Antonio nodded.
The two men shook hands warmly. “I learned of your arrival a few days ago but thought to give you time to settle in before making my call.”
Antonio sauntered toward the monstrous fireplace. Nearby, a small cabinet held a silver tray with crystal glasses and filled decanters.
“Will you join me in some refreshment? Claret? Or a brandy, perhaps?”
“Brandy,” Hal replied as he nodded. “With pleasure.”
Antonio poured two fingers of amber liquid into snifters. Hal grasped the glass Antonio offered and swirled the brandy in a slow circle. Raising his goblet, the duke saluted Hal, holding it high. “To old times and new neighbors, Crestwood.” Both men sampled the liquor.
“Excellent stock,” Hal complimented.
“Gracias.”
Antonio’s gaze turned to the expanse of greensward outside the library windows. “I’m told your property adjoins Westhaven lands on the east and south, Crestwood. Is that not so?”
“Quite so, Your Grace. Our common boundary starts a short distance beyond the meadow encompassing your southern portion. Do you know the spot?”
“I believe so. I had occasion to ride out that way this morning. Someone caught me by surprise, or I’d have his name. He was trespassing on Weston property, riding a big black. Would you know the fellow?”
Damnation! It had to have been Caroline. No one else mounted a raking black and rode like a bat out of Hades. He would have a few words to say to his sister when he returned home, Hal thought.
Taking a sizable mouthful of brandy, Hal rolled it around on his tongue, swallowing slowly before answering. “Hunters and poachers are not so audacious here, Your Grace. Perhaps, it was someone who lost his bearings.”
“Si, it might be so.”
Leaving the topic of the intruder, discussion between the men ranged from people they both knew at university or mutual friends. They spent a pleasant fifteen minutes catching up on old news.
Rising to take his leave, Hal tendered the supper invitation. “We’d like to have you and your sister join us at supper next week if you’ve no other plans. I know some of our neighbors wish to welcome you.”
Believing it was a good idea to make himself known in the area, Antonio agreed. “Si. Yes, Crestwood, Briella, and I will be happy to come.”
“Do you remember my sister, Caroline? She was widowed last November.”
Antonio commented, “Dios! I’m very sorry about her loss. I shall express my condolences in person.”
Hal took a final swallow of brandy, adding, “Yes, well, Caro’s been quite dispirited these past months. It’s why I want her out of deep mourning and mingling.” Hal finished by saying, “We’ll look forward to seeing you on Wednesday next. Seven of the clock?”
The duke simply nodded.
* * * *
Randall Lockler and his wife, Minerva, were the first to arrive for the supper party in the duke’s honor. Greeting her relatives-by-marriage, Caroline noticed Minerva had already given up deep mourning. Her gown was a deep shade of lavender, trimmed with black lace.
Richard’s son was ten years’ Caroline’s senior, and neither Hal nor Caroline knew him and his wife that well. After Richard’s death, Moreland had become Randall’s property and Caroline had elected to return to Crestwood Manor with Hal rather than live under the same roof with strangers. However, she greeted the Locklers warmly.
The standing clock in the foyer chimed seven o’clock. A bevy of additional guests arrived. After relinquishing their outer garments to waiting footmen, they adjoined to the large drawing room on the main floor.
The guest list included Simon Templeton, Earl of Bostwick and Lady Genevieve, Joseph D’Arcy, Earl of Sedgewall and Lady Sara, and Reverend Matthew Southland, Rector of St. Paul’s, and Penelope, his wife of twenty years. Robert Winter, a local nabob engaged in the shipping trade was accompanied by his wife, Amanda. Lastly, Sir John Romney, a baronet, and his wife, Lady Luette, arrived. Hal invited the most important and affluent families within a five-mile radius of Westhaven Hall and Crestwood Manor, a mixture of nobility and Kent gentry. Conversation in the drawing room hummed with anticipation and curiosity awaiting the arrival of the new duke.
Simon Templeton and his wife, Genevieve, had already called upon the duke. So had Lord and Lady D’Arcy. “His Grace tells us he and his family are going to London in a few weeks,” Sara D’Arcy commented to the ladies seated near the fireplace. “Weston House will be opened for his sister’s come out. The Dowager Duchess, Lady Elizabeth, will sponsor her granddaughter.”
“Briella Thorndyke is quite young,” Genevieve added. “Dark-skinned and exotic-looking compared to our own fair-complected girls. She resembles her brother quite strikingly. When Simon and I called, she had little to say. Perhaps she’s not fluent in English.” Eyebrows arching, Genevieve spread a smile amongst the group of females. “I’ll be interested to see what the London bucks think of her.”
“No need to wonder what the ladies will think of the duke,” Sara forecast. “He’s devilish handsome looking. Wait until you see those shoulders. And he fills out those tight pantaloons nicely, too.” She paused, smothering a titter behind her ivory fan. “Er, what I meant to say was, with his title and wealth, he won’t lack for female companionship—even if he is foreign. I’m rather sorry my Amelia won’t be out for another two years.”
“Without a doubt, he’s the best catch of the Season,” Luette Romney added.
“You ladies are indeed wicked, speaking so glibly about the duke’s personal attributes.” Scandalized, Penelope Southland hushed them with a whispered, “Shhh…” Her brows lifted toward her hairline. “I would never venture to discuss the man’s…”
“Oh, come now, Penelope,” Genevieve interrupted, chiding the Reverend’s wife. “What woman here doesn’t appreciate a handsome face and broad shoulders? I, for one, am not yet in my dotage!”
Mrs. Southland’s cheeks ripened into the color of apples as she pursed her lips. “Don’t be brazen, Genevieve Templeton. And don’t let your husband hear you saying such naughty things.”
The other ladies, with the exception of Caroline, smiled into each other’s eyes. Caroline was too nervous to join the banter and sat quietly with her back rigid, clothed in somber mourning. The stark, white, lacy collar trimming the gown’s high neck was relieved only by a small, delicate pearl and onyx cameo brooch she had inherited from her mother. She wore no other jewelry, nor displayed a gold wedding band. When she looked down, Caroline was suddenly aghast that she’d shredded a handkerchief to ribbons where it lay in her grasp. Quickly and surreptitiously, she stuffed the cambric between two loose pillows of the settee. Worrying the tiny mole above her lips unconsciously with the tip of her tongue, her hazel eyes were bright with tension as she waited for the Thorndykes.
Just then, Ripley, the Crestwood butler, opened the double doors to the salon and announced in his most distinguished, robust tones, “His Grace, the Duke of Weston and Lady Briella Thorndyke.”
Conversation abruptly ceased. All eyes focused on the doorway. Hal quickly stepped forward to greet their guests of honor.
A minor shock sparked through Caroline when she pivoted and spied the Spaniard. He wore evening dress as if he were born to it. But then, what did she expect? He was an English duke, a peer of the realm, just beneath royalty, no longer a callow, moody, Spanish youth.
He was quite disturbing, poised in the doorway like a hawk ready to choose his prey, and more dangerously masculine than she remembered, if that were possible. He needed only to enter a room to set the atmosphere buzzing. Instinctively, Caroline knew she wasn’t the only female who took notice. She, nevertheless, was determined to ignore her mounting nervousness.
The duke’s snowy, ruffled shirt and elegant cravat contrasted against the honey-bronze of his skin. Emerging from his jacket’s sleeves, lace edged his cuffs. His white brocade waistcoat was embroidered with gold and silver threads and fastened with what
appeared to be real gold buttons.
His dark, arresting countenance took Caroline’s breath away. Her lungs emptied while she braced herself to meet him again. Taking a deep breath, she rose slowly, forcing her legs to move and follow her brother to greet their guests. She felt her pulse rate accelerate as she approached Antonio and his sister. The Spaniard’s ebony hair resembled a blackbird’s shiny feathers, cut short, and barbered in the current fashion. A deep widow’s peak drew Caroline’s eyes even as his teeth flashed in a haughty smile of greeting.
There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that the Spaniard was more formidable now than when he was younger.
* * * *
With Briella on his arm, Antonio had paused to survey the room. He noticed it was a small gathering, an intimate group of Hal’s friends and neighbors.
Good, he thought. He never felt totally comfortable in large crowds, especially in a crowd of stuffy English aristocrats. His father warned him he must get used to it. Antonio’s only recourse was to act the aloof, haughty duke he was purported to be.
Hal Newton approached him and Briella first. A short distance behind him, Antonio noticed a tall, voluptuous woman who could only be his sister. When she came toward him, Antonio was immediately drawn to her beauty and grace. During those brief moments, he recalled the coltish, young girl of years ago who sat in a corner of the drawing room and stared at him from behind her lashes when she thought he wasn’t looking. Hal’s sister had definitely changed. She was quite lovely now, he mused, admiring the way she moved, gliding across the room with long, fluid strides like a beautiful, long-legged Andalusian filly. The lady looked totally intriguing.
Hal greeted the Thorndykes, then raised Briella’s hand to his lips as Antonio introduced his sister. Unsuspecting, the young earl was awestruck by Briella’s sultry beauty, remembering her as a scrawny, unruly, rather unprepossessing child.
“Good evening, Lady Briella,” Hal said warmly. “Welcome to Crestwood Manor.” His male senses leapt into awareness while his brain shouted, My God! I never guessed she’d be so extraordinary.
Briella managed a graceful curtsy, smiling up at Hal through lush, black lashes. “Good evening, Lord Crestwood,” she murmured demurely in a voice laced with a charming accent.
Hal’s blue eyes locked on Briella, roving from the top of her head and downward. Coal black hair was swept high on her crown. Her maid had woven narrow satin ribbons the color of her gown between the fat, glistening curls. The delicate line of Briella’s jaw smoothed into a slim, graceful neck and rounded shoulders. She wore nothing more ostentatious than pearls, he saw, but their luster was challenged at ear and neck by the healthy glow of her golden complexion. The excitement of her first outing into English society must have heightened the blush on Briella’s high cheekbones, putting an extra gleam in her ebony eyes. The ice blue of her gown did nothing to diminish her exotic coloring. The snug bodice with its modestly low neckline followed the curves of her bosom and emphasized her narrow waist above the ruffled skirt.
Hal attempted to tear his attention away, but if anyone saw the look on his face, they’d know it had taken mere moments before he was quite enthralled. He held Briella’s hand a fraction longer than was proper, releasing her fingers just at Caroline reached his side. He forgot himself for a moment, and then quickly recovered. He turned toward the duke. “Your Grace, may I present my sister, Lady Caroline Lockler?’
Antonio took Caroline’s hand and bent to brush his lips across her gloved knuckles.
She dropped into a deep curtsy. “Welcome, Your Grace.”
Antonio was almost as pleasantly surprised as Hal was. Dull black merino acted as a foil for Hal’s sister’s exquisitely modeled features and creamy complexion. Her rusty-colored tresses were drawn tightly into a knot at her nape although a few feathered wisps over her ears had loosened and softened her clean profile.
Rising from her curtsy, Caroline glanced up into his eyes but just as quickly lowered her lashes.
“Ah, we meet again,” Antonio said. “My pleasure, Senora Lockler.”
In a flash of male insight Antonio knew that Caroline Lockler was uncomfortable in his presence. Antonio’s subtle reaction was swift when he noticed the tension that stiffened Caroline’s spine. He felt the tiny quivering in her fingers when he held them and wondered why. Was it because of his newly acquired consequence? That could be the reason. Possibly, she was uneasy with his foreign, dark-skinned countenance. Or was there some possible other explanation?
She had jerked her gloved fingers out of his. He let go immediately. Raising his gaze only slightly higher than the back of her hand, his dark eyes riveted on her generous breasts.
She has grown some since I last met her, he chortled inwardly.
Of course, he didn’t recall much of their initial introduction. But then, why would he? At the time, he had no interest in females of her age. As a matter of fact, he may have been quite rude and simply ignored her.
He’d never had a problem charming women. More than one flirt had told him he resembled Heaven’s dark angel, Lucifer. That didn’t stop the women from fawning over him. Why, then, did Hal’s sister behave so strangely, almost as if she were wary, or afraid, of him? Her manner puzzled and displeased him. For that reason alone, he meant to find out why.
* * * *
Antonio had a rich, deep baritone voice. Eight years ago, its melodious timbre had melted Caroline like so much fresh churned butter slathered on a hot roll. Moments ago, the oddest sensation had snaked up her arm as if a bee had stung her when his hand touched hers through the silk of her glove. The reaction had reverberated through her system, and her breath was an audible gasp. She tensed and tried to recover her composure, hastily withdrawing her fingers from his grasp.
Instinctively, Caroline once again compared Antonio with her affable brother. Both were the same age with similar builds. Antonio’s dynamic magnetism, however, was more compelling and unsettling than Hal’s. The Spaniard exuded raw masculinity like her stallion, Demon, and indeed, both males were imbued with well-muscled flesh and a powerful personality.
Finally, the duke pivoted from her toward his sister.
Caroline hastened to aim her regard at the beautiful girl at the Spaniard’s side. “May I present my sister, Briella? You may remember her, Senora Lockler. Of course…” He smiled, his white teeth glistening against his sun bronzed complexion. “You were both a lot younger then.”
“Why, yes, of course,” Caroline said, her nerves calmer now that her brother was beside her to lend support. She formed a warm smile for Antonio’s sister. “I’m glad you could come this evening, Lady Briella. Please join us. Our friends are anxious to meet you.” Slipping Briella’s arm through hers, Caroline led the girl into the center of the room, leaving Hal to deal with the duke.
* * * *
The dining room was ablaze with candlelight from two immense chandeliers and several large oil-filled sconces strategically located on the rose-colored, brocade-covered walls. An Aubusson carpet in shades of rose, green and ivory graced the room’s length and width. The ceiling rose twenty feet high and was richly decorated with intricate plaster moldings, enhanced by gilt paint. Four footmen in blue and gold livery and wearing formal white wigs waited to serve the earl and his guests.
Hal sat at the head of the table with Caroline at the foot, acting as his hostess. Antonio was on Hal’s right as befitted the guest of honor. The other guests, except Briella, seemed to know one another as they settled themselves around the dinner table.
The footmen poured the wine before presenting a succession of succulent-looking dishes, including green turtle soup, a big favorite in England. Not attuned to it, Antonio took only a few spoonfuls. He laid a manicured index finger on the table and nodded subtly at the dish. Leaning down, a footman immediately removed the offending soup without a word passing between them.
More courses followed.
Guests conversed with those beside them. Sara D’Arcy had taken
an opportunity to bend the duke’s ear with a story about her daughter, Amelia. Caroline found herself listening with only half an ear when Penelope Southland droned on, describing problems she was having with a new gardener at the church. Caroline was glad she was seated at the farthest point of the table. The duke’s presence was too indomitable to ignore otherwise. Thankfully, he had directed no other comments toward her.
Her ears perked up, however, when she overheard the duke remarking to John Romney, who was sitting diagonally across from him, “I was appalled to see an intruder on Weston lands. I spied him several days ago but was unable to apprehend the hombre.”
Caroline aimed an uneasy glance at Hal who had rung a peal over her head when he’d returned from Westhaven. He’d cautioned Caroline about riding on Westhaven property. “You’d best behave, Caro,” he had scolded, “or be caught out and be sorely embarrassed.”
Although it was not proper to converse at such a distance, suddenly, Antonio’s voice addressed her from the length of the table.
“Senora Lockler?”
From where she sat, she saw tiny flames dancing in his dark eyes, reflecting candlelight in their obsidian depths. Caroline was stung again, this time by Antonio’s intense gaze. For a minute she couldn’t look away. The saliva in her mouth dried up. Reaching for her wineglass, she took a hearty mouthful of fluid and swallowed. “Er, excuse me, Your Grace. You were saying something?”
Her heart beat too rapidly, and the palms of her hands were perspiring.
What in the world is the matter with me?
“I wish to offer my tardy condolences, my lady, although this may not be the proper time to speak of it.”
“I…uh…thank you, Your Grace.” Caroline was forced to murmur a reply, but she covered her embarrassment and held her gaze to her dinner plate.
Indeed, it isn’t the proper time. I should be irked by your untimely remark while guests are still at table. But since you’re a duke, after all, you can do what you please, proper or not.
* * * *
Intrigued more and more by Hal’s sister’s beauty and demeanor, Antonio reappraised Caroline from his spot near the head of the table. The tiny mole above her lips quite attracted his attention earlier, and he wondered, if and when, she’d allow him to touch the tip of his tongue to it and taste it. Or go on to explore her luscious-looking mouth. Or bury his face in her…
The Reluctant Duke Page 3
