To Desire a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Vol 8

by Wendy Soliman

‘How can I be of assistance?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair and releasing her from the intoxicating grip of his smile. He was relaxed and in command of himself, whereas she was a bundle of nervous uncertainty.

  ‘I have been walking with Brione,’ she said, clearing her throat.

  ‘Ah yes, I saw her a little earlier. She mentioned that the two of you intended to explore the grounds. I hope you enjoyed your excursion.’

  ‘Very much. She took me to the lake by a path that isn’t obvious unless one knows where to look for it.’

  Mr Kensley chuckled. ‘Did she indeed? She did mention something…I wonder how she knew about it.’

  Rachel wasn’t about to get distracted by discussions of that nature. She cleared her throat again, sat rigidly upright and forced herself to stop lacing her fingers. ‘Brione told me of her decision to talk to the suspects about Conrad,’ she said, meeting and holding his gaze more easily now that the suggestion of seduction had left his eyes. ‘I am worried. She can be impulsive and…well, it’s too dangerous for her.’

  ‘You know your friend too well to imagine that anything anyone says will prevent her from doing what she wishes,’ Mr Kensley replied after a thoughtful pause.

  ‘After all she learned about Evan last night, she isn’t thinking coherently.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘She needs a purpose, a distraction. I can quite see that, but since I persuaded her to come here, I will feel responsible if anything untoward happens to her.’

  ‘From what I hear, she was determined to come and took no persuading.’

  ‘Even so.’ She glanced up at him, unsure how to articulate her fears in the face of his calm and reasoned response. 'Don’t you even care?’ she demanded hotly, jumping to her feet because she felt trapped by the power he effortlessly wielded over her. ‘Well, I suppose you don’t. Your precious duke is under pressure to reveal the identity of the traitor, and a woman whose husband is not only a suspect but also dead is dispensable.’

  His expression darkened and she knew she had overstepped the mark. Rachel barely recognised herself. She was ordinarily the epitome of calm and never lost her temper. She ought to apologise but couldn’t find the words. There was just something about Mr Kensley that made her behave with the same impetuosity that she criticised in Brione. Which made it his fault, and he deserved to be the outlet for her frazzled emotions.

  When he remained silent, her temper rapidly cooled and she realised that she had insulted his integrity. She turned her back on him, hugged her arms across her stomach and walked towards the window, wondering how to extricate herself from this embarrassing situation with her dignity intact.

  He resolved the problem by stalking up behind her on near silent feet, startling her when he placed his large, warm hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. He still looked uncompromisingly grim but the lilting cadence of his voice when he spoke implied that he was not angry with her.

  ‘I will not insult your intelligence by telling you that you are overwrought.’ A brief smile broke through his granite expression. ‘So instead let me put your mind at rest. Your friend, when she joins in with Deb’s entertainments this afternoon, will be constantly watched, either by Troy or by me. No harm will come to her. On that score you have my personal assurance.’ He stood back, still with his hands resting on her shoulders, and smiled at her. ‘There, will that suffice?’

  ‘I know that you mean what you say, and I trust you to keep your word.’ Rachel let out a long breath in an exaggerated whoosh. ‘But even so, the traitor will know where she lives. He might not put himself at risk by attacking her here but he could get to her…oh bother!’ She impatiently swiped at a tear as it trickled down her cheek, unaware that she had been feeling quite that distraught. Mr Kensley, it seemed, was capable of stirring up her emotions with just a word, a touch or a smile. ‘It’s just that she has been through so much, and I worry that she will feel overwhelmed. Especially so soon after finding out about Evan’s despicable behaviour.’

  ‘Hush!’ He slid an arm around her waist and Rachel felt relief the moment she rested her face against his shoulder, reassured by the calm competence that defined him. She had felt herself at the mercy of a whole raft of conflicting emotions generated by such close proximity to the man who had recently filled her thoughts and senses. ‘Have a little faith in our ability.’

  ‘Even though the spy has been operating for years under the aegis of the duke’s regiment without detection. Sorry,’ she added belatedly, wondering why she seemed so determined to insult him. ‘I understand how difficult it must be to find such a person, which makes me wonder about your faith in one female’s ability to succeed where two such formidable men as you and the duke have failed.’

  ‘The spy would never do anything to give himself away in our presence,’ Mr Kensley replied, tightening the arm that held her against him. Rachel thought that she probably ought to move away from him but couldn’t find the strength. It felt sublime to have someone to lean on for a change. Someone she trusted to share her concerns with. The circumstances were unusual enough to make it justifiable.

  ‘Probably not,’ she muttered, her voice muffled by the fabric of his coat.

  ‘Even the most cautious of men tend to let their guard down in the presence of a beautiful woman.’ He tightened his arm once again, as though demonstrating a point. But it was Brione they were discussing, she reminded herself, not her, and when it came to physical looks Rachel couldn’t hold a candle to her friend. That was partly what concerned her, but she couldn’t find the words to articulate those fears. ‘Besides, your friend is fiercely determined and has personal reasons for wanting to find answers. Would you prefer that she went ahead without us watching over her?’

  ‘I would prefer for her not to do anything at all, but I suppose I can understand her desire to try and either clear Evan’s name or discover the complete truth about his character.’

  ‘Well, there you are then.’

  ‘The problem is, if it does transpire that he’s the traitor,’ Rachel said, finally pulling away from Mr Kensley, ‘she will feel equally guilty. She is not responsible for Evan’s behaviour, but the world will not see it that way. She will retreat into her shell and become a complete recluse, which would be such a tragedy.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Mr Kensley watched her but didn’t attempt to touch her again. ‘I have a feeling that Troy will have something to say on that subject.’

  Rachel flexed a brow. ‘Really?’

  He couldn’t have said anything more guaranteed to kindle her interest and quell her inappropriate attraction towards Mr Kensley. Not that it was inappropriate precisely, she reasoned, since they were both unattached and free to develop whatever friendships they chose. But it was the wrong time and the wrong circumstances. Were there ever right ones?

  ‘Really,’ he confirmed, smiling. ‘And if you want to help protect your friend—’

  ‘Anything, Mr Kensley,’ she replied without hesitation.

  ‘It’s Alfie.’

  ‘Alfie then. What do you need me to do?’

  ‘Now there’s a question,’ he replied with a salacious little laugh.

  ‘Oh, do behave!’

  ‘Believe me, I am trying but your provocative remarks are a constant challenge.’

  ‘I cannot be held responsible for the manner in which you interpret my suggestions,’ she said indignantly.

  ‘I disagree.’ Alfie took a deep breath and smiled at her. ‘However, I was about to suggest that you bear me company this afternoon. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.’

  ‘You want me to spend the afternoon on your arm, giving everyone the wrong idea?’ Or perhaps the right one.

  His responding throaty chuckle rumbled with carnal implications. ‘I thought you wanted to help.’

  ‘I would be more help if I stayed with Brione.’

  ‘The suspects will not let anything slip in front of you both. Witnesses are an inconvenience, especially when a man is attempting to make
himself appealing to a lady.’ His irises darkened. ‘Take it from one who knows.’

  She fixed him with a narrow-eyed look of suspicion. ‘You have all the answers.’

  ‘I do my humble best.’

  Rachel shook her head as she fought against a smile, enjoying herself more than she had any right to under the circumstances. ‘There is absolutely nothing humble about you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He executed an elegant bow and she gave up the unequal struggle to hold her laughter at bay. ‘You pay the nicest compliments.’

  ‘It was not intended as a compliment.’

  ‘I’ll take whatever I can get.’

  Rachel knew he was no longer referring to compliments but pretended not to understand him. ‘I shall see you later,’ she said, turning towards the door. ‘Much against my better judgement. Oh, by the way, I almost forgot to mention that when Brione and I were returning from our walk this morning, we encountered Lieutenant Vaughan riding back, presumably from the village. He seemed surprised to see us and barely acknowledged us before riding on.’

  ‘That is interesting, but probably doesn’t mean anything. He might have just been keeping his horse fit, ready for the race.’ He opened the door with one hand and used the other to raise her own hand to his lips and kiss the back of it. ‘I look forward to our engagement this afternoon,’ he said.

  ‘It is not an engagement.’ She felt it important to make that point, aware that she wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all herself. ‘However, I shall be there.’

  She walked away without looking back but sensed him watching her until she turned a corner and disappeared from his view.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The weather remained fine for the afternoon’s outdoor activities. Brione changed into a pretty muslin walking gown in a bright yellow, trimmed with blue ribbon, complete with matching bonnet and parasol.

  ‘You look a picture, ma’am,’ Gladys said, having helped Brione to change for the second time that day. She would be required to do so again before dinner. It was so long since Brione had mixed in society that she had forgotten about the exhausting number of changes that were considered necessary. She smiled at the thought of the tongues that would wag if a lady appeared in the same gown on consecutive occasions.

  Brione descended the stairs and heard the sound of voices coming from the keep, where Lady Murray’s entertainments were already being enjoyed by her guests. The vestibule was deserted but for the looming figure of the duke, who stepped forward when he saw her, Shadow at his heels as always. Brione wondered if he had been waiting for her and took a deep breath as she approached him, reminding herself of the inadvisability of allowing herself to read too much into his attentions. Troy had a vested interest in the outcome of her campaign—reputations were at stake.

  Appreciation flitted across his expression as he took in her ensemble and his lips curved into an admiring smile.

  ‘I feel persuaded that even the most disciplined of spies will let his guard down and boast about his expectations in order to impress you,’ he said softly, regarding her over the hand that he continued to hold close to his lips, his heavy lidded gaze dark and intense.

  She smiled, flustered by the compliment, which she sensed had been genuine rather than designed to reassure. ‘Let’s hope you are right about that,’ she said, reclaiming her gloved hand and bending to make a fuss of Shadow.

  ‘Your friend Mrs Woodley is trying her hand at archery in the company of Mr Kensley.’ Troy nodded towards the area on the opposite side of the keep where targets had been set up. ‘As you can see, Frazer is there as well, and he is alone.’

  ‘What is Rachel doing with Mr Kensley? Oh.’ Brione smiled as the answer to her own question belatedly occurred to her.

  ‘Don’t be concerned for your safety. Kensley will remember his duty or he will have me to answer to.’

  ‘I am not afraid of Sir Gregory.’

  ‘That is what I expected you to say.’ He grasped her upper arm and sent her a stern look. ‘Never let your guard down. The most unassuming of characters is often the deadliest. This traitor has survived for a long time simply because he blends in and because he is unscrupulous. If he even suspects that you doubt his loyalty, he will show no mercy.’

  ‘I am not completely without guile,’ she replied, thinking that Troy was being overcautious. ‘Now, pray excuse me. I have work to do.’

  Brione sauntered across the keep with her parasol tipped over her shoulder at a jaunty angle. She was aware that she was attracting more attention than had been her intention, but merely smiled and nodded at people who addressed her as she made her way slowly towards the archery.

  ‘There you are,’ Rachel said, looking lovely in lilac muslin and very at home on Mr Kensley’s arm. ‘We wondered what had become of you.’

  ‘Well, here you find me. What did I miss?’

  ‘Mr Kensley was attempting to show me how to shoot an arrow. It is not nearly as easy as it looks. Any invaders would be perfectly safe from my attempts to repel them.’

  ‘I have never tried it myself.’

  ‘Then allow me to instruct you,’ Sir Gregory said, coming up behind her. She hadn’t realised that he had been standing close enough to overhear her conversation with Rachel, which reminded her not to underestimate him, or to speak out of turn.

  ‘Oh, Sir Gregory, good afternoon. I did not see you there. Thank you. If you are sure you won’t mind my ineptitude, then by all means.’ Brione smiled at Rachel and turned to give Sir Gregory her full attention. ‘It looks an awfully long way,’ she said, squinting at what seemed like a very small target. ‘But I dare say you have done this many times before and find it easy.’

  ‘Well, I have some idea…’ He preened at the compliment, and she could see his skin turning pink beneath his whiskers.

  ‘Actually, I am glad for this moment with you alone. I was thinking of our conversation yesterday about Evan.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ He appeared wary as he picked up a bow and selected an arrow, examined the fletching and appeared satisfied with it. ‘In what respect?’

  ‘Show me how to fire an arrow and I will tell you.’

  ‘It’s quite straightforward. Stand here beside me, Mrs Gilliard, with your feet a little apart and sideways on to the target.’

  ‘Like this?’ Brione asked.

  ‘Precisely so.’ He handed her the bow. ‘Keep a relaxed grip on the handle, then place the arrow on the bow, thus.’ He stood behind her and put his arms on either side of her as he adjusted her stance and grip. She somehow refrained from depositing an elbow in his bulbous stomach, aware that he was using the sport to take liberties. ‘Then simply draw the bow back, aim and fire.’

  Brione did so and the arrow fell dismally short of the target. ‘Oh, dear. It’s much harder than it looks. Show me how it ought to be done, Sir Gregory.’

  She surrendered the bow to him and stood back.

  ‘You didn’t say what it was that you wanted to ask me,’ he said, settling into a confident shooting stance, clearly intending to impress her.

  ‘Actually,’ Brione replied, lowering her voice, ‘I was hoping you could clarify something for me.’

  ‘Anything to help ease your distress, dear lady,’ he said, rocking back on his heels before taking up his stance once again and drawing back the bow.

  ‘Well, it’s just something that I heard Evan remark upon not long before his death. I am sure it’s nothing but it’s been playing on my mind.’

  ‘A military matter perhaps?’

  ‘That is what I wondered. I heard him mention a name several times, you see, and it seemed to be really important to him. As though he was on the trail of some great discovery. It sounded like the name of a battle, perhaps.’ She paused, aware that his eyes were focused on the target but his attention was on what she had to say. ‘Was there a battle called Conrad?’

  He fired the arrow into a tuft of grass just beyond his feet, earning howls of derision from several men who had
witnessed his spectacular failure.

  ‘Keep your mind on the job in hand, Frazer,’ one suggested.

  ‘Way to impress a lady,’ said another.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir Gregory,’ Brione said sweetly. ‘I didn’t mean to distract you.’ She held out her hand for the bow. ‘Let me try again.’

  Brione gasped when arms again surrounded her, but she knew without looking over her shoulder that they didn’t belong to Sir Gregory. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, when the duke guided her hands and pressed his body against her back.

  ‘Helping you to fire an arrow, obviously.’ He was standing scandalously close, far closer than Sir Gregory had, as though stamping some sort of claim. They had gained quite an audience. She heard amused muttering amongst the men and several of the ladies gasped. ‘Now stop being difficult, concentrate on the target and think of someone whom you actively dislike.’

  ‘That I can certainly do,’ she assured him, casting him a caustic sideways look.

  ‘Do you need any more help?’ he asked in a seductive purr, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.

  ‘You have already done more than enough,’ she replied, feeling the weight of his body pressing against hers, making her yearn for the unattainable. The wretch was deliberately trying to distract her.

  And succeeding.

  Why he would choose to do so quite so publicly was a mystery to her. She heard Lady Murray say something disparaging in a loud voice behind her. She swallowed down her excitement when Troy ground his pelvis against her backside and she felt the full and impressive extent of his desire.

  ‘You do not distract me that easily, your grace,’ she said, attempting to play him at his own game, which was probably unwise.

  ‘Are you ready to take your shot?’

  ‘I am more than ready. I have already decided whose image I shall attempt to destroy.’

  ‘Dare I ask?’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘You can certainly ask.’

  He emitted a throaty chuckle and stepped back. She immediately felt the loss of his strength, but he had ignited her competitive spirit and clearly expected her not to land her shot anywhere near the target. Brione concentrated hard and let the arrow fly. A smattering of applause erupted when it hit the bullseye.