He heard Kittie move through the hallway and up the stairs but couldn’t bear to talk to her that moment. He would make some accusation, and until he knew the truth he didn’t want to be precipitate. He exited the cottage and raced into the woods after the earl. “Orkenay,” he shouted, once his acquaintance was in sight.
The man paused and glanced back. “Alban. Where the devil did you come from? Thought you were home this morning.”
“I was, but I decided to visit the ladies. I heard you were out walking with Mrs. Douglas.”
“I was.” The earl began to walk again, along the shadowed path that meandered restlessly through the glade.
“Why?”
“Why was I out walking with Mrs. Douglas? I didn’t know I needed a reason.”
“Orkenay, don’t toy with me,” Alban said, grabbing the other man’s arm.
“Whatever do you mean?” The earl drew back, brow furrowed, and glared. “You seem most odd this morning.”
“I saw you!” Alban thundered, his voice echoing back to him strangely and some bird fluttering, upset at the shout.
“Did you?” Orkenay paused, a look of mischief in his eyes. “You saw Kittie and me walking, you mean?”
“I saw you kissing! What the devil was that all about?”
With an oily smile, he said, “None of your business, old man, whom I kiss or don’t. Mrs. Douglas is a very beautiful woman, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” He stared at the duke. “And she is very much in need of kissing.”
The earl’s nonchalance was insufferable and Alban longed to plant him a facer, but he allowed only one hand to ball into a fist at his side. He would surely hurt him if he allowed his ire free reign. “She is my aunt’s companion. I’m sure you recognize that gives us some reason to inquire as to your motives in kissing her?”
“Hmm, ‘us’? Are you truly inquiring for Lady Eliza, or more for yourself? And really, Alban, motive? To kiss a lovely woman?”
“You know what I mean. What do you intend?” He watched the other man’s expression, the measuring gaze, the indecision.
Then Orkenay’s chin went up in a pugnacious gesture. “It’s none of your business, but Mrs. Douglas has agreed to go back to London with me once our visit here is at an end. She is to become my mistress. Ain’t I a lucky fellow?”
Alban, stunned, stared at the earl wordlessly. If he had not seen the young woman kissing Orkenay so passionately in the meadow, and then again so tenderly at the garden gate, he would have thought it was a lie.
The earl smiled and shrugged. “Now I have said too much, Alban, and she specifically asked me not to, not until she can prepare Lady Eliza. She feels responsible to your aunt, and grateful, and all that, and does not want to shock the woman. You do understand, don’t you, and will not tell on the poor girl? She is the most beautiful young lady I have ever seen; I felt some encouragement from her, welcoming glances and all that, and so I asked, and she accepted my offer. I must say, I didn’t think anyone would have seen us!”
If he didn’t know better, Alban would have suspected sly triumph in the earl’s tone, but no one knew how he felt about Mrs. Douglas, not even himself, for God’s sake. But at that moment, his stomach was churning and he felt nauseated. He turned and started back to Bodenthorpe Cottage. He heard but could not respond to Orkenay’s shouted “I say, Alban, what’s wrong with you? Aren’t you coming back to Boden?”
Instead he returned to the cottage and sought out his aunt, who was sitting in the drawing room with Beacon, her devoted maid.
“Alban,” Lady Eliza said as he entered.
“Aunt,” he said shortly, and threw himself into a chair.
“Beacon, leave us, please. I will take tea with the ladies in a half hour. Tell Oliver that his grace will be staying.”
“No! I have to go back, but I do wish a word with you, Aunt.”
Lady Eliza waved her hand and Beacon slipped from the room. But Alban sat silent for a few moments, staring out the window on a day that had suddenly turned cloudy and breezy.
“What is wrong, Alban?” She sniffled, dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief and leaned back in her chair. “If you are just going to sit and brood silently, I will have Beacon back.”
“I’m sorry, Aunt.” He sat up straight in his chair and reached over, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “I hope you’re feeling better and are over your grippe.”
She returned the gesture and then released his hand. “I am as well as can be expected. Now, I can feel your agitation, Alban, so don’t try to deceive me.”
“How well do you know Mrs. Douglas? And how much do you trust her?”
“I know her well enough to know her heart and I trust her with my life.”
Alban sighed. Such an answer left no room for doubt, but who was being deceived, him or her? He knew the earl was prone to exaggeration of his romantic conquests at times; if he had not seen with his own eyes his encounters with Kittie Douglas he would have thought the fellow was fabricating his story. And if it was only his own disappointment he had to consider, he would put her out of his mind as worthless, for any woman who would go to Orkenay as his mistress was not a woman who could ever interest him.
“Why do you ask, Alban? I think I have a right to know, since it is Kittie you are concerned with.”
What could he say? He had been asked not to inform her before Kittie had that opportunity, and he had to admit that was fair. He didn’t relish breaking that particular news to his aunt. And yet— “I am just wondering how you came to know Kittie Douglas so well, that’s all.”
“And what is your concern in the matter?”
“You’re my aunt! Your comfort and safety are of primary concern to me.”
“You did not worry for the three years she has been my companion. Why now?”
“When I heard that she was a widow . . . that is, I pictured—”
“A poor, broken-down old widow-woman, sad and meek. Instead you find Kittie Douglas: lovely, vibrant, glowing.” There was, strangely, fierce satisfaction in her voice. “She glows, does she not, Alban, like a flame.” Lady Eliza turned her face to the window, though the light was gray and weak, giving little perceptible warmth. “And that worries you for some reason. Why? Is it because you wonder what she is doing here, when a woman like her could be anywhere, with anyone?”
It was so close to some of his thoughts that he stayed silent.
“Aye, I thought as much. You think she means to take advantage of me in some fashion.”
“It had occurred to me.”
“For heaven’s sake, Alban, why do you not make an effort to get to know her? Walk with her, talk with her.”
“I tried that this morning and we ended up quarreling . . . or almost.”
“You likely questioned her as if she were a subject in the Spanish Inquisition. She has spirit; she would not take kindly to that kind of treatment. It is one of the things I admire most about her, that being a companion has not reduced her to some submissive little mouse. I could not stand that; I would despise her in a se’ennight. No, Alban, I mean talk to her as you would any other woman you wanted to get to know better.”
Alban thought for a moment. What could it hurt? He felt that there was a puzzle there, and he hated unsolved puzzles. He would be pleasing his aunt and following his own inclination, and perhaps annoying Orkenay in the process, if the man thought he was trying to steal Mrs. Douglas away from him. That thought delighted him, though he wasn’t sure a close examination of his reasons would stand up to his own rigorous standards of behavior.
He stood, leaned over his aunt and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. “I will do that, old dear. I want to see what it is that makes everyone so enamored of your Mrs. Douglas.”
Lady Eliza had a sly smile on her face as she reached up and patted his cheek. “Good boy. It’s about time you heeded me. Now, send Beacon back to me.” She sneezed once gustily and waved him away.
• • •
The weat
her turned brisk as September entered its second half.
Alban, Orkenay and Sir John hunted during the day and in the evening met with Bart at Bodenthorpe Cottage, where he seemed to be a permanent and welcome fixture. Bart had never enjoyed hunting, and without his father’s boisterous presence had finally admitted it. Instead he spent his time with the ladies, though the obvious lure was Mrs. Billings. What he saw in her Alban could not conceive. He had asked his friend that, in as tactful manner as he could, but Bart had seen through his clumsy wording immediately.
“Because she is not to your taste, Alban, does not mean she is without attractions.”
“I understand that. I’m not so dim-witted, Bart.”
They were in the library at Boden, a dark paneled room with wine-colored furnishings and the heads of many slaughtered animals on the walls. Bart frowned and shook his head. “I can’t explain how I feel inside, Alban, but I have long known very few people would ever truly understand me. I know you don’t and that’s all right. I can love you like a brother without us understanding everything about each other.”
Such open speech made Alban uneasy. Even his aunt, whom he adored, had likely never told him that she loved him.
Bart continued. “Hannah understands me, and I understand her. There is no need for pretense between us. Neither of us expects life to be easy, but despite what people may think of her excessive sensibility, she is strong under it all. She has had to be strong for her sons—she has two boys—and I respect that. And . . .” Bart looked toward the window. “I think she’s beautiful. It shines in her eyes, and when I hold her—” Alban made an exclamation, and Bart caught his eye and grinned. “Yes, I’ve held her. I’m a man, after all, and she a woman. Do you think we only talk?”
So it was serious, Alban thought. He gazed at his friend with wonder. Had Bart finally found his match? Of all the ladies he had ever met—and as a young gentleman of good birth, there had been many—why Hannah Billings? “What is it that makes you . . . how do you know how you feel about her?” Alban was genuinely curious. He had been in love before many times, he thought, but what Bart felt seemed different somehow and he wanted to know.
“I’m a better man already just for knowing her, Alban. I want to be with her, and I know that her life will be better with me in it. And I feel stronger. She needs me, Alban.”
Uneasily Alban wondered if they weren’t just reinforcing mutual weakness, but when he clumsily tried to express his concern, Bart shook his head, his eyes sparkling. “No, you don’t understand. That is the beauty of this. I care for her so much I will rise to new heights to buoy her when she is downhearted. And she has already done the same for me. It’s as though in our care for each other, we will ourselves to be stronger.”
Alban had clasped his hand then across the library table. “Then that is all I could ever wish for you, my friend.”
“Alban, I know you have not been so happy yourself, but—”
“No! Bart, I’m not you and I don’t want to talk about it. Catherine is long gone, and Jacqueline’s treachery is done.”
“But after Catherine died—”
“No!” It was an explosive and definite sound of rejection; he needed no tender words, no sensitive handling. The conversation ended there. Alban would not canvass his problems with anyone, even his best friend. Catherine had left him and then died with her paramour. Jacqueline, his treacherous mistress, had been selling secrets he told her to the highest bidder as well as going to other men’s beds. But that, too, was over. He certainly didn’t need to discuss it.
• • •
Alban acted upon his promise to his aunt, finding free time to talk to Mrs. Douglas with no other motive than conversation. Though she seemed wary at first, she soon relaxed, and to his dismay he found that she was not only physically attractive to him, he also found her mind stimulating and unexpected, her knowledge ranging over manly topics such as politics and economics. It seemed that she had spent some time in society, for she was well versed on the royal family’s quirks, and even knew some of the same people he knew, society leaders and dragons alike.
It was disconcerting.
Along with Lady Severn, she accompanied the men on the hunt one day. Both ladies were bruising riders, though Lady Severn was the more daring. In every way, as it proved. She and Sir John disappeared for a while and later returned, tousled and laughing, claiming to have run some game to ground, though not a one of the company believed them. Even Kittie Douglas, her cheeks pink, seemed to know that they were up to more than hunting.
Which made him all the more curious about Kittie Douglas’s apparent defection from his aunt into Orkenay’s arms. She revealed nothing of her feelings or plans in company with the earl and even seemed to avoid him. Perhaps that was so no suspicion was raised among the other members of the house party. Orkenay intimated as much, saying that Alban could not expect them to be making their connection obvious, when Kittie was trying to work up the courage to tell Lady Eliza that she was leaving. He implied that she may not want to say anything until their time of departure approached. She dreaded hurting her employer, the earl stated, and was delaying the inevitable as long as possible.
It was driving him wild, not knowing what was true and what was false. He had never known Orkenay to be so patient when courting a new mistress, but it must be true. The image of him kissing Kittie Douglas so passionately in the meadow and so tenderly at the gate was seared on Alban’s brain as proof of their intimacy. He should have asked her himself. If she was going to leave Lady Eliza, it might as well have been for his bed, not Orkenay’s.
That thought, and the accompanying images, burned within him. She would not entertain his city friends the way clever and coquettish Jacqueline had, but what a country mistress she would make, deposited in some cozy cottage near London, there at the end of the day for him to retreat to, talk to . . . make love to. They could ride together, and then make slow, passionate love by the fireplace all winter long. It was a tantalizing notion; if he made the offer, would she spurn Orkenay and accept him?
• • •
It was about a week after he promised his aunt he would get to know her, and he had fulfilled his promise. Mrs. Kittie Douglas was intelligent, good-natured, lovely, delicate, and yet not weak. The day was a brilliant one after two days of steady rain. Puffs of clouds scudded over the high fells as he walked down to the cottage. Bart, he knew, was already there, but he had left Orkenay and Sir John behind, desultorily arguing over who was the more repulsive and manipulative of Prinny’s mistresses.
The woods were wet and the path slithery, but for all that he enjoyed the walk and congratulated himself on the inspiration that had urged him north. Other than wishing he had not invited Orkenay along, he regretted only that he had left this visit so long, and that led his mind back, inevitably, to Mrs. Douglas. His aunt seemed as enamored of her as old ladies often got over younger women they viewed as daughter substitutes. He had to admit there was nothing to actively dislike in Mrs. Douglas, and if it was not for her indiscretion with Orkenay he might be singing her praises, too.
The cottage, as always, nestled in the mist, its stone walls lushly coated with roses and ivy. His aunt’s groom, Jacob, stood with the reins of her ancient pony, Lily, in one hand, just outside the cottage gate. Lily was harnessed to the pony cart that Lady Eliza had used for many years, and that now, apparently, served Kittie Douglas. That woman strode out the door of the cottage and, head down, rustling in her basket, moved down the path and through the gate to the waiting pony cart.
“Going into the village, Mrs. Douglas?” He had the dubious pleasure of seeing her start and appear dismayed.
“Your grace! Yes, I am on an errand for Lady Eliza. Just . . . just posting letters and doing some shopping.”
“You are an early riser.”
“Yes.” She stepped up into the cart and took the reins from Jacob. “And now I must bid you adieu, your grace. You will find Lady Eliza at the breakfast table.�
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“Since I came to see you, Mrs. Douglas, I think I will go to the village with you. We can talk on the way.”
Eleven
She did not look pleased but made no demur. It was a novel sensation to be driven by a woman who knew what she was doing. Granted, Lily was the mildest of steeds, but on the rare occasion he had allowed himself to be driven by Jacqueline, who fancied herself a whip hand, he had regretted it and had come to believe that driving was a male skill not to be attempted by feminine hands.
But his aunt’s companion made no extravagant demands of Lily, did not attempt to go faster than she was capable, and was careful and considerate on the way down the short slope into the village. Once there, Alban watched how she dealt with the villagers, and to a man and woman they all had accepted her as one of their own. Many of them had known him since he was a boy, but his elevated position still caused a hesitation, a formality in their address to him that had to be considered natural and perhaps warranted, though he remembered a time they treated him with more familiarity. But Mrs. Douglas they treated as a member of the community, telling her variously about Sunday service when they happened to meet up with some of the ladies of the village, and about the First Fruits harvest festival planned for that Saturday.
Kittie, for her part, was not having the relaxed visit she usually had with the villagers, and there were one or two who seemed to catch her abstraction. The morning’s drive and errands were her way of getting a little time alone, away from the bustle of the household and her friends, love them though she did. Instead, she was subjected to the duke’s presence, and though he was the model of the perfect gentleman, she could not be comfortable in his presence when they were alone. It was easier with company, but so close, on his arm or by his side in the cart, she was agitated and, for some reason, apprehensive.
The Duke's Secret Seduction Page 12
