Falling in Love With a Duke

by Jillian Eaton

  Newly married, Nicola and Rosalind had attended the soiree with the simple goal of having a splendid time while their husbands smoked cigars and drank whisky in the drawing room. It was Evie who had been on the hunt for a fiancé, and she had set her sights on none other than the Duke of Kendalwood. Even then Merry had not fully understood Kendalwood’s appeal – aside from the obvious, of course – but she hadn’t come to truly despise him until after The Incident.

  It was not something she liked to dwell on. Suffice it to say, when all was said and done the duke had left the ball sporting a bright red stain on his cravat and Mrs. Clearwater had been so appalled by her daughter’s behavior she had dragged Merry home on the spot.

  For their part, Nicola and Rosalind had found the entire event uproariously hilarious while Evie had been less amused. Fortunately, her displeasure had been short lived as she’d met a handsome earl shortly after the duke’s abrupt departure and the two were now happily betrothed. Or nearly betrothed.

  The exact details were a bit murky.

  Either way, when Evie married, Merry would be the only one left without a husband. It wasn’t a position she minded so much as the pitying stares and whispered condolences that accompanied being unwed at the age of the two-and-twenty. It was as if she had contracted some deadly disease, and people were already mourning her eventual demise.

  Curiously enough, Cadence had never been the recipient of any sympathetic glances in regards to her marital state (or notable lack thereof) despite being three years older. It was a mystery Merry had not yet been able to solve, although she suspected it had something to do with their overall demeanors.

  Cadence was personable, charming, and coyly flirtatious.

  Merry was…none of those things.

  “I am not staring at nothing on purpose,” she said defensively. “What would you have me do? There is no one here I know.”

  “You know Lord and Lady Greer,” Cadence pointed out.

  “They are sitting at the opposite end of the table.”

  “And their daughter was unable to attend tonight, so there is an empty seat beside them.”

  “I am comfortable where I am.”

  “Yes but–”

  “Girls, do stop fighting.” Setting down her spoon, Mrs. Clearwater dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin before returning it to her lap. A woman in her fiftieth year, she had managed to retain much of her youthful beauty courtesy of a life easily lived and a husband who gave in to her every demand. Her blonde hair – now threaded lightly with grey – and soft blue eyes in a face she kept carefully creamed and powdered made her nearly an identical (albeit older) version of Cadence, and there was nothing else she liked more in all the world than being asked if her eldest daughter was in fact her sister.

  It was obvious for anyone who happened to glance upon the trio that Cadence and Mrs. Clearwater were like two peas in a pod whereas Merry was more of a turnip.

  A perfectly nice turnip.

  Even a vaguely pretty turnip.

  But a turnip nevertheless.

  “Cadence started it,” Merry muttered under her breath.

  “And I am ending it.” Mrs. Clearwater gave them both a stern glare. “Do try to behave yourselves. Or have you not noticed who is attendance tonight?” she asked with a meaningful glance towards the head of the table.

  Unable to help herself, Merry followed the direction of her mother’s stare and caught the duke in mid-laugh.

  Like everything else about him, the laugh was short and to the point. It ended far more quickly than it should have and the smile that lingered in the curves of his mouth fell far short of his eyes. Eyes that were green as a field after a drenching rainfall and flecked with bits of gold.

  Given the unusual color of his gaze, coupled with his dark mane of hair, unapologetically bold features, and an athletic build that was far more suited to that of a boxer rather than a man of leisure, and Merry could see why many women – and no doubt some men – had fallen under the duke’s spell. What she did not understand was how they stomached his arrogance.

  Suddenly, as if her stare was a palpable thing he could somehow feel upon his flesh, Kendalwood turned his head and met Merry’s gaze.

  The intimate contact lasted less than the time it took to extinguish a candle, but the sheer intensity of the duke’s searing stare left Merry breathless for seconds afterwards. Her entire face warmed, as it sometimes did when she fell asleep in front of the fire, and the tips of her fingers began to tingle, something they only did when she was very excited.

  With a tiny gasp she looked away, but even as she stared at a painting on a wall of two horses dozing in a field she could not remove Kendalwood’s face from her mind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  On the subject of favored pursuits

  “Well, I do love to read. I have tried my hand at painting, but I fear I am not very good. I also like long strolls, although I have found it is rather difficult to walk and read at the same time.” – Miss Merry Clearwater

  “Whoring, gambling, and betting.” – His Grace the Duke of Kendalwood

  When the first course was whisked away by a bevy of servants outfitted in white gloves and matching uniforms, Merry took the opportunity to stand and stretch her legs. Around her the other dinner guests did the same and no one noticed when she slipped from the dining room and walked hurriedly towards the front door.

  “My cloak and hat please,” she said to the footman waiting by the receiving closet. When he procured the winter garments she did not even bother putting them on before dashing out into the cold night and gulping in a mouthful of blissfully clean air untouched by perfumes and heavy colognes and the scent of roasted duck.

  Snow continued to fall from the sky, coating Merry’s uncovered hair and shoulders in a dusting of white as she carefully made her way down the front steps and along a narrow, freshly shoveled path that led around the side of the manor and straight to the stables.

  Lanterns glowed from within the modestly sized barn, but when Merry knocked softly on the sliding door no one answered. Grasping the handle, she put all of her weight into pushing the door open…and nearly fell flat onto her face in a pile of snow when it gave easily, sliding on hinges that must have just recently been greased. After glancing quickly around to make certain no one had witnessed her near-accident, she ducked into the barn and closed the door silently behind her.

  A few horses nickered sleepily as she wandered slowly down the neatly raked aisle, their cold breaths leaving plumes of smoke in the air. One curious chestnut mare stuck her entire head over the stall door and lipped at Merry’s shoulder as she passed, earning herself an affectionate scratch under the chin.

  “There now,” Merry whispered. “That feels better, doesn’t it?” As the mare expelled a loud, gusty sigh and leaned into the pressure of Merry’s hand she felt the knots of tension in her shoulders finally begin to unravel.

  This is where I belong, she thought as she gazed down the aisle. Not in some fancy dining room trying to remember which fork to use with which meal, but surrounded by animals. Animals who did not judge a person by the cut of their dress or the style of their hair. Animals who did not gossip or spread malicious lies to make themselves look better.

  It was a foolish idea to be sure, but Merry often wondered if her life would not be far less complicated if she’d been born a horse or a dog or even a cat. Certainly the expectations placed upon her would have been far less. Pull a cart, bark at an intruder, take a nap in the sun. How luxurious those things seemed when compared to a stifled dinner party!

  “Do you think anyone will miss me if I do not return?” she asked the mare.

  “Probably not,” a deep masculine voice drawled from the shadows.

  With a frightened gasp Merry whirled around, hands flattening over her chest. “Who – who is there?”

  “I believe I should be asking you that question.” Stepping into the middle of the aisle, Kendalwood braced his powerful thighs
and crossed his arms. The soft glow of light emanating from hanging lanterns played across his rigid countenance, revealing the hard set of his jaw and the slight flare in his nostrils. “Who are you,” he demanded in a soft, silky voice that sent shivers racing down Merry’s spine, “and what the devil are you doing in my barn?”

  “I-I-I-” Her throat convulsed, making it all but impossible to form a coherent sentence. Oh, of all the people to stumble across her hiding place why did it have to be him? Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her. Maybe he wouldn’t even remember The Incident. Maybe–

  “You. I know you.” Gold-flecked eyes narrowing as awareness dawned, the duke took a menacing step in her direction. “You threw wine on me.”

  Well then.

  So much for that.

  Merry felt the chestnut’s warm breath on the nape of her neck as she backed against the mare’s stall. Do not show fear, she told herself desperately. He is a bully, and bullies thrive on intimidation. If you show you are not afraid, he will leave you alone. Lifting her chin, she forced herself to draw a deep breath and met the duke’s stare without blinking. “I certainly did.”

  His lips thinned. “You ruined my favorite cravat.”

  “And you humiliated my friend, you self-absorbed conceited ass!”

  The very second the insult was out of her mouth Merry’s entire face flushed a dull, mottled red.

  Oh dear.

  Oh dear oh dear.

  There were some things a young lady should never do under any circumstance, and calling one of England’s wealthiest dukes a ‘self-absorbed conceited ass’ was right at the top of the list, somewhere beneath running off to Gretna Green and above having an illicit affair with the gardener. If her mother or sister ever found out about this they would never forgive her! She needed to apologize at once. But when she tried to force out the words, she found herself stuttering all over again. “I-I-I-”

  “Is there something wrong with you?” Thick eyebrows slashing down towards his nose, the duke regarded her with a mixture of annoyance and vague curiosity.

  “Yes,” Merry admitted miserably.

  “Well?” he asked. “What is it? Aside from your inability to complete a sentence and your alarming disregard for personal property, that is.”

  “I cannot tell a lie.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a regretful shrug. “Which means that even though I probably should apologize for insulting you, I cannot. I wouldn’t really mean it, you see, and what would be the point in delivering a false apology other than to appease your inflated sense of self-importance?”

  “What would be the point indeed,” Kendalwood murmured, green eyes taking on a decisively predatory gleam as he studied her with an intensity that had Merry’s cheek filling with color all over again.

  Men never looked at her the way the duke was looking at her. Cadence, certainly. Evie, Nicola, and Rosalind, but of course. But her? Never.

  She was the woman men overlooked.

  Unfortunately, no one seemed to have told Kendalwood that.

  “What are you doing?” she asked with some alarm when he took another step in her direction. With the stall at her back there was nowhere for her to run. She felt like a tiny mouse caught in the crosshairs of a cat’s hungry stare. It was not an ideal situation to be in, particularly when the cat was more of a panther. A sleek, sensual panther with the devil’s own smile.

  “Taking a closer look.”

  “At – at what?”

  “You.” He stopped just shy of touching her, but he might as well have pressed his hard body flush against her soft curves for all the distance there was between them. Merry sucked in a startled breath as she felt a jolt of sheer electricity pass through her trembling frame and Kendalwood, damn the man, canted his head to the side and quietly laughed.

  “It is not a ploy, is it?” he murmured.

  “What – what is not a ploy?” Merry refused to wear corsets on the principle that she liked her ribs where they were, thank you much, but she imagined if she did wear one this was very much how it would feel. Tight. Difficult to breathe. Closed in.

  Goodness, would it murder Kendalwood to take a bloody step back?

  “This.” Piercing green eyes never wavering from her wide, uncertain gaze, he gestured the length of her body with an absent sweep of his arm. “You. I thought it might have been. But it is not. You truly are a bumbling little fool, aren’t you?”

  A bumbling little fool?

  Usually such slights rolled right off Merry’s back like water off a duck, but for some reason this one stung far more than it should have especially considering who had delivered it. What right did Kendalwood have to insult her? Well, aside from the fact that she’d ruined his favorite cravat and called him a self-absorbed conceited ass.

  Admittedly not her finest moments.

  “Well?” he said, lips curving in the outline of a grin that fell far short of his eyes. “No cutting comeback or witty remark?”

  “I – I cannot think with you so close to me.”

  To Merry’s surprise, her admission caused a flicker of genuine emotion to pass over the duke’s countenance. It was there and gone again before she had time to ascertain what it meant, but she had a feeling it was of some significance as Kendalwood was not a man who easily dropped his guard.

  “You and me both, little hen.”

  “Little hen?” Her brow creased.

  “That is what you remind me of.” Expression turning pensive, he studied her in a detached sort of manner as though she were a piece of art he couldn’t quite figure out. “A little brown hen running about in circles with her feathers all aflutter.”

  Of course she reminded him of a hen. Heaven forbid he looked at her and thought peacock or swan or dove. She huffed out a breath. Did a man ever look at a woman and see more than her physical beauty? It was truly unfair how often a person was judged for something which they had no control over. Perhaps she could have tended her hair a bit better and fussed with her face a little more, but it wasn’t as though she could make her top lip smaller or her breasts larger. She was who God made her to be, and Kendalwood had no right to compare her to a common farm animal.

  No right at all.

  “I should very much like to return to the party now,” she said stiffly, gaze darting down to a sterling silver button in the middle of the duke’s heavy black overcoat. His outerwear reminded her that she’d left the house without taking the time to put on her cloak. It was still draped uselessly over her right arm, and with a tiny shiver she brought it up to her chest.

  Noting the tiny, involuntary movement, Kendalwood frowned. “You are cold. Here, take my coat.”

  “Oh, no thank you. There really is no need–”

  But he’d already slipped off his coat and draped it around her body, effortlessly sliding the garment between the stall and Merry’s shoulders. “There,” he said. “That should feel better.”

  With a bewildered shake of her head at the unexpected act of kindness, Merry glanced down at the coat. It dwarfed her small frame, dropping nearly all the way to her knees. It also smelled like the duke…a not unpleasant combination of spice and something she could not quite place. Pine? Perhaps. Or maybe it was sandalwood. Having never been this close to a man before (except for her father, who rarely wore cologne) she was not at all familiar with the different scents they usually employed.

  “You know,” Kendalwood continued, “I am afraid I do not remember your name.”

  She cast him a distracted glance. “I never gave it to you.”

  “Because you thought I was a – how did you put it – ‘self-absorbed conceited ass’?” he said with a charming, boyish grin that did the oddest things to Merry’s heartrate. When he smiled in such a manner – revealing a slightly crooked incisor she’d never seen before – it was hard to envision him as a cold, calculating rake who only thought of himself and had little regard for others.

  Oh no! She thought with no small amount of dismay. I am beginning to see why wo
men find him so appealing. Bad Merry. Very bad!

  “I must return before my mother notices I am missing.” Turning her shoulder, she made to brush past him, but Kendalwood was not about to let her go quite so easily as that. Quicker than she could have ever thought possible he braced both hands against the stall, effectively trapping her between a hard spot and, well, a hard spot.

  “First a name,” he said, staring deep into her eyes.

  There was something about his gaze that was mesmerizing…and even though Merry knew she should have demanded he let her pass, she found herself answering his question instead, her lips moving of their own accord as she said, “Merry. Merry Clearwater.”

  “Merry Clearwater…”

  The way he spoke her name – slowly, sensually, as though he were savoring a piece of warm chocolate – sent another shiver racing down Merry’s spine. Was he doing it on purpose, she wondered? Was he trying to make her fingertips tingle and her heart race? And if so, to what end? She wasn’t a beautiful courtesan or an elegant lady. She wasn’t a member of the fast set or someone who enjoyed flirtatious games. After all, she had come out to the barn for a reason…and it wasn’t to have a secret rendezvous with the Duke of Kendalwood.

  “Now that you know my name,” she said, struggling to keep her breaths steady and even, “will you please let me pass? I really must return now.”

  A lock of dark hair tumbled into the duke’s eyes as he canted his head to the side. “Why did you come out here in the first place? A stable yard is hardly a suitable hideout for a young lady.”