The Duke's Reluctant Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “Speaking of the children…” she began.

  “Aye?” At last Trick dropped the quill on the desk and went back to sit and reclaim his drink.

  Watching him, she realized this was the one chamber in Amberley House where he truly seemed at ease. Comfortable rather than opulent, it was furnished with the same classic eye to design as the cottage. Polish glinted from the deep grooves in the serviceable walnut desk where she sat, and the shelves behind Trick were stocked with well-read tomes.

  “What about the children?” he asked.

  “You’ll remember, before you left, that I said I wanted to teach them some classical myths.” She fiddled with the quill in her hands. “They’re excellent learners, all of them.”

  One sandy brow quirked. “Even Thomas?”

  “Well, maybe not Thomas.” She smiled, thinking of the mischievous towhead and all the other children, all the fun she’d been having with them. “In any case, we’re almost finished with the Greek stories, and before we start in on the Romans, I was thinking I’d like to throw an Olympian party.”

  Trick looked completely nonplussed. “A what?”

  “An Olympian party. I know money is tight, but I’ve been pondering this, and I really don’t think it will be expensive. The children can all dress up as their favorite god or goddess—I came across plenty of unused dress lengths in storage that they can wrap toga style. And decorations needn’t be too costly. Phillips has agreed to help me make columns—”

  “You’ve talked to the servants about this?”

  “They think it’s a fine idea. We’ll eat ambrosia and drink nectar, and the children can each retell their favorite myth…it would be such a treat for them, don’t you think? And reinforce what they learned, so they’ll be even more eager for the next—”

  “It sounds brilliant.”

  “It won’t cost much—”

  “Kendra.” He set down his glass. “Have your party with my blessings.”

  “Really?”

  The Duke of Lechmere would never have allowed it. Neither would he have allowed her a hand in the finances, which Trick had accepted with an easy grace. Hang her brothers’ method of pushing them together, but she had to admit that she and Trick did suit.

  If only he hadn’t refused to tell her why he’d gone to London and declined to take her along. Well, not refused precisely, but dodged the question as skillfully as he did many of her others. Then again, she supposed she could hardly expect him to tell her the truth, since she’d decided he must be hiding a mistress in London.

  A man has needs, she’d heard her brothers say, and she knew full well she wasn’t fulfilling Trick’s. So perhaps it was best if he filled those needs elsewhere, even if the thought did rankle. This way, she could have Amberley and her orphanage and Trick’s companionship, without worrying about the other.

  Marriage was better all around than she’d anticipated. She couldn’t imagine why she’d fought it so long.

  Life was nearly perfect.

  EIGHTEEN

  A WEEK LATER, Kendra waved to the children gathered on the steps of Caldwell Manor. “Good-bye! Take care, Mrs. Jackson!”

  “Good-bye, Mrs. Kendra!” they called. “Good-bye, Mr. Caldwell!”

  Yawning, Kendra wheeled Pandora around to join Trick, who was mounted on his favorite horse, Chaucer. “They’re excited about the party,” Trick said as they started down the lane.

  “Two days. I can hardly wait. But there’s still much to arrange.”

  “You’re very organized. With everything else you find to do, I cannot believe you threw this together so quickly.”

  She shrugged. Planning the party had been the easiest part of her week. It had been much harder to resist her husband.

  His offhand touches and occasional fleeting kisses never failed to set her ablaze, igniting her curiosity and desire for more. Yet she never quite forgot her fear.

  She presumed he understood that too, as he did not touch her in bed. Though he insisted on sharing, he left her alone, which, in its own way, she found every bit as frustrating.

  She hadn’t come by much sleep since he’d been home.

  “I think we should check on the barn,” he said. “See how the roof is coming along.”

  She yawned again, then shook herself awake. “I’ll race you.”

  He was off without another word.

  She kicked Pandora into a gallop after him. His tawny gelding had a head start, but she slowly gained on him until they were neck and neck. She took gulps of the rushing air, feeling it revive her, enjoying the pace, the wind in her hair, the thrill of competition. When Pandora passed the barn first, ahead of Chaucer by a nose, she laughed triumphantly.

  “Good girl, Pandora,” she cooed, patting the mare’s deep-brown neck.

  “You won,” Trick conceded with a grin. He slid off his horse, coming close. “Why did you name her Pandora?”

  “Simple.” Craftily Kendra dismounted on the far side. “Like the Greek goddess opening her box of problems, she leads me into trouble.”

  She started toward the barn, but he rounded Pandora and easily caught up to her. “Leads you into trouble, does she?”

  “All the time. She led me to you, didn’t she?” With his hand on her arm, Kendra had little choice but to stop. She turned to meet his eyes. “Trouble.”

  “That was her fault, aye?”

  “Yes, it must have been. I certainly didn’t head for Amberley on purpose.”

  “And are you sorry?”

  Trapped in his amber gaze, she shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  “Neither am I.”

  Kendra’s heart beat double-time when he took her face between his hands. His fingers were warm, and so was his breath as he leaned in for a kiss.

  “Amberley!”

  Trick’s hands dropped from her cheeks, and they both looked up to see a carriage approaching. A florid man stuck his head out the open window. “We’ve come to pay our respects,” the man called. “To you and your lovely bride.”

  “Garrick,” Trick muttered under his breath. “And Fielding, Faraday, and Milner, I’m guessing.” The carriage rolled to a stop, and sure enough, four men climbed out.

  Kendra recognized all of them—minor aristocrats who lived in the vicinity. Though they weren’t important enough to have been on her brothers’ list of potential husbands, country life was insular, and she’d met them at various entertainments over the years. Just last summer she’d danced with Fielding and Milner at Jason and Cait’s wedding celebration ball. She’d found Fielding rather charming in a bumbling sort of way, but Milner’s breath had smelled like overaged cheese.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Trick said. “Welcome.”

  He didn’t sound like he meant it.

  Garrick walked over to pump Trick’s hand. “Congratulations, congratulations.”

  He had a big round head and a belly to match. Apparently he needed to fill it, because when he took out his pocket watch and flipped it open, his flabby lips broke into a grin.

  “We’re just in time for supper, are we not?”

  NINETEEN

  “TRICK?” KENDRA murmured, awakened by the soft sounds of her husband moving about the bedchamber. Her eyes fluttered open to glimpse his gold hair haloed by the morning sun that streamed through the window.

  Turning, he smiled and came close, leaning down to brush his lips over hers. “You fell asleep on me last night,” he accused, straightening and disappearing into the dressing room.

  “Did I?” She stretched beneath the covers. “I don’t remember a thing past supper.”

  “You nodded into your chicken cullis.” His voice sounded muffled, then stronger as he strode back into the room, carrying a pair of boots and a surcoat. “And I’d thought you were enjoying our impromptu party.”

  “And the cullis was so good,” she recalled.

  He grinned. “You only liked it so much because it was sweet.”

  “I don’t expect I made a
good impression. Are those men really your friends?”

  “Aye, and your brothers’ friends, too.” He sat on a tufted velvet chair to pull on the boots. “We all play whist once a month.”

  “The mysterious weekend house parties.” More secrets. This man was so evasive, she wondered if she’d ever truly come to know him. “Why do men have to be so secretive?” she said more darkly than she intended.

  But he didn’t seem to notice. “Harmless games,” he answered with a shrug. “Did you not like the fellows?”

  “Faraday is a terrible flirt, especially given he’s married. Fielding is agreeable enough, but never quite seems to know what he’s about. Garrick is rather strange, is he not? He couldn’t seem to stay seated, always seemed to be poking around. I wonder what he could have been looking for? And Milner wears entirely too much scent. He should think about taking a bath instead.”

  His gaze on her, Trick rose. “Very astute. I couldn’t have summed them up so succinctly, and I’ve socialized with them for months. You were with them naught but a couple of hours.”

  She shrugged. “L’amitié ferme les yeux.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Friendship closes its eyes,” she translated. “It’s an old French saying I used to hear on the Continent.”

  “Ah. Quite so.”

  She watched him shrug into the surcoat. “What do you see in those men?”

  “Money. They always lose.” He grinned as he slid his sword into his belt, then took a pistol from atop the dressing table, hefting it before arming himself with it as well. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” He came to her, bending for one more kiss, soft and lingering, before he straightened once again. “Rest up.”

  With a muted click, the door closed behind him, and she listened to his footsteps retreat down the corridor. It wasn’t until a few minutes later, when she replayed his words—and his kisses—in her mind, that she realized he’d been wearing all black.

  HE WAS GETTING close. With any luck, this would be the last time.

  He’d pulled two robberies this week while Kendra was reading to the children at Caldwell Manor. He wished he’d escaped unseen today, but she’d lain abed late, and it had been necessary to leave.

  He’d seen a pattern occurring, every third day mid-morning, and today was day number three. He could only hope his wife had been sleepy enough that she hadn’t noticed what he’d been about.

  She’d been losing sleep. Over him? The thought made him smile.

  He was making subtle progress, in more areas than one.

  TWENTY

  HER PULSE pounding, Kendra dismounted and tethered Pandora to a tree, then made her way on foot to the hill.

  As she neared the crest, she dropped to her knees. One hand snaked out and snatched a hat, a handsome brown one with a bright yellow plume. She perched it on her head and slithered forward on her belly, tossing the wooden block behind her and lying low, hopefully at the same level as the other hats. Maneuvering a pipe before her, she propped her chin on it and focused on the road below.

  Dear heavens, Trick had someone already. Mounted on Chaucer, he aimed his pistol into the gaping blackness of an open coach door. Her heart thundered in her chest as a gray-garbed man emerged and climbed reluctantly to the road.

  “Oh, aye?” Trick’s drawl floated up to her. “You may want to reconsider. My friends would think it great sport to put a bullet through your chest. Or a dozen, maybe. Ah, a contest. Target practice on your sorry hide.”

  The man would have been quaking in his boots, except he was wearing ugly thick shoes with dull silver buckles. His eyes flicked nervously up toward Kendra, and she held her breath when Trick’s gaze followed. It took every ounce of her will to keep from flinching or ducking as her husband squinted in her direction.

  The victim’s eyes narrowed. In seeming slow motion, Kendra watched as the man backed away, one hand deliberately rising. He stared at Trick with a tight expression that made a cold knot form in Kendra’s stomach, especially because her husband’s concentration remained fixed on the place where she hid.

  Why, oh why had she come? Recognition lit Trick’s eyes along with clear displeasure, and she knew he would kill her—if he didn’t die first. As the stranger’s hand inched beneath his coat, her fingers clenched on the pipe, vainly searching for the fake gun’s nonexistent trigger.

  Why wasn’t Trick taking heed?

  And why wasn’t the Roundhead afraid of Trick’s “friends”? In her peripheral vision, she could see the hats and pipes lined up in a soldierlike array. An explicit threat to anyone below. But the stranger’s edginess was obvious, his gaze glued to Trick, who in turn was still focused on her.

  The victim wasn’t thinking clearly, Kendra realized—distracted as he was, he couldn’t be counted on to act rationally. Which made him dangerous. As his hand delved even deeper, she found it increasingly hard to hold still, and Trick wasn’t paying attention.

  Silver flashed—a pistol or a knife? It happened so quickly, Kendra couldn’t be sure. Her heart seemed to stop, and her mouth opened to cry out a warning. But before it could pass her lips, her husband burst into action.

  A blur of flying arms and legs, Trick leapt from his horse. He landed and twisted the Roundhead’s hand up behind him, all in one smooth motion. The next thing Kendra knew, a gun had thudded to the ground, and the man was facedown in the dirt with a knee in the small of his back.

  Her heart stuttered and restarted. Where on earth had Trick learned to do that? Most of the men she knew trained with pistols and swords, and quite a few were proficient in boxing, besides. But those were gentlemen’s sports—nothing like what Trick had just done. She’d never seen such lightning-fast reactions.

  Evidently, neither had the Roundhead. Fear was etched on his face, and she could see his legs shaking when Trick finally allowed him to rise, still holding one arm twisted back and high.

  Relief singing through her veins, she collapsed flat on her belly. The hat fell off, rolling a foot before it slipped over the edge and tumbled to the road below with a muted plop that made her grimace.

  But her husband didn’t spare it—or her—a glance. At his bidding, the man managed to empty both pockets with his one free hand, defeat evident as he hurried to comply. When Trick demanded his coat as well, he relinquished it without argument.

  After a short glimpse into the cabin and a circuit around the coach seemed to convince Trick no more booty was forthcoming, he released the stranger and shoved him inside. Motionless, he held Chaucer’s reins while the coach rumbled off down the road.

  Dust puffed in its wake, settling slowly to earth as the carriage disappeared into the distance. Nothing but the calls of blackbirds filled the air when Trick finally turned to the hill.

  His voice wafted to Kendra, calm, yet dangerous. “What the deuce do you think you’re doing up there?”

  He led Chaucer forward, stopping to retrieve the victim’s gun and the fallen hat before walking around and up the hill. He removed his mask as he went, then stood gazing down at her.

  She dropped her head to the grass. Though her face was mashed into the springy blades, she felt his eyes boring into her back.

  “Well?”

  “I was spying on you,” she squeaked.

  His breath huffed out. “Sit up, Kendra. I cannot talk to you like this.”

  She pushed up and sat, her gaze on her hands clenched in her lap. Her pale yellow gown was damp, the area around the knees stained bright grass-green.

  “Look at me,” he said, unmistakably exasperated. “It’s not like you to hide. Not how I envision you at all.” As she glanced up, he flicked the long, crimped brown periwig hair over his shoulders.

  “I came because I was afraid you’d get hurt,” she said.

  “What made you think I’d get hurt?” His eyes narrowed, appearing naked without the mask and their usual veil of blond hair. “Do you…care?” he asked slowly.

  “Of course I care!” She couldn’t reme
mber ever having been more frightened in her life. “I saw him pull the pistol. He could have had a knife, too.”

  “He did.” He drew a long, lethal blade from the man’s coat and dropped both to the grass, moving closer. “But I can handle myself, aye? So long as you don’t show up and interfere.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Your very presence broke my concentration. And had he seen you up here…do you imagine he’d be put off by a pack of lasses?”

  “Were it lasses with guns, I’d hope so!” she shot back.

  Blinking, he reached a hand to help her rise. She was surprised to find her knees trembling.

  His gaze searched hers. “Do not ever, ever do that again,” he said very quietly. He moved closer, so close his breath whispered over her face. “You could have got me killed.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “Never.” She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. “You understand, aye? Never.”

  “I’m sorry!” Her arms came up and wrapped around his neck, of their own volition, it seemed. She buried her face in his shoulder, chagrined at her tears. For what? A husband she barely knew, never mind that they were married? A husband who kept secrets and mistresses? Who lied to her?

  None of it made any sense.

  “Hush, it’s all right.” His own arms stole around her and held her tight. “No harm done.” He kissed her hair. “You care, aye?”

  “I don’t want you to do it again, Trick. But the children—they depend on you…”

  His grip tightened. “I’ve yet to be hurt—”

  “You’ve been lucky. And luck can change.”

  “Not luck.” He pulled back and fixed her with a calculated grin. “Talent.”