The Wooing of Miss Masters

by Susan Carroll

  Audra had slept badly, but she had hoped upon awakening to find that her sanity had been restored. It hadn't. From the first fluttering open of her eyes, images of Raeburn had danced before her, filling her with strange yearnings, quicksilver flashes of panic.

  When she had chanced upon the duke's estate agent riding down High Street, Audra hadn't thought twice. She had impulsively informed Mr. Wylie of her decision to quit the lodge.

  But now with the village left far behind her, balancing the unwieldy parcel of books, lace, and scent, Audra began to have doubts as to the wisdom of her action. She was more than a little ashamed. She knew she was running away. Absurd! Just because the Duke of Raeburn had kissed her. His Grace had no reputation for being a lecherous fiend. Despite his unconventional manner, his gruff ways, he was still a gentleman. She was not sure what his intentions were, only that they could not be dishonorable.

  What truly alarmed her was that when she had been in his arms, she would not have cared if his thoughts had been a trifle wicked. She had only wanted his kiss to go on forever, and good sense, reputation, the world itself could all spin away and be damned.

  She had sometimes wondered what it would be like to fancy oneself in love. It was every bit as giddy and feverish as she had imagined. She was behaving as badly as Lady Arabella ever had.

  Audra winced at that reflection. She couldn't help remembering the time she had caught Mama planning to elope, run off from her fourth husband, poor dull Sir Claude Skeffington. Mama had been infatuated with an army captain, a dazzling individual with his bristling mustache and bright red regimentals. None of Audra's pleadings had been capable of bringing Lady Arabella to her senses.

  Mama would have created the most dreadful scandal, but luckily, the captain had failed to keep the appointed rendezvous. Lady Arabella had been heartbroken until the end of the week when she had fallen violently in love with that poet she'd met at the Countess Lievens' drum.

  The entire incident had been far more wearying to Audra than to her mama. It had taught her quite early on that sudden outbreaks of love were to be treated as highly suspect, given no more consideration than a severe case of the measles.

  As for her own recent brush with what Mama had always called the grande passion, Audra told herself she would recover. When she had left Meadow's Lane, she would forget this disconcerting interlude with the Duke of Raeburn. She would return to the peace and solitary existence she had always desired.

  Yet far from offering her consolation, this reassurance only caused a cold lump to settle in the bottom of her heart. Never had peace and quiet seemed such a dismal and lonely prospect.

  She attempted to shake off this lowering feeling and quicken her footsteps. It would be as well if she could make it back to the lodge before the rain commenced. She would have to endure another of her aunt's scoldings if she returned soaked. Mrs. Saunders was likely to be vexed enough when she discovered that Audra had gone into the village unaccompanied by her maid.

  Bent upon hastening her steps, Audra little heeded what lay ahead of her as she rounded a curving in the lane. She was considerably startled when a blur of russet streaked across her path from the shelter of the nearby field.

  Audra dropped her packages and emitted a gasp, more of surprise than alarm. The animal froze in its tracks. It was a small fox with a white chest, glossy red coat, and black-tipped brush. For a brief instant, Audra found herself staring into liquid gold eyes with a canny intelligence that was almost human.

  "You little beauty," she murmured, catching her breath at the sight of the animal, but the cub was already scrambling beneath the hedges opposite. Before Audra had time to recover, she caught another sound above the rustle of leaves. From a great distance across the fields, she heard the blast of a horn and the faint baying of hounds.

  "Entwhistle," Audra muttered. She gazed anxiously in the direction the fox had disappeared, trying to gauge the animal's chances of escape. Beyond the hedgerow was nothing but more open field. It was a long way to the distant outline of the woods. Unless the cub had a burrow nearby, it was likely to be overtaken. Of course on such a windy day, there was always a chance that Entwhistle's hounds would lose the scent.

  But as Audra's gaze fell upon the parcels she had dropped, an idea came to her. She didn't intend to leave the matter to chance. Seizing the smallest package, she ripped it open, revealing the bottle of rosewater she had purchased for Cecily. Racing to the spot in the lane where the fox had first appeared, she uncorked the bottle and began spattering the contents.

  The cry of the hounds was closer now. Audra could spot the outline of riders tearing across the field, hard. She had just enough time to grab up the remains of her packages and dart down the lane to find a hiding place behind the hedgerows.

  Crouching low behind the thorny branches, she could hear in the road beyond a thunder of activity. Peering between the leaves, some fifty yards away, she could see Entwhistle's hounds, blundering along the lane, their baying petering out in confusion.

  With breathless satisfaction, Audra watched the black-and-white dogs coming to a halt. Tails thrust in the air, noses bent to the ground, they snuffled the place where Cecily's rosewater had sunk into the dirt.

  It was not long before the field of riders rushed up, Sir Ralph in the lead. His huntsman shouted out, "Hold hard." Audra winced at the way Entwhistle sawed back on his reins, pulling around his switch-tail bay.

  While the whipper-in ran forward to take charge of the dogs, Sir Ralph was already cursing. "Damned curs! They've lost 'im." Not even giving the hounds time to cast, Entwhistle began to lay about with his whip.

  When one of the dogs yelped, Audra bit down upon her lip, almost sorry for the trick she had served. Quivering with indignation, she started to rise from her hiding place, about to tell Sir Ralph she would take that whip to him in another moment.

  But she was stopped by the sound of an excited bray. One of the dogs had sniffed its way past the rosewater and was setting up a terrific howl.

  The huntsman seized Sir Ralph's arm, stopping him in mid-slash. "That's Flyaway, sir. He's recovered the scent."

  "Then don't dawdle, you fool. Sound the horn."

  To Audra's dismay, she saw the other hounds joining Flyaway and a mad scramble through the hedge commenced. As they erupted into the field, only a stone's throw from where she crouched, Audra tried to shrink down lower.

  The huntsman was blowing out the notes of "gone away," while the whipper-in shouted encouragement. "Huic, huic, at him, my beauties. Forward!”

  "Oh, no," Audra moaned, already realizing what would follow. She shoved herself as far under the hedge as she could, the thorns tearing at her hands and bonnet. The ground beneath her seemed to tremble as the riders, hard after the dogs, began to jump the hedge. Flying hooves tossed up chunks of dirt coming dangerously near her. She covered her head with her arms, closing her eyes, holding her breath lest one of the horses fail to clear the hedge.

  The thundering seemed to rage forever, but in what could have been no more than seconds, the fearful din began to recede. Much shaken, Audra opened her eyes to see the dogs and riders vanishing across the field without a backward glance.

  Exhaling a tremulous breath, she struggled to a standing position and brushed herself off. Straightening her bonnet, she regarded the scratches stinging her hands. Well, that little episode had not turned out quite the way she had planned. But she had not been trampled, and perhaps she had bought the cub a little more time to make its escape.

  Though still shaky, she fought her way back through the hedge to the lane, only to realize she had quit her hiding place too soon. Another rider, straggling behind the rest of the hunt, galloped toward her down the lane.

  Audra thought of diving for cover but felt far too bruised to go through that again. It didn't matter in any case, for the approaching rider had already seen her and bellowed out her name.

  Audra winced at the sound of Raeburn’s voice. But she was more resigned than s
urprised. Of course it would be him. Was it not the man's mission in life to come upon her when she least desired or expected him?

  As he reined in his powerful black gelding, Audra stared up into the duke's fierce dark eyes. Despite how dazed she felt from her own narrow escape, her heart did a foolish flutter. Raeburn made a much more impressive figure on horseback than Sir Ralph. So tall, the wind riffling the ends of his black hair, the storm clouds themselves seemed to cling to the broad outline of his shoulders.

  "Audra!" he snapped. "Are you all right?"

  She managed to nod as he slid from the back of his horse.

  "Are you sure? You haven't broken anything?"

  He ran his hands lightly over her arms. Even through the layer of her cloak and gown, she was too conscious of his touch. None of her bones had been broken, but they stood in danger of melting if he pulled her any closer.

  Thrusting his hands away, she breathed. "I am fine, truly."

  His concern dissolved into a furious glower. "You damned little fool. What have you been about now? I crested the rise of the hill a moment ago, and I saw some idiot female darting behind the hedges, right in the path of where the hunt would go through. I never imagined it would be you."

  "I didn't think I could be seen. I am fortunate Sir Ralph didn't notice me."

  "Fortunate! Was it your wish to be trampled by that buffoon and his infernal pack?"

  "No, of course not." Although a flush of embarrassment stole over her cheeks, Audra felt obliged to explain what she had done with the rosewater, her futile attempt to divert the dogs.

  Raeburn's scowl only deepened as he listened to her halting explanation. "You were following Sir Ralph about the countryside to sabotage his hunt?"

  "No, it was merely an impulse." She stiffened defensively. "I know it sounds foolish, but I cannot bear to see any creature harmed, not even a fox. Just another of my eccentricities, I suppose. You wouldn't understand."

  "I understand perfectly."

  That was the devil of it. He did, perhaps more than any other person she had ever known. Those dark eyes of his glowed with such empathy, they seemed to reach out and embrace her, although he scolded, "I don't want to ever catch you taking such a risk again. If you did not already look so thoroughly shaken, I'd box your ears, my girl."

  The possessiveness in those gruff tones should have offended her. Instead she felt her knees go weak. She backed away. "The danger is quite past now, so you need not concern yourself. I dropped my parcels behind the hedge. I'd best fetch them."

  "Just one moment, Audra. I must speak with you." He caught hold of her arm and brought her around to face him. "There are some other things going on that I do not understand. What's this nonsense about your leaving Meadow Lane?"

  She caught her lip between her teeth. "So Mr. Wylie has already been to see you. He didn't waste any time." There was no reason she should feel so guilty, but she couldn't bring herself to meet Raeburn's eyes. "I hope my decision to give up the lease doesn't inconvenience Your Grace."

  "I find it damnably inconvenient. I suppose this latest ill-judged start has something to do with what happened last night—"

  "I would as soon forget last night. That has nothing to do with my decision. It is only that once Cecily has gone to London, the lodge will seem so empty. Even Uncle Matthew has spoken of giving up his living, retiring to Bath."

  "That rascal? Spending the rest of his days sipping medicinal waters with a parcel of elderly dowagers? You'd best come up with a better tale than that, my dear."

  "In any case, I see no reason for me to remain here."

  "Don't you?" Raeburn's voice took on a dangerous note. A wave of panic washed over her, and she backed away from him.

  "You'd best ride on, sir. It will rain soon. I must make haste myself, or my aunt and sister will wonder what has become of me."

  Spinning on her heel, she set off down the road at a breathless pace. But it was utterly to no avail. She heard him coming after her. Short of running, there was no way she could outdistance his lengthy strides.

  Leading his horse by the reins, he fell into step beside her. When she dared risk a glance at him, she noticed he was scowling, though more out of confusion than anger.

  "Audra, what is troubling you?" he asked.

  She wasn't prepared for him to speak to her that way, not in that quiet, almost tender tone of voice. "Nothing."

  "Then why are you running away again?"

  "I am not."

  He gave a low mirthless laugh. "My dear girl, if I was prepared to let you, you would hike up your skirts and go bolting away from me faster than that poor fox fled Entwhistle's dogs."

  She made no attempt to deny it, only hung her head, wishing she'd worn a bonnet with a larger poke to conceal more of her face.

  "I realize my behavior last night was abominable," he said. "I am not very good at declaring myself. In fact, I suppose I haven't done so at all. But when I kissed you, you cannot be thinking that I meant anything dishonorable."

  "Oh, no. I don't think you meant anything at all. It was merely a wager, a foolish jest. Pray, let us say no more about it."

  "It was no jest then, and I am not jesting now. I want to marry you."

  "Oh." Her hands flew to her face. Bonnet? She needed a very large hat with a heavy veil. "That is very honorable of Your Grace, to be sure, but a little excessive. It was only one kiss. There is no need for you to feel obliged to offer me, as if you had compromised me."

  "Compromised!" he growled, stopping dead in his tracks. "If you don't stop talking such fustian, I'll show you compromise. Damn it woman, I am in love with you."

  His words sent a shaft of almost delirious joy through her, but she firmly quelled it. "That's not possible, Your Grace. You hardly know me. It's unlikely you could be in love upon such short acquaintance."

  "It's unlikely to be struck by lightning, too, but we both know it happens. I am as fully aware as you how mad this all sounds, but I cannot help it. I love you."

  "Then I think you should go home and have a long lie down, Your Grace. Until you are more yourself again."

  "Is this your way of refusing me?" He cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him as he demanded, "Are you telling me you feel nothing for me?"

  Audra thought it would have been much easier if she could tell him exactly that, but it was impossible, not when she was being held hostage by his eyes. "I admit I was also swept away last night, but no one knows better than I to mistrust such sudden emotions."

  "Indeed? And exactly how many other times has such a thing happened to you?"

  "None," she was forced to admit. "But I watched my mother fall in and out of love twice a week."

  "You are not your mother, Audra."

  "No? I'm beginning to have my doubts."

  His sudden sharp intake of breath warned her that he had reached the end of his patience. But she did not have time to react before he seized her by both shoulders. As he hauled her roughly against him, her protest was muffled by his mouth coming down hard upon hers.

  She struggled against his ruthless kiss, but it was to no avail. She was no match against his iron strength. And after a time, her struggles became feeble as to be nonexistent. Even when his lips released hers, she could seem to do no more than murmur, "Please. . ."

  "Now," he said hoarsely. "Now what of your doubts, Audra? I'm no rake, but I've kissed enough women to assure you this is no fleeting passion between us. I'm not asking you to marry me tomorrow or even next month. Just stay on at the lodge. Give us a chance to become better acquainted and then—"

  "I can't," she cried. "I won't. I never wanted anything like this to happen to me. I have always been content as a spinster, to live quietly with my books, alone. Can you not understand?"

  "No, I don't."

  But this time when she struggled to be free, he released her. "I am not the sort to take a bride by force, but go ahead and run away if you feel you must. I can only tell you this from bitter experience. A b
ook doesn't make a very warm companion on a cold winter's night, Miss Masters."

  He turned upon his heel. Raeburn's gelding had used the interlude to wander away, cropping some grass. The duke covered the distance to his mount in long strides. Audra had a wild urge to call him back, but proudly, stubbornly, she pressed her lips together.

  Seizing the reins, he swung into the saddle and brought the horse around to face her. "I suppose this is farewell, then? I could always tell Wylie to hold off seeking another tenant for the lodge . . . in case you should change your mind."

  "I fear that I won't."

  He stared down at her and slowly shook his head, but the gesture was rife with more disappointment than anger. "Strange, but I would have wagered most handsomely that you would never be afraid to throw your heart over. It appears that I did not know you as well as I thought."

  With a final salute, he urged his horse into a gallop and was gone. Long after he had vanished, Audra stood in the middle of the lane, not knowing whether to cry or curse him. His parting words stung. He had practically called her a coward.

  "It doesn't matter," she said fiercely. "It is as well I am blessed with good sense, Your Grace, since you have clearly taken leave of yours."

  Her mind yet reeled with the shock of it. The Duke of Raeburn in love with her, asking her to marry him. It was mad, ridiculous and impossible.

  "A proper duchess I would make." She sniffed scornfully. And if Raeburn were in his right mind, he would realize the absurdity of it. Someday when he recovered his wits, he would thank her for being so prudent as to remove herself from his proximity, before they were both tempted to embark upon some foolish course they would regret forever.

  Buoyed up by these convictions, Audra returned to gather up the parcels she had left scattered behind the hedge. But as she recommenced her weary trudge homeward, such a mood of self-righteousness did not last for long.

  This is farewell, then. . . . Simon's voice kept echoing through her mind until she wished she could weep as easily as Cecily did. It might have done her a great deal of good to be able to sob her heart out. But there was nothing she could do but keep walking. Numb at heart, she didn't even notice when it began to rain.