inn on the way provided better ones. They pulled up in front of the cottage before noon, which was a few hours earlier than he had told her.

  Politeness dictated he not call yet. Expediency said otherwise. He hopped out of the carriage and paused while he examined the house. Not large, it would be handsome if better maintained. Unfortunately, the plaster needed skimming and paint, and birds had made free with the eaves for their nests. The garden showed years of neglect. Nature was busy reclaiming this plot of land. If left alone for a few more years, the cottage would be well on its way to being a ruin.

  He tried the door knock to no good purpose. Perhaps she had not arrived yet, or had already left. He strolled around the house, through a gate off its hinges, and sought the back door. The path, long lost to weeds, took him past a well to a flagstone terrace.

  The door back here was open, but no sounds came from within. He stuck his head over the threshold, then stepped inside.

  Miss MacCallum sat in what was a kitchen. She did not see or hear him. Her chair faced a cold fireplace. She stared at it almost sightlessly. A bucket stood beside her chair, and a mop had been propped against the wall.

  Her legs stretched out in front of her. Bare legs. Nicely formed legs. Quite lovely legs, ivory tinted with a blush of pink. She wore no shoes or slippers either, so her pretty feet sat just so on the plank floor.

  He noticed her dress had been tied up between her legs at the same moment when she realized she was not alone. She looked over abruptly, the shoulder-length locks of blond hair swinging like a drape disturbed by a breeze. She gazed right at him, then at his coat, then down at his boots.

  “Welcome, Duke. I would be more pleased to see you if you were not tracking mud on my clean floor.”

  Indeed he was, but the damage was done. “I tried tracking mud on your floor in front instead, but no one answered my knock.”

  “I was in a daze, I suppose. Remembering times spent here with my father and mother. Come in and sit down, and I will redo that section befor
e I give up.”

  He stepped outside and scraped most of the mud off his boots, using the edge of the threshold stone, before returning. He took long strides to get to the chair at the work table. With nary a comment, and with her loins still girded and her legs very visible, Miss MacCallum grabbed her mop and plunged it in the bucket. Then she bent to wring its long strands.

  Which meant her rump rose up to his face. Bare, shapely legs and delicate, narrow feet. Narrow waist and flaring hips. Nicely rounded bottom. Eric prided himself on not being impulsive, but there were several almost overwhelming impulses at this moment.

  The first was to ungird that skirt and lift it so he could see just how nicely rounded that bottom was. The second was to insist that she mustn’t do this labor; he would hire a woman to come and do it for her instead. The third was to reach out and caress that womanly form all but being offered to him. The fourth was to do much more than caress.

  She straightened, as if she knew what he contemplated. “You are early,” she said while she gave another sweep to the muddy footprints. “You said afternoon.”

  “I rose early and did not know how long it would take, so we started out.” That was true, but not all the truth. He could have whiled away an hour or so after breakfast before coming. Only he had not wanted to.

  “We?”

  “The coachman.”

  “Did you bring your valet too? A few footmen?” She smiled impishly.

  “No valet or footmen.”

  “What? Whoever will do for you?”

  She enjoyed teasing him. He enjoyed looking at her, standing there, leaning against the mop handle, oblivious to how she still flaunted those legs. The fabric had been hitched highest on the left side, which faced him, making the bottom of her thigh visible.

  “I assumed you would, of course,” he said. Impulsively.

  Her face fell in shock before she laughed. However, he had made her self-conscious because suddenly she did remember her naked legs. She fussed with her skirt, untying it until it fell down in a wrinkled flow.

  “Actually, I am capable of doing for myself and normally prefer that when I travel,” he said. “It is a nuisance to have servants in tow, and the ones for hire at inns are rarely useful.”