The Reluctant Duke

by Blaise Kilgallen

  “Yes, I can see that. If the…er…fellow was moving as fast as you say, Tony, it would have been difficult for anyone to catch him,” Hal agreed.

  Caroline noticed the use of informal names between her brother and the duke. Evidently, the same as she and Briella had, they decried formality and resumed their former camaraderie.

  “Ladies?” Hal turned his horse to face Caroline and Briella. His smile was overly bright, beaming at Briella. “We’ve sadly neglected you,” he said, his gaze aimed at Briella. “Would you care to canter across the meadow with me, Lady Briella?”

  “Si, Lord Crestwood, but we must go easy.” She wiggled her nose in disgust. “I do not find sitting this contraption to my liking one bit.”

  Glancing at Antonio, Briella continued, smugly, “I hope I shall have a different one very soon.” Saying so, she tapped her mount on the shoulder with her crop and moved out into a controlled canter with Hal close at her side.

  That left Antonio and Caroline alone with the duke’s grooms mounted a bit behind them.

  Caroline felt the heat of Antonio’s perusal raking down her body. Small brush fires of excitement ignited everywhere his gaze landed. Determined to meet his insolent stare, Caroline didn’t lower her gaze, didn’t hide behind her lashes. She was surprised, recognizing a spark of admiration alight in those impenetrable eyes.

  His gaze quickly fixed on her lips and her beauty mark. Antonio used the full force of his attention on Caroline. She wore a dark gray riding costume that left little to his imagination. Her well-tailored jacket followed the curves of her luscious-sized breasts and tiny waist.

  Why hadn’t he realized she would change so much during those intervening years?

  Her stock blazed white against her fair complexion. The golden orb riding high in the sky shone down on Caroline’s hair, turning a few loosened strands the color of burnished copper. A small, matching hat perched atop her hair, tilted to the side. A light gray feather fluttered in the breeze next to a soft cheek.

  Antonio had a devilish urge to reach out and drag a finger over the softness, not of the feather, but of her skin. Instead, he dragged the tip of his tongue across his upper lip very slowly as if tasting her, and again he teased her with his gaze, grinning wickedly.

  Hal’s sister was intoxicating, and he wanted her.

  * * * *

  The flush of warmth on her cheeks flustered Caroline more than she expected. What an arrogant, unparalleled rogue he was! He must have felt her perturbed indignation aimed at him. How dare he display such blatant flirting? Duke or Grandee, didn’t he understand an English gentleman’s code of propriety? Caroline sniffed like an outraged kitten. The man had no manners. None. He shouldn’t be flirting with her knowing she was still in mourning.

  Caroline snatched at her horse’s reins and the startled mare jerked her head up. Tapping the horse’s shoulder smartly with her riding crop, Caroline spurted past Antonio without a word, following Hal and Briella at a brisk canter. She heard the hoof beats of the duke’s stallion thudding closer, and she moved Mischief out a little bit faster.

  Coming abreast of her horse, Antonio leaned over and easily grabbed hold of the mare’s bridle, bringing the animals to an abrupt halt. “We don’t want to race, Senora Lockler, do we?” the duke admonished, his silky-accented words issuing a challenge. “It’s much too dangerous. The meadow may be inhabited with those burrowing creatures. It’s possible to catch a hoof in a blind hole and cause a painful tumble or worse.” One dark eyebrow arched. “To both horse and rider.”

  “There are none here,” Caroline protested without thinking. “I ride across this meadow all the time and have never come across…”

  She clamped her mouth shut, realizing what she had just revealed. Her eyes stared straight ahead while she sat rigid and quiet in the sidesaddle. Mischief did a tiny anxious dance beneath Caroline’s backside. Both females seemed discomfited by the nearness of the duke and his snorting stallion.

  Addressing her profile since she didn’t deign to look at him, Antonio asked with mock severity, “Senora Lockler? Was that you I saw some two weeks ago galloping that black horse?”

  Well, he’s quite blunt in his questioning, isn’t he? Do I look guilty? Would it be best to brazen it out and tell him an out and out falsehood so as to maintain face for both Hal and me? I could deny any knowledge of such a horse.

  She made up her mind and glanced over at the duke with a bland expression on her face.

  “Whatever do you mean? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Grace,” she replied. To her ears, the tiny lie sounded less haughty and confrontational than she had hoped. “I just told you that while James and Lorena lived here, I often rode across Westhaven lands. After all, we are close to a common boundary.”

  Antonio raked Caroline’s face with keenly observant eyes.

  She was certain he didn’t believe her. “However, as you wish, I certainly will not venture onto your property after today without permission,” she said stiffly.

  Antonio let go of her mare’s bridle. Caroline walked her horse forward as Hal and Briella came toward them from the edge of the meadow after their short canter.

  “Is something amiss, Caro? I saw Tony stop you. Has the mare come up lame?”

  “Not at all, Hal,” Antonio interposed, answering for her. “I was simply concerned. Your sister seems somewhat reckless, that’s all, Hal. I simply explained there may be unseen hazards lurking in the deep meadow grass.”

  Caroline snapped her glance upward to find him watching her. The innuendo was too obvious. Was he intimating he might be the hazard she might meet in the meadow? Abruptly, her eyelids fluttered. She raised her chin, tightened her lips, and made no reply. When Hal glanced at her, she was fiddling with a glove. If she looked flushed, he took no notice.

  The group, including the two grooms who followed them, headed into a narrow footpath. It was the one Caroline used to escape the duke. As they came out on the other side of the thick woods, Hal pointed out landmarks to Antonio indicating the boundary line between the neighboring estates.

  It was shortly thereafter that Caroline made her excuses. “I seem to have developed a niggling headache. If you don’t mind, I believe I’ll return to Crestwood. Please forgive me.” Choosing to ignore the duke, she spoke directly to his sister. “It was a pleasure to ride out with you, Briella.”

  “Me, too, Caroline. I hope to see you soon again,” Briella replied.

  Antonio simply nodded, his gaze capturing hers in an overlong look.

  “Would you like me to accompany you, Caro?” Hal asked.

  “No, no, Hal. I’ll be fine. Finish your ride.”

  She wanted to get as far away from the unsettling eyes of the Spaniard as fast as she could.

  Chapter 6

  Caroline had finished cutting an overflowing basket of long stemmed roses from the small garden behind the manor only minutes before Ripley came to fetch her.

  “The Duke of Weston is here to see you, Lady Caroline,” he announced in stentorian tones. A crested calling card rested precisely in the center of the small, silver tray. “I had him wait in the earl’s study since the housemaids are busy in the downstairs drawing room.”

  “The duke is here? But, why in the world…?” A slight frown puckered her brow. “Are you sure he doesn’t want to see Lord Hal instead of me, Ripley?”

  “No, milady. He specifically said he had need of your help.”

  “My help, hmm? What do you suppose he wants?” Annoyance tinged her words as if the butler knew the answer to her rhetorical question. “Why is he here so early? This isn’t the proper time for a morning call.”

  Then, she remembered. Of course, it’s just as I thought. He never learned proper English manners.

  When Ripley’s face went blank, Caroline continued. “Well then, see he gets some refreshment while he waits, Ripley. I have no idea what he wants, but I suppose I must see him. Tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”

  Car
oline bent down. The handle was looped over her arm, the basket dripping with long stemmed roses. A pleased smile on her face, she brought the buds close to her nose and inhaled. “Umm, perfume permeates the entire garden this morning. Mother’s roses smell quite wonderful.” She passed the full wicker container to her butler. “Please give these to Mrs. Crowley if you will, Ripley. Ask her to douse them in water.”

  “Of course, milady,” the butler replied. “I shall do so immediately.”

  Caroline mounted the back stairs of the manor to her bedchamber to freshen up. Removing her gardening gloves, working smock, and battered, wide-brimmed straw bonnet, she washed her hands and splashed her face with tepid water from the commode’s porcelain basin. The dark blue muslin gown she had donned earlier would do fine, she thought. She smoothed her hair with dampened fingers and drew a few errant curls forward on her brow.

  Frowning into the oval cheval mirror standing in the corner of the room, she noticed the gown’s skirt was wrinkled, but she decided not to change into something else.

  Bother it! she grumbled to herself. What if he is a duke? He’s here too early and has quite disrupted my day.

  Muttering imponderables about the duke and his behavior, Caroline left the room and started down the central stairs. Really, he’s got some crust! I knew he lacked refinement. No Englishman would make a morning call before lunch unless it was a dire emergency or he’d been invited!

  When Caroline entered Hal’s study, she couldn’t help again noticing Antonio’s appearance. He was dressed as finely as any English aristocrat. A colorful, silk cravat underscored the Spaniard’s clean shaven countenance. His tailored jacket of dark blue superfine rode easily on his broad shoulders. The fingers protruding from the jacket’s sleeves were long and beautifully manicured. Visions of him caressing her with those hands invaded her mindset, and she rapidly crushed the mental pictures.

  Today the duke wore gray doeskin breeches. No doubt, his heavily muscled legs were shaped by years of riding horseback. His polished boots reflected the shine of the Hepplewhite tables as truly as any mirror.

  Caroline realized at once that she should have changed into something more appropriate—something at least better pressed. Chiding herself because she felt dowdy while he looked so splendid, she knew it was too late to do anything about it. Therefore, squaring her chin and straightening her shoulders, she inhaled what she hoped was an inborn confidence and approached him as self-assuredly as possible.

  Even if the man is impressive, why does he confound me every time I meet him? He’s simply a man like any other, with two eyes, a nose, a mouth, and—

  It’s because he's in the same room with you that his presence disturbs you, her conscience replied. You know you've been thinking about him since the supper party and that ride across the meadow. You're dangerously attracted to this very, very alluring man. Don't deny it.

  Accepting the dreaded conclusions her conscience had pointed out, Caroline knew she blushed in spite of herself.

  “Buenos Dias, Senora,” Antonio greeted her, tipping his head and adding a slight bow.

  As casually as she could, Caroline replied, “Good day, Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsy but didn’t offer her hand. One tingling shock from his touch the other evening was enough, she thought.

  They exchanged polite smiles. Having seen the expression on his face when she entered, Caroline knew he’d taken her measure again. She didn’t care for his insolent appraisal any more today than yesterday. She was on edge and uneasy. She felt her facial muscles tense almost immediately.

  “I saw you working in the garden, Caroline,” he went on, making polite chitchat. “You have no gardener?”

  He’s too highhanded, using my given name. I shouldn’t allow him to get away with it.

  At first, she responded civilly, biting her tongue on a curt reply. “It so happens I like to putter in my garden, Your Grace. It’s my pleasure to do so.”

  Then she donned her courage and blasted him with some sharper words. “By the way, I didn’t grant you permission to use my given name. How is it you take that liberty?”

  “Ah, forgive me, Senora. You’re so formal today. And quite impertinent if I do say so.” Although Antonio’s audacious smile indicated he was teasing, Caroline felt a certain amount of tension in his demeanor. “I thought we were beyond formalities. I am mistaken, perhaps?”

  “Indeed, you are.”

  The inflection, steeped in his charming accent, his black eyes with their enigmatic depths, and the half smile playing around his lips had Caroline’s heart thumping like a metronome.

  Oh, why isn’t Hal here?

  Again, she felt herself besieged by the half-Spanish rake.

  “Your brother calls you Caro. I should like to address you that way if I may,” Antonio said blandly, his gaze concentrating first on her eyes then on her lips for permission. “In Spanish we have a similar word. It means ‘dear one.’”

  The duke’s voice resonated, enhanced by the slightly foreign rhythm that had enthralled her a long time ago. When he spoke, it sounded musical, although she denied she wanted him to use her given name. Nevertheless, her ears picked up the unusual melody and hugged it to her heart.

  Despite his charm, she replied tartly, “Caro is a pet name, Your Grace. I allow only my close friends to use it.”

  “Are we are not close?”

  Her gaze snapped up to him, wide-eyed as she squeezed out a small gasp of surprise.

  “Close neighbors was what I meant, of course,” he corrected. Without waiting for her answer, he went on. “I may allow you to use my pet name one of these days, Caro.” His low chuckle was throaty, curling like warm tendrils along her spine. “Perhaps when you and I are…umm…more intimate friends, si?”

  “Your Grace, you speak in innuendoes which are quite inappropriate. I’m distressed by this conversation. Especially since I’m still in mourning and…and not at all accustomed to…to such risqué, tonnish banter. Please, I-I must beg you to desist with this foolishness.”

  Even to her own ears, Caroline sounded priggish. The trouble was that she was tongue-tied, the way she’d been eight years ago.

  Oh! Why am I letting him do this to me?

  “You are in mourning for a husband as old as your father? Es verdad?”

  “Richard’s age doesn’t signify…”

  “Ah. Did you give him your heart then, Caroline?” he asked pointedly. His onyx eyes probed deep into hers, searching for the truth.

  Caroline was flustered by the unusual intimacy of their conversation, a quiver of discomfort wiggling through her. Color seeped from her cheeks. A protest wavered on her lips. She wanted to retaliate, not lose her composure, but instead she floundered in the murky waters of his gaze.

  “Your Grace!” she exclaimed in feigned outrage. “You shouldn’t badger me with personal questions! You…you…insult me!” she muttered in a heated undertone. “This conversation between us must end now.” She clamped her lips into a tight line.

  “I simply asked if your heart is entailed, Caro,” he answered quietly, in complete control. His smile was taunting; his voice was velvet-edged as he continued in spite of her admonition to cease and desist. “Hmm…well then, I think not, but I won’t force you to explore what’s between us now. Perhaps another time.”

  What in the world does he mean? Explore what? There’s nothing to explore since there is nothing between us nor will there be.

  The duke’s mystifying words boggled Caroline’s mind, tripping with strange butterfly sensations along her nerve endings.

  Their current confrontation upset her equilibrium, and she felt her knees wobble slightly.

  Good Lord! Is there no way to fight what I’m feeling?

  Furiously, Caroline wracked her brain for a fitting response, a way to sizzle his arrogant ears. “I see. You'd force me, Your Grace?” Couldn't he tell she was furious by looking at her? “Where do you own such gall?” she spouted. “Who do you think you are to demand I
do anything, sir?” she continued, her eyes ablaze with fiery embers of exasperation while she sought to overcome her swirling emotions.

  “Ah, my lady, I've angered you, and I didn’t mean to do so.” His voice softened. “Perhaps, it’s simply because you are English and, indeed, too proper.” He spoke with bland, unhurried authority, adding to her frustration. “Your ton rules are stifling. They say you must do this, and you must not do that. Is that not true? Generally, I’m…er, quite proper, Caro,” he replied with sly, calming words. “You see, in Town I must behave quite differently, si?” He arched one brow. “One day you’ll recognize the difference.”

  What nonsense is he implying now? His obtuse remarks carry a challenge I don’t comprehend.

  Desperate to gather her floundering wits, Caroline eased toward the double windows overlooking the rose garden to put more space between her and the duke. His imposing presence almost threatened…seduction. She hated to be so vulnerable and aware of both his title and his physical strength. Her skin felt tight after hearing his unsettling innuendoes.

  Caroline now spun to face him at a much safer distance. The hem of her taffeta petticoat swished as she turned around. Hoping to change the topic, she said, “Your Grace, Ripley tells me you require my help with something.” Braced, she stood rigid and calm as she attempted to assess his reason for the call. “I-I can’t possibly guess what it might be.”

  “Indeed, I have more than one imperative reason to want you,” he answered, a rakish gleam in his ebony eyes. “But today I am here because of my sister. Briella detests riding in a sidesaddle. She tells me the one she used yesterday is vastly outmoded. Since the ton rules require that she no longer ride astride, as an amiable and loving brother, I must find an excellent saddlemaker.” Antonio paused briefly. “My sister informed you that she rode astride in Spain, didn’t she?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “Can you give me the name of an appropriate saddlemaker locally?”

  Caroline had forgotten the promise she’d made to Briella after the turmoil Antonio caused her in the meadow. “Of course, Your Grace…”