by Gill, Tamara
Mary turned back to the stable and settled Pegasus before entering the lodge without knocking. This was her lodge after all, or at least her family’s and she had more right than the duke to be here. The thought boosted her courage that he might be annoyed at being interrupted.
He started, dropped his book on his lap, and partly sat up when she entered. Realizing it was only her, he chuckled in evident pleasure, and her treasonous body fluttered at the sight of him.
“You scared me, Lady Mary. I did not think anyone would find me hidden away out here at this time of year.”
Mary pulled off her fur cap and laid it on a nearby table. She went to stand beside the fire, which was burning fiercely and warming the room. “You have found my sanctuary, your grace. I often come out here to do exactly as you’re doing. Today I needed a little peace, the guests have been locked away inside for some days now, and I think some are getting a little sick of the indoors.” And she was getting sick of some of them.
He cocked his eyebrow. “You more than most, I assume?”
She nodded once. “You assume correctly, but,” she said, gesturing to his book, “I’m more than willing to leave you in peace and come back tomorrow. I do not want to intrude.” Even though this was her hunting lodge, the duke was here first and she was unchaperoned.
He sat up, placing the book beside him. The action brought home once again how broad he was across the shoulders, his muscular thighs and large hands. The memory of him holding her after she’d run into him floated through her mind, bringing with it other thoughts. Of his hands running over her body, pulling her close, teasing her every nerve and making her shiver.
“Please, stay. You’re shivering and obviously cold. Let me fetch some water and we shall make some tea.”
Mary didn’t correct his assumption about her shivers. She glanced down, pulling off her gloves, controlling herself not to gawk at him as he stood. He collected the old metal kettle from a nearby bench and started for the door. As much as she tried, her gaze sought him out through her lashes and she admired the view of him from behind as he went out the door.
Upon being left alone, she sighed. Whoever married the duke would be a very lucky woman. The idea of being ravished by him was almost enough to drive all thoughts of anyone else out of her head. Certainly Lord Weston didn’t bring forth the ideas and imaginings that the duke did. Nor Lord Fairchild for that matter.
She contemplated that point before he returned and placed the water on the little grill that sat over the flames. He returned to his chair, and folding his legs he asked, “What else do you like to do, Lady Mary, other than sneaking away to hunting lodges when no one is looking?”
His lazy smile made her blood warm. Mary sat, pulling her legs up under her and clasping a nearby pillow to lean against. “Do you really wish to know, your grace?” Not many gentlemen ever cared to know how women passed their time, but then nothing the duke had done since she’d met him had actually made any sense and so she was willing to give him the benefit of her doubts if he really wished to know.
He threw her a half smile. “I would not have asked if I were not interested.”
The duke was becoming more interesting by the minute. “I’m especially fond of fishing both in the winter and summer months. I love to swim and I’ve been practicing rock climbing of late. As you know we have some very good peaks here in Derbyshire.”
A small furrow appeared between his brows. “You like to climb rocky outcrops? Is that not dangerous? Do your parents know you take part in such a sport?”
He looked at her as if she’d lost half her mind.
Mary shrugged. “Do not tell my parents, they do not know. And I have taken precautions and secured some ropes. It’s all perfectly safe, so long as they hold.”
He contemplated her for a long moment, and she fought not to fidget in her chair. How was he able to make her feel all warm and fuzzy every time she was around him? He made her want other things so very different to how her life was at present. Her own home, a marriage, children, all things she’d not had longed for before. She frowned, the thought was as perplexing as it was frightening.
“You should not be climbing rocks by yourself, Lady Mary. What if you fell? It could be days, weeks even, before anyone found you in these parts. You could be long expired by then.”
All true, and nothing she’d not thought about herself, but all her hobbies were an escape of duty and she would be loath to have to stop. It was who she was after all, to pretend to be anyone else was impossible to imagine.
“I never climb overly high, but I like the thrill of it.” She sighed, smiling at the thought that next year would be her last opportunity to be so carefree. Unless she found a husband who allowed her to continue her passions. “It’s such a rush when I reach the peak, makes me simply want to do it again and again.”
The duke shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Tea, I think.”
Dale didn’t move from his chair. He knew he ought to get up and help Lady Mary with the teacups, sugar and teapot, but he simply could not move. Not yet at least. After her little chat about rock climbing, reaching peaks and wanting to do it again and again, all he could think about was what she would look like beneath him, giving and gaining pleasure.
The hardness in his pants would be obvious to even a blind person, and so he sat, trying to imagine anything other than the little minx before him, writhing, gasping, biting that sweet bottom lip of hers as he brought them both to climax.
He groaned, flopping his head back to look up at the ceiling. He was a veritable ass. A blaggard who could think of nothing but plucking this sweet rose before him and putting her in his coat pocket.
Mary sat the tea in front of him, setting out the cups and saucers while they waited for the kettle to boil over the flames. “Is everything well, your grace. You look a little flushed.”
He sat forward, in part to try and disguise his groin, which thankfully was starting to behave itself, but also because he wanted to be closer to her. “I am well, I assure you. Just enjoying my unexpected company.”
She smiled at him. The gesture was genuine, and laughter lurked in her eyes. Peter’s sister was, if he were to summarize her at all, a jovial, happy kind of woman. She certainly spoke to their guests as if all of them were her friends, and she liked to laugh at jokes, even when Dale didn’t find all of those being told by Lord Weston overly amusing.
Dale decided he liked her very much and would like to see her settled and happy and with a gentleman who allowed her to do as she pleased, including rock climbing.
“I am too. When I heard Peter was bringing a duke home this year, I did have a rather unfortunate notion as to what you would be like.”
“Really,” he said, interested to know what her thoughts may have been. His, upon seeing her the first time, were less than complimentary, and he was ashamed of what he had thought of her that night. A disaster with very little fashion sense. The woman who sat before him had taken charge of her life, and was unrecognizable to the woman he’d first seen. “Do tell me your thoughts.”
Lady Mary grinned, her eyes dancing with mischief. “I actually thought you would be a prig. All lofty airs and looking down your nose at all of us. Even though my father is an earl and Peter is your friend, I couldn’t help but wonder if you’d find such house parties, festive and merry to be too tame for you?”
“Ahh,” he said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “So you’ve heard the rumors?”
Her grin increased and Dale found himself smiling. “Are they rumors or statements of fact?” She schooled her features and threw him a penetrating gaze. “Are you really as wild as they say you are? Or is the ton mistaken in judging you so wrong?”
Dale wished they were judging him incorrectly, but it wasn’t so. So how would he answer such a question without looking like the established rake that, in truth, he was. “The ton is not wholly incorrect.” He couldn’t say more, as it was this conversat
ion was highly inappropriate. To tell Peter’s sister that he’d had multiple bed partners, sometimes at the same time, was not what this, this… “Your brother tells me you’re three and twenty.”
“That is correct.” She stood and going over to the fire, picked up a cloth that sat on the mantle and then took the kettle off the boil. She poured the hot water into the tea pot, jiggling it a little before letting it sit to brew.
“How old are you?” she asked in return, meeting his gaze.
“Eight and twenty. Old enough to know that our conversation subject is not appropriate.”
She chuckled, deep and teasing and the sound warmed his blood. He shouldn’t like her this much or her company. He’d certainly never had this reaction to anyone else before. “Then it is lucky that I’m not appropriate. You only need to ask my family just how inappropriate I can be at times. I’m certainly a little too rough about the edges for most people. As well you’ve found out.”
“I like your rough edges.” Dale shut his mouth with a snap. What was he saying! She was his best friend’s sister. And from the looks that Peter had thrown at him the other night at dinner he did not want Dale going anywhere near her. Not to mention Lady Mary’s family expecting her to make a fine match next Season. He hoped she would not consider him in her pursuit of marriage. He would make a terrible husband for her. With both their independent natures, their life would never be calm and sedate, and she did not possess the biddable nature he’d always wanted in a bride and marriage.
God knows Dale would never tolerate being managed by a bluestocking.
“I daresay we shall be friends, your grace?”
Her statement pulled him from his musings and he nodded. “Of course. I would like to think so.”
She leaned forward and poured two cups of tea. “Sugar? Milk?”
“Both please,” he replied, having always had a sweet tooth, even when it came to his hot beverages.
Lady Mary passed him the cup, a small delicate saucer beneath the fine china and Dale took the opportunity to touch her gloveless fingers. They were warm, soft and did odd things to his stomach.
“Thank you,” he said, leaning back in his chair and taking a well-needed sip.
“If we’re to be friends, may I call you by your given name. I would like you to call me Mary.”
A little warning voice in his mind told him this familiarity was wrong. That he shouldn’t be so lax in manners with such a woman, let alone on a first-name basis, but ignoring his own counsel, he found himself saying, “I would like that. You in turn may call me Dale, or Carlton.”
Pleased with herself, she settled back onto her seat, once again tucking her legs beneath her on the chair. “Good, because now that we’re familiar friends and you’re worldly, I’d like some more advice.”
Oh damn it. What had he got himself into now? “It depends on what you ask,” he said, caution shadowing his tone.
“I’d like some advice on Lord Weston. I’ve known him, you see, most of my life, he’s our neighbor after all, and since he spends so much time in Town, if I were to marry him, I’d be free to stay here in Derbyshire, close to home and all my favorite places in the world to explore.”
A cold hard rock lodged in his gut at the thought of Mary marrying Lord Popinjay who was, in Dale’s estimation, worse than himself when it came to his philandering about town. Unlike Dale, Lord Weston did not care what happened to his conquests after he’d had his way. He simply turned his back and moved on. That gentleman loved the chase, loved being the center of attention, and Dale knew right down to his core that he’d never be faithful to Mary.
“On further reflection, I do not believe Lord Weston is suitable after all.” He took a sip of his tea, not missing the flash of annoyance in Mary’s eyes. “He’s not looking for a wife. He told Peter and myself that only days ago. You should look to Lord Fairchild. He is better suited to your nature.”
“Even so,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “I’m sure that if I managed to kiss his lordship, he would see that we would suit. And that I’d be no trouble in the marriage.”
Dale only just stopped himself from cursing. To marry Lord Weston would mean a marriage possibly worse than his parents’ had been. Mary would demand loyalty, respect and freedom. All of those things would be lacking if she married Lord Weston. It would only be a matter of time before she’d realize her mistake that unfortunately she’d have to live with for years to come.
“You will not be kissing Lord Weston or marrying him. He’s not for you.”
She raised her brow, peering at him with interest. “He’s the best situated. His estate is right across the fields, for heaven’s sake. And you’re wrong also. I will kiss his lordship, if I want. No matter if you think I cannot claim one.”
Dale placed his cup of tea on the table before them, leaning forward. “I think he would be a fool if he kissed you. It would give you false hope. If his lordship did kiss you it would only be for his own selfish reasons to dally with you.”
She stood, an indignant huff escaping her mouth. “You don’t think I’m kissable.”
Oh hell no, that was not what he was thinking, especially now that she was all fire and brimstone. If only she knew right at this moment, he wanted to claim her mouth. Kiss her hard and deep, pull her close and have her for himself. “Of course not, but young women such as yourself, an innocent—”
“Oh please, spare me the lecture,” she said, cutting him off. “I will prove it to you. Before this house party is over I shall kiss Lord Weston properly and I’m going to tell you all about it, and then you will know what you can do with your thoughts on my age and innocence.”
Before he could reply, she flounced out of the lodge, slamming the door behind her. “Bloody hell,” he swore. Now he’d gone and pricked her pride. And now he would have to watch her like a hawk so she didn’t make a fool of herself with Lord Weston. Who, just like a cat, played with its victim before consuming them. And he was determined Lady Mary would not be anyone’s feast.
Chapter 7
Mary kept away from the Duke over the next couple of days, even though his gaze was on her every second of every day. He was shadowing her, she was sure, ensuring she didn’t follow through on her threat to kiss Lord Weston. Not that she’d had a chance to even get close to his lordship since her mama’s friend, Lady Hectorville had taken a liking to the young viscount.
Tonight, her Mama had set up a card night for all her guests to enjoy. Mary sat beside Louise at the whist table, and contemplated her cards, all the while aware of the scowling duke who sat beside her. But unlike herself, he was scowling at her not the cards he held in his hand.
Was he so very mad at her for telling him that she would kiss Lord Weston? Why it bothered him she couldn’t fathom. Probably a brotherly affection he felt honored to have due to his friendship with Peter. She studied him, trying to make him out. He glanced up from his cards, his dark hooded gaze full of determination and something else lurked in his eyes. What though she couldn’t fathom. Her skin prickled with awareness and she glanced back down at the table, feeling unsettled of a sudden.
Louise dealt the last round, and going through the play, luck was on Mary’s side and she won the last trick with an ace of hearts, beating the duke’s king of hearts. Mary laughed, clapping at her good fortune. She smiled at the duke feeling quite the conqueror. His grace leaned back in his chair, throwing his cards on the table
“Well done, Lady Mary. You’ve beaten us all.”
“Of course, I always get what I want, your grace,” she said, wanting him to know she didn’t just mean at a game of cards. She glanced about the room, noting that Lord Weston was no longer present. Where had he gone? He had been watching them play.
“Another game, Mary?” Louise asked, shuffling the deck to the best of her ability.
“Not just at the moment, Louise.” Mary stood. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.”
She started for the door with the plan of saying, sho
uld anyone ask, that she was intending to use the retiring room her mama had set up downstairs. Mary came out into the hall and turned toward where the room was located. Her parents’ country house was one of the largest in the county, and as a young girl she’d lost count when trying to tally how many rooms there were.
The hall had multiple sconces lighting her way, along with candelabras, the smell of beeswax permeating the air. The Aubusson runner beneath her feet cushioned her every step and she smiled, greeting a couple of ladies that she passed on her way. Arriving at the retiring room door, she continued on. Lord Weston had taken a liking to her father’s billiard room and it was possible he was spending some time there.
She came up to the room, and peeked through the door. Candelabras were alight, a well-tended fire burning in the grate, but the room itself was empty. Frowning, she turned about wondering where else he would be. Mary continued on and searched the conservatory, the terrace and all were without a soul.
Maybe he’d returned to the card room. She headed back and taking a short cut, she went through her father’s library, and the small office that he used when in need of peace and privacy. This area had not been lit, but knowing the room well she crossed the space toward the other door that led onto a corridor with little trouble.
That’s when she heard it. A feminine chuckle followed by a male gasp and heavy panting.
Mary stilled, having never heard such a noise before. She looked into the dark recesses of the room, but with her father’s desk sitting paramount in the space, Mary could not see beyond.
Another male gasp. “Yes, just like that. Suck it.”
Mary slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her gasp. Why in the world would a man be saying such a thing? And who was he saying it to? With the whispered voices she’d not been able to make out which of her parents’ guests were ensconced behind the desk, but certainly two were.
