Samantha Grace - [Beau Monde Bachelor 04]

by Lady Vivian Defies a Duke

  She liked his nose. Not too commanding and not too perfect with a raised ridge that spoke of a past trauma. “You lost the footrace on purpose, did you not?”

  He kept his eyes on the lane in front of them. A corner of his lips twitched. “What makes you think I would lose on purpose?”

  “I outran Adam Randolph three summers past when he challenged me to a race at Dottie Kennicot’s garden party.” How she missed her dearest friend, Dottie. She shook off her sadness. She hadn’t had fun in a long while, and she wouldn’t spoil the moment thinking on things that couldn’t be changed. “Mr. Randolph was in a sulk for two weeks afterward. He refused all but the curtest acknowledgment of me at church.”

  Foxhaven laughed. “Poor Mr. Randolph wasn’t allowed to claim his prize. It is no wonder he was brooding.”

  “What prize? There were no stakes involved.”

  Foxhaven must have a fountain of happiness inside him for he never seemed to run out of smiles. “A kiss, Lady Vivian. That’s what I would have demanded in his position.”

  She swung away before he spotted the telling flush searing her cheeks. “You would not, Your Grace. What a terrible tease you are.”

  “I assure you, I would have.”

  Gathering the ribbons in a pile, she lined up the edges. Vivi didn’t know how to respond. In the art of coquettishness, she had always remained an observer. She settled for practicality. “If you kissed me, you would feel honor bound to marry me, and we both know you desire no such association.”

  He pulled the carriage off the lane and parked under a tree. Brighthurst House remained in the distance, its pitched roof peeking over a hill.

  Grabbing her hand, he scooted from the seat. “Come with me.”

  “Why?” Vivi’s voice squeaked. She scrambled to follow lest he drag her. Good heavens, he didn’t intend to prove himself, did he?

  His hands circled her waist before she tumbled from the carriage and lowered her to the ground. But even after her half boots were securely on the grass, he held on.

  Oh, my molasses! She had never been kissed and she didn’t know what to do. Her eyes drifted shut, but she wasn’t sure what to do with her mouth. She licked her lips then puckered up, waiting.

  A woodpecker’s rapid hammering sounded from a nearby tree. A breeze ruffled the sleeves of her gown. His fingers tightened on her waist and urged her closer.

  “Blast it all.” He released her.

  She blinked into the empty space where he had just been. She spotted him rounding the horses and stared as he approached an ancient, gnarled oak. Its branches twisted like arthritic fingers with unsightly knots like swollen knuckles. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he blew out a noisy breath but said nothing.

  “That is a good climbing tree,” she said in place of witty repartee, anything to fill the strained silence.

  He looked up at the branches. “Do you climb trees?”

  She trailed after him. Admitting to yet another unladylike habit would prove how unsuited she was to be his duchess, but it wasn’t her odd endeavors that seemed to bother him.

  “I have been known on occasion to climb a tree, but only if I’m wearing trousers.”

  His eyes lit when he looked at her. “You’re nothing like I anticipated.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I think.” She lowered to the grass, tucked her knees up under her skirts, and rested her forearms across her knees.

  “You may refer to me as Luke if you wish, Foxhaven if my Christian name feels too familiar and offends your sensibilities. But our association warrants discarding such formalities as Your Grace.”

  She looked up at him with a cautious slant of her head. “And what is the nature of our association?”

  He crouched down in front of her as if indulging a child. “We are becoming fast friends, I believe.”

  “You want something from me I can’t give you. I expect our friendship will be short-lived. Perhaps we shouldn’t abandon our manners too hastily.”

  Plucking a blade of grass, he twirled it between his fingers. His lips thinned briefly, but then he bestowed another generous smile. His smile dazzled and did something unsettling to her insides, but she was beginning to distrust it. He used his smile as a cloak, she suspected, to hide what stirred behind his serious eyes.

  “Tell me how you envision your future,” he said. “Not the one you are willing to settle for in order to avoid the convent, but the one you truly desire.”

  She could easily desire what knelt in front of her. Foxhaven seemed kind and tolerant. She could grow to love him, to be a good wife, to honor him. But she couldn’t admit this to him.

  “I’m no different from most ladies. I wish to make a good match. If my husband is smart with his money, not too strict, and possesses all his teeth, I will be happy.”

  Foxhaven tossed his head back with a hearty, openmouthed laugh, proving he met her last requirement nicely. “Is that all? I find it hard to believe you wouldn’t want more.”

  “I am hardly in a position to ask for more. You must know a woman has little say in such matters.”

  He sobered and nodded thoughtfully. “What about children? You mentioned providing an heir, but don’t you wish for a family life?”

  She studied the blade of grass he wound around his finger. The tip turned scarlet then bordered on plum before he released it. Did he feel like his finger, bound tightly and dying off inch by inch? She knew the pressures his station in life carried with it. Her brother often suffered under the weight of his responsibilities, and then there was Muriel. His wife’s periodic bouts of illness were a leash ’round her brother’s neck. What if Vivi’s dreams of family were a burden to Foxhaven like Muriel’s illness was to Ash?

  “You don’t desire a family life, do you?” she said. “You might have a need for an heir, but you do not want a family.”

  He rocked back on his heels. “I haven’t given the possibility much consideration, truthfully.”

  Vivi bit her bottom lip. She could release him. The act would cost her a great deal, but being the cause of another’s suffering seemed worse than enduring misery she had brought on herself.

  She swallowed hard and wished she were braver.

  “I have a proposition, Lady Vivian. A solution, perhaps. I want to escort you to a house party in Northumberland.”

  “A house party?” What type of daft solution was he proposing?

  “My mother hosts a party every year. The entire affair is respectable and more than suited for our purpose.”

  “Forgive me if I sound ungrateful. I do appreciate the invitation, but how is a house party suited to our purpose?” And what purpose would that be?

  “There will be many eligible bachelors attending.” He raised his eyebrows and gestured to her as if to ask, isn’t it obvious?

  It wasn’t, at least not to her.

  When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “I could provide information about each gentleman—his disposition, family, financial standing—then facilitate an introduction. You could find a replacement husband then break off our agreement without anyone knowing we never intended to marry.”

  “I see you have given this thought.” He may have meant no harm, but his desire to foist her off onto another gent stung. Especially after the lovely day they had shared.

  He smiled broadly, appearing proud. “A respectable match should keep your brother happy and you out of the convent, and I would be released from my father’s promise without breaking his word or tarnishing your reputation. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

  Tightness coiled in her chest, and she absently smoothed a hand over her heart. “I’m not sure Ash would grant his permission. He thought it best to secure a betrothal without presenting me.”

  “Did he now?” Foxhaven’s intense blue eyes bore into her. “For what reason?”

  She shrugged one shoulder and looked away. It was wrong to hide the truth, but she had been unfairly judged and she needed this match with him. “You mus
t admit I am different from other young ladies. I could never expect to have a successful Season with my tendency to act before thinking.”

  This had been a problem for her since she was a child. Patrice had promised she would outgrow it, but she never had.

  His jaw lost its hard edge and warmth radiated from his smile. “You are a breath of fresh air, Lady Vivian. Gentlemen will issue challenges to win your favor.”

  “Liar,” she teased, her cheeks flushing with pleasure despite knowing he falsely flattered her. “When it comes to a choice between death and marriage to a hoyden, no one is winning in this scenario.”

  “You underestimate your charms.”

  And he underestimated other gentlemen’s ability to be like him. He might not run away in horror, but that didn’t mean other men wouldn’t.

  “Perhaps I could persuade your brother to allow you to attend the party, but only if you give your consent. I won’t ask you to do this if it isn’t what you want.”

  “Oh.” No one had ever requested her opinion on anything pertaining to her future, and she had certainly never been asked to give her permission. Tears stung the back of her eyes.

  “What is your answer, my lady? Will you allow me to find a husband for you?”

  She nodded slowly, repressing her silly sentiments. It meant nothing that he was showing her kindness. He still wanted to be rid of her.

  “Splendid,” he said. “I will dictate a letter to your brother this evening.”

  She accepted his outstretched hand and climbed to her feet. His fingers linked with hers, and he held on as they strolled to the curricle. She glanced sideways at him, trying to puzzle him out. With every word, he said he wanted to be free of her, but his actions conveyed his reluctance.

  A stirring began in her heart; a question. What if he wasn’t yet aware he wanted her for his wife?

  Her relentless imagination refused to slumber as he lifted her into the carriage, his touch lingering on her waist. Courtship of a man—a duke—required bravery and more than a trace of foolishness. Fortunately, she possessed the later in abundance.

  “Thank you, Luke.”

  His nostrils flared briefly before his neutral mask slipped back in place. Now that he wasn’t attempting to persuade her, perhaps he wanted to retract the offer to further their intimacy.

  She took her place on the bench. “Do I still have leave to use your Christian name?”

  “Of course, Lady Vivian.” He bounded into the carriage as sure-footed as an acrobat, sank down beside her, and retrieved the reins.

  “You may call me Vivian if you like.”

  Luke nodded once then signaled the grays to return to the lane. As the carriage bumped over a rut, her attention turned to a possible hitch in her plan.

  She had no idea how to go about courting a man.

  Eight

  Luke had discovered a number of pleasant ways to pass the time at Brighthurst House while awaiting his youngest brother and sister-in-law’s arrival. His family would be assuming chaperone duties for the coming journey to Irvine Castle since Vivian’s cousin hadn’t fully recovered from her illness.

  Much of the past week had been spent in Vivian’s company, beginning with invigorating morning rides and ending with battles over the chessboard. Occasionally, she even beat him soundly. She was much more than her brother had promised, and Luke had begun to wonder if Ashden knew his sister at all.

  This afternoon he had retreated to the small orchard with his valet, eager to test the accuracy of his newest acquisition, a Harper’s Ferry flintlock pistol. One of the best advantages to a holiday in the country was no one complained about noise when one fired a barking iron.

  He nodded to Thomas to place the target then waited for his servant to move to safety.

  After rotating the flint to full cock, Luke aimed and squeezed the trigger. The gun gave a satisfying flash and kick. He had dreamed of owning this particular firearm ever since he had seen an American officer carrying one three years ago. His friend, Daniel, had procured it during one of his trips to America and gave it to Luke as thanks for assisting his family in a matter.

  The gun felt right in his hand. The aim was off by a fraction, though, and shot to the left of his target. He reloaded, compensated for the inaccuracy, and fired again. The rotting apple exploded.

  “Solid shot, Your Grace,” Thomas said.

  The sound of applause startled Luke, and he wheeled around to discover Vivian approaching with her maid. “Bravo, Your Grace. I was walking in the gardens when I heard a gunshot.”

  How like the lady to be undeterred by shots fired.

  He held out the pistol for her inspection. “It’s my pride and joy.”

  Reaching out to brush her hand over the polished handle, her fingers made contact with his. The slow-burning fire that had been smoldering inside him for days sparked to life.

  “How beautiful,” she said. “Ash has nothing as fine.”

  That was untrue. Ashden had a sister of the finest quality, even if the man didn’t recognize her value. Finding another gentleman eager to marry her would be no challenge.

  He cleared his thickened throat and moved away to reload. He couldn’t think on another gentleman enjoying her companionship, or he might do something stupid. “Would you like to fire it?”

  “Me?”

  “Place another apple,” he called to Thomas before returning his attention to the lady. “I believe early in our association you admitted to a talent for shooting. I will reload and you can give a demonstration.”

  “I said I know how to shoot, not that I could hit an apple at ten paces.”

  He winked. “Lucky for you the apple doesn’t shoot back then.” Half-cocking the flint, he retrieved a paper cartridge, bit off the end, and poured black powder into the priming pan. “Do you know how to load a firearm, too, or just how to discharge one?” he asked as he closed the frizzen.

  “I have watched my brother reload many times, but he never allows me to handle the powder.” She leaned closer to observe his work.

  Luke grinned and funneled the remaining powder into the barrel. “That will never do. A lady who wields a barking iron must learn how to arm herself properly. After you take the shot, I’ll show you how.” He pushed the lead ball and paper as far as it would go into the barrel, returned the ramrod to its home, and offered her the gun. “Before you fire, I wish to see your stance.”

  She took the pistol and held it in both hands with arms outstretched and the appropriate amount of tension in her limbs. Good. She was experienced enough to be prepared when firing an unfamiliar weapon. He had no cause to worry about a bruised cheekbone or broken nose from the piece kicking back at her.

  “Aim a bit to your right to hit your target.”

  “It has no sight. How am I to aim?”

  “I’ll show you.” He stood behind her to wrap his arms around her. She jumped, her bottom brushing against his groin. He sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Oh! Sorry. I didn’t mean…” She trailed off, a pink flush climbing the back of her neck.

  His blood ran hot and rushed to places that held a special fondness for her. He tightened his grip around her hands, sensing the tremor moving up her arm. “You must hold steady.”

  “I’m trying,” she said on a wisp of breath.

  He placed his head beside hers, tempted beyond reason to taste the delicate place behind her ear. She always smelled sweet, like vanilla and sugar. “Close one eye then look down the length of the barrel.”

  His tumultuous breaths stirred tendrils of hair curling around her delicate ear. His lips parted as he contemplated gliding his mouth along her slender neck to coax a pleasurable sigh from her. He wanted to trace the hollow of her collarbone with his tongue then release the fastenings of her gown and peel away the muslin from her shoulders. His fingers longed to free her perfect breasts from the vicious corset holding her prisoner and caress her skin.

  “Good luck!” Her maid’s shrill call brought him crash
ing back into the moment.

  He shuffled back a step, creating space between him and Vivian. “Whenever you are ready, my lady. Squeeze gently.” His voice had grown husky.

  Her finger hugged the trigger, and a flash of light and heat preceded the sharp crack. The top left half of the apple was obliterated.

  “I did it!”

  The servants cheered, and a wide grin split Thomas’s face. “Excellent shot, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” She spun toward Luke, her eyes shining like jewels. “May I try again?”

  “Only if you reload it. I’ll tell you what to do.” He captured her hand and led her to the supplies. She took the cartridge from him and sniffed it.

  “Must I bite it?”

  “If you are ever in danger, you must, but allow me.” He closed his hand around hers and brought the cartridge to his mouth, ripping the top with his teeth. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, and he couldn’t hold back a satisfied grin.

  To realize he affected her as much as she did him gave him a jolt of shameful pleasure. He had no right to engage in a flirtation with the lady when she belonged to another gentleman, or would belong to another gentleman.

  His mood sobered. “Now open the frizzen so you can pour a little in the pan.”

  She followed his directions, her slender fingers sure and proficient. Once she had the firearm primed and loaded, she moved into position. Luke kept his distance this time, curious to see what she was capable of.

  Her shot missed.

  She turned to him with a frown. “May I try again?”

  “As many times as you wish. Just wipe the flint with your thumb each time to keep it clean.” He hung back as she prepared to reload. This time she bit the cartridge with no hesitation.

  Her next shot sent fragments of apple flying and earned an exhilarated yelp from the servants.

  He lowered to the grass, enjoying the view as she hurried to reload the pistol again. She hit her targets three more times and likely would have continued target practice if a commotion on the front drive hadn’t deterred her. A carriage was pulling up to Brighthurst House.