The Reluctant Duke

by Blaise Kilgallen

  “What is your birthplace like, Tonio?” she asked, realizing they were finally having a simple, friendly conversation. Suddenly, she wanted to ask questions, learn everything there was to know about him and his former life outside of England. How did he spend his childhood? How did he become interested in those beautiful horses? Who trained him to ride? What were his parents like? Did he prefer tea or coffee at breakfast in the morning? What was his favorite food? Did he enjoy reading? Did he awaken in the morning grouchy? Or, when he went to bed at night, did he snore?

  There was a world of things she didn’t know about him.

  Her mind dragged her into the realm of fantasy, and she imagined waking up in Antonio’s bed—in Antonio’s arms. His warm-colored eyes would be dreamy and fogged with sleep. He’d smile, wearing that lopsided grin that wrapped around her heart. He’d lean over to kiss her, his sensual lips sending hot quivers spearing through her from head to toe. And then…

  Her wishful dreams buffeted her mind like a cold, wintry wind. Reality pounced on her vivid imagination and drove the wanton musings out of her head. However, quite suddenly, she realized she was truly, uncontrollably lost—thinking about him like that!

  The duke was correct. She was jealous—jealous of any female to whom he gave his attentions. She couldn’t bear to think of him kissing—or making love—to any but her. Was she then to be miserable for the rest of her days? How did something like this happen? She hadn’t looked for it, expected it, or wanted it to happen. But it had. Could it be possible that she’d fallen in love with the Spaniard even all those many years ago?

  “My homeland is very different from yours, Caro. Muy diferente.”

  Caroline had to yank her attention back to what he was saying.

  “In Andalucia the sun shines more days than not, unlike this island of yours. It is mucho caliente, very hot, most of the time. We stay inside the hacienda, my father’s house, during mid-day and spend more time outside in the morning or evening when it’s cooler. In the afternoons, we siesta… nap. Or find other pleasures to occupy our time.” He grinned down at her wickedly.

  Caroline read the thoughts that showed openly in his warm, brown eyes.

  Antonio had removed his riding gloves. Now, he raised an index finger and traced the line of Caroline’s jaw from one earlobe to her chin. His gaze caught and clung to her lips. He bent and brushed his mouth over hers so lightly she was uncertain if their lips even touched.

  She stood immobile, her back nailed to the oak, the soles of her boots rooted into the earth, unmoving as the tree itself.

  Raising his head, he smiled again, openly, companionably—warmly.

  Caroline held her breath, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

  This time, he ran his thumb over her lower lip in a gentle caress. When his fingers fell away from her face, he stepped back without another word. It was as if during that infinitesimal span of time, a new seed had sprouted and was growing between them. Something not spoken aloud yet communicated from mind to mind, from heart to heart.

  “Come.” Antonio took her hand and drew it through his bent elbow. His hand gripped her fingers, and he pressed them onto his forearm. They walked back to where Luis was holding the horses. Silence reigned between them; both she and Antonio seemed deeply lost in personal musing.

  For the first time in a long time, Caroline felt relaxed, sensing that whatever made the connection between them today was powerful enough that it might build—and last. Was it simply friendship? Or something more? The feeling was very strange and almost frightening.

  Antonio lifted her into the sidesaddle and mounted Challenger.

  The three riders retraced the path they’d ridden. When they reached the busier section of the park, Caroline and Antonio greeted acquaintances with a smile and a wave. They didn’t stop to chat with them, but kept moving toward one of the park’s exits. Neither, it seemed, wanted polite conversation to intrude between them.

  Surprised eyebrows were raised and sly glances thrown from eye to eye seeing the young widow, Caroline Lockler, in the company of the Duke of Weston. There would be more grist for the gossip mill tonight.

  The riders made their way out of Hyde Park, back to Berkeley Square.

  At the Templetons’ town house, Antonio assisted Caroline to the ground. His hands were gentle at her waist. His dark eyes seemed to melt her insides when he gazed into hers. Again, for a fleeting moment, he held her too close before releasing her.

  He took one of her gloved hands into his and held it. “I hope, Caro, you know the difference today made between us…from other times.”

  She wasn’t certain what he was trying to say, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—question him. Not yet.

  Managing a simple platitude although her insides were quaking, she thanked him. “I enjoyed our ride very much, Tonio. And please, thank Briella for allowing me to ride Elegancia. Riding her has been an experience I will not easily forget. The mare is quite wonderful.”

  The duke brought Caroline’s hand to his lips, resting her fingers against those lips for an overlong moment. Again, his eyes gazed into hers. “I would much prefer to kiss your lips, Caro, but since that cannot be…”

  Flattered and flustered, Caroline felt heat rising to redden her cheeks. “Good day, Your Grace.” Quickly, she withdrew her hand and hurried up the steps to the Templetons’ mansion.

  Antonio watched her retreat with a half smile on his wide mouth, assured she would soon be his.

  * * * *

  Caroline met Genevieve Templeton and Sara D’Arcy as she hurried into the foyer. Both ladies looked up with interest when they saw their friend’s cheeks glowing, obviously anxious to learn the outcome of Caroline’s morning ride with the handsome duke. But Caroline was having no part of it.

  “If you’ll excuse me Genevieve…and Sara…I’m terribly late. I must bathe and change. I have an appointment with Madame Seurat for a fitting—my new gown for the Cromleys’ ball.”

  Caroline went straightaway toward the staircase to the upper floors, pausing only at the bottom when Genevieve inquired, “Will you lunch with us, Caroline? We’ll be sitting down in a quarter hour. Please join Sara and me.”

  “If I don’t get there on time today,” Caroline replied, “Madame will be unable to have my gown ready in time. So, you see, I mustn’t tarry. Forgive me. Will I see you later at tea, Sara?” She took a few steps upward.

  “No, I must leave after lunch, Caroline. We’ll talk tonight at the Sheltons’ ball,” Lady D’Arcy promised.

  “Yes, of course. Until then.” Caroline was out of their inquisitive clutches for the time being, at least until she had time to mull over what occurred on her ride with the duke. Had something very new, wonderful, and different taken place or had she imagined it? Caroline was unsure, but her innards trembled with excitement. She had confronted her feelings for the duke, but what about his?

  A frisson of anticipation raced through her as if she were waiting for something extraordinary to happen very soon. But what could it be? Last night the young gossips indicated that Antonio was about to make Lady Maribelle his duchess. What, then, could there possibly be between her and him?

  Then it struck her!

  Her heart plunged into her stockings. She already knew he wanted her. Before now, he’d hinted as much with his blatant innuendoes. And being the rakish womanizer he was, he planned to have her in his bed.

  Of course! What else?

  He wanted her as his mistress!

  The low, deceiving scoundrel! Just when she was realizing how much… Oh! How quickly he had resumed his wicked pursuit, toying with her emotions all over again. How she hated him!

  Caroline barged into her bedchamber. Daisy, who’d been sitting in a chair near the window, mending, jumped to her feet. She noted the rosy flush on her mistress’s face.

  “Are you all right, milady? You look as if you’ve taken a fever.”

  “I’m perfectly fine, Daisy. Just a bit rushed.” Caroline smi
led tightly at her maid. “Help me off with my riding dress, will you? I need to wash off the dirt of London’s streets and dress for Madame Seurat’s fitting. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be late.”

  “Yes, milady.” Daisy let the matter drop.

  * * * *

  Caroline arrived back at Berkeley Square as tea was being served. Both Simon and Genevieve were acting as hosts. Several acquaintances had stopped by and were enjoying the light repast. Caroline was aware that an air of speculation focused on her as she entered the drawing room. So, she thought, the news has already circulated about Town that the duke is in pursuit of another amour when he was all but engaged to Lady Maribelle. Well, Caroline thought, let them wonder. She wouldn’t enlighten them.

  Simon and Genevieve welcomed her back from her trip to the modiste. The Wiltshires were there plus Sir Henry Plant, a business acquaintance of Simon’s, accompanied by his round-faced wife. Caroline was introduced to them and the others whom she hadn’t met—an older couple—Lord Major Rossiter and Lady Rossiter. They had recently returned to London from the Far East. The conversation was much taken with the Rossiters’ experiences in India and their journey back to England. Caroline was relieved when she was able to excuse herself. In her bedchamber she asked Daisy to draw a warm, soaking tub. She looked forward to a few additional hours of relaxation before dressing and leaving for the Sheltons’ gala later that evening.

  Chapter 14

  London had become nasty to its inhabitants. What had been a beautiful morning became a cloudy afternoon and a rainy night. The weather, however, had no effect on the gaiety and festivities that belonged to the London Season. Rain or shine, the ladies of the Beau Monde donned their finest gowns and fabulous jewels, ready to party. The men dressed in handsomely tailored evening wear. Protected from the elements by enfolding capes, umbrellas, and solicitous servants, they made their way from glittering ballroom to glittering ballroom to dance and gossip the night away.

  Caroline was attired in a gown of deep, plum-colored, watered silk taffeta this evening. The lowered neckline allowed a broad expanse of creamy bosom to peek above it. She wore earrings and a necklace of garnets and diamonds that had belonged to her mother. The rich color of the stones contrasted nicely with the milky white of her skin and the tinge of red in her hair. Her gown was starkly plain, compared to the more elaborate costumes worn by others, but its simplicity only enhanced the beauty of the young lady who wore it. Long silk gloves and a black lace fan were her only other accessories. Caroline's hair was piled high, with a cascade of sausage curls falling on either side of her face. Two diamond hair clips winked in the candlelight whenever she turned her head. She’d rubbed rose petals on her lips to pink them slightly, dabbed the scent of roses behind her ears and the hollow between her breasts. Her green-tinted eyes were framed with long, dark lashes and shone like faceted emeralds in the glow from wall sconces and overhead in the crystal chandeliers. The light cast changing patterns on the silk of her gown and turned it iridescent. Tonight she appeared very much a highborn aristocrat and member of London's elite.

  Caroline asked Daisy to be especially attentive to her toilette. Having experienced the sly glances of the curious guests at tea this afternoon, she knew she would be scrutinized at the Sheltons’ ball.

  Caroline arrived with the Templetons and the D’Arcys, but ton gossips had already wondered which lady would appear on the Duke’s arm. Would it be the vaunted Lady Maribelle again tonight?

  Antonio had asked Hal to squire Briella and their grandmother. They went early to the Covingtons’ and would meet Caroline at the Sheltons’ later on.

  After the belief that raced through her wits after her ride on Elegancia this morning, Caroline firmly assumed that Antonio was with Lady Maribelle. Where they were and what they were doing, she’d rather not contemplate.

  It was a few minutes before midnight when a silent wave rippled through the crowd. Chatter diminished until there was barely a murmur. All eyes turned towards the ballroom’s entrance. Antonio hesitated in the archway with Lady Maribelle clamped possessively onto his arm.

  Caroline had hoped…but, no, what she guessed—correctly—must be absolutely true. She heartily wished she could drop through a trapdoor and escape into the shadows, because now, all eyes swiveled her way. Straightening her shoulders, she fluttered her fan and turned back to face Lord Major Rossiter with whom she’d been conversing, focusing her attention on him.

  “I understand, Lord Major, that a portion of your journey took you overland on the Peninsula. Did you set sail from Lisbon to London?”

  “My dear Lady Caroline, you have an excellent command of geography,” he complimented. “But, no, what we did was to debark in Barcelona and travel across the neck of the Peninsula by coach. I had business in France with one of my seniors. From Calais we boarded a ship to Dover.”

  “Oh, I see. So you didn’t have an opportunity to explore any of Spain's southern regions?” she asked him.

  “No, milady. The last time I was in Spain proper was in '14. So now you see how old I am.” He chuckled, and bent to her ear. “I was with Wellington when he moved into the Peninsula in ’09 and marched north with him later when he put a period to Boney's dastardly tricks.” Twirling his waxed mustache, the elder gentleman said, “But come now, Lady Caroline, a young woman like you is not interested in rehashing army tales with an old soldier like me.”

  He twirled the hair at an end of his mustache a second time. “Is it Spain that interests you then? Ah, yes.” He smiled wisely. “The half-Spanish duke. The ladies could talk of nothing else this afternoon. I hope to meet him myself tonight. Believe I served with his father, Sebastian Thorndyke, on the Peninsula.”

  Lord Major Rossiter rambled on. Evidently, the retired army major didn’t realize it had been Antonio's entrance that caused the stir. “Sorry, I can't stand up with you, Lady Caroline. Took a ball in my leg at Waterloo in '15, and it's never let me forget it,” the old soldier remarked.

  Just then, one of Hal's former classmates approached. “I believe we’re engaged for this dance, Lady Caroline.”

  The Lord Major smiled at her. “Go along, young lady, and enjoy yourself. I'm taking m'self off to the card room.” So saying, the man limped toward one of the anterooms leading from the ballroom where a number of gentlemen were engaged in more serious entertainments than dancing the night away.

  As Caroline and Viscount Andrew Brawley stepped onto the dance floor, she realized the hum of conversation had decreased in volume. The interest in Antonio and Maribelle…and herself…evidently lost some of its flavor.

  In the young lord's arms, Caroline was pleased to find Brawley was an excellent partner. He whirled her round and round as they circled the floor, bringing roses to her cheeks.

  “You’re a wonderful dancer, Lord Brawley.”

  “Thank you milady, but much of it has to do with the grace of the lady with whom I share the dance,” he flirted. “I can assure you not all are as light on their feet as you, Lady Caroline.”

  His gallantry reminded her of her own debut. She’d danced and, yes, flirted, during her come out. Was that only two years ago? So much had occurred since then, it felt like a lifetime ago. It was almost impossible to comprehend how her life had changed in such a short time.

  As Brawley whirled her past a group clustered around the Sheltons, Caroline thought she recognized a dark head. Golden curls were piled next to the set of broad shoulders. The viscount spun her too quickly for her to be sure. Well, no matter, she thought, Antonio and Maribelle not withstanding. She’d not run and hide like a hermit crab Hal once teased her about. She’d look Tonio in the eye—oh Lord, when had she taken to thinking of him as her Tonio—and greet him and his almost-affianced lady politely before going on to enjoy the rest of the evening. Her time in London was rapidly coming to an end. She would leave the city in three days. Having experienced the hectic round of parties and galas, she now looked forward to the quiet of Crestwood Manor and the Kent coun
tryside. It would be good to ride Demon again. He, too, must have missed their morning outings.

  * * * *

  It was time for the late supper. Andrew Brawley asked Caroline to share it with him. She graciously accepted, and they strolled toward the magnificent buffet spread in a large room down the hallway from the ballroom. Footmen were lined up behind tables laden with a selection of epicurean delights prepared especially by the Sheltons’ vaunted French Chef d'Cuisine. Small tables, seating six or eight, were scattered around the room.

  Caroline and Brawley were impressed by the supper fare. He helped her fill her plate with a mouth-watering selection. Caroline hadn’t eaten since tea, and by now, she was famished.

  “I say,” Lord Brawley hailed another old school chum. “Chatham? Lady Caroline and I wish to join you at table.”

  Lord Chatham waved them to come ahead, and in the fluster of seating and introductions, Caroline didn’t notice Antonio and Maribelle entering the supper room. Their arrival, however, hadn’t missed the observant eyes of Robert Chase, Lord Chatham.

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I see Weston. Perhaps, he’ll join us also.” He left the table and hurried across the room to where Antonio and Maribelle were eyeing choices from the buffet table. Chatham reached them as Antonio looked up. Chatham bowed over Maribelle's hand and greeted Antonio warmly. The men had been classmates at Cambridge. Antonio glanced in the direction from which Robert Chase approached and spotted Caroline sitting at his table.

  He toyed with a choice. Should he, or shouldn't he, bring Maribelle to sit at Chatham’s table? Then, he thought better of it. Better to play the gentleman, and not confront Caroline with Maribelle in tow. He planned to tell this lady it was their last evening together. He was sure the small token of his esteem nestled in the velvet box in his jacket’s pocket would assuage her damaged sensibilities.