The Duke's Dilemma

by Nadine Miller

  The duke poured the brandy, handed the snifters around and set the decanter on the table next to the leather armchair that had once been his grandfather’s. For some minutes the three sat in comfortable contemplation of the fire crackling in the stone fireplace. Finally, Brummell broke the silence. “Interesting evening, your grace, although I suspect Rankin had the best of it.” He smiled lazily at the man sitting beside him. “Dare I ask what subject you and the fascinating Miss Haliburton found so engrossing during dinner?”

  “Mesopotamian myths and legends; her father’s research into the God-King Gilgamesh, to be precise.” Edgar Rankin sipped his brandy. “It turns out Miss Haliburton is the daughter of Farley Haliburton, the scholar who wrote that treatise on Orestes you liked so well, Jar…your grace. She was most pleased to learn it was in the library of your London town house.”

  “Unless my memory has failed me, I believe Orestes was a Greek, not a Mesopotamian,” the duke said dryly. He couldn’t remember when he’d seen Edgar so enthusiastic about any female. It was a little disconcerting.

  “According to Miss Haliburton, her father spent the greater part of his life researching Greek and Roman mythology. It was only after the British Museum staged that exhibition of the Nineveh tablets a few years ago that he became interested in Middle Eastern mythology. She hopes to complete the Gilgamesh work and publish it in his name.”

  “So Miss Haliburton is not only an accomplished pianist, but a bluestocking as well.” Montford poured himself another brandy and handed the decanter to Rankin. “Has this original any other talents that you know of, or should I ask that question of you, Brummell? I noticed you spent a considerable time conversing with her later in the evening.”

  “That I did,” the Beau admitted. “I was attempting to ascertain why a discerning fellow like Rankin was so drawn to a woman with such execrable taste in clothing—as well as one whose chief function appears to be bear-leading her lovely young cousin.” He smiled his famous, caustic smile. “Although your heir presumptive appears to be relieving her of some of her duties in that quarter.”

  “And was your curiosity about Miss Haliburton satisfied?” the duke asked, pointedly ignoring the reference to the way that young fool, Percival, had ogled Lady Lucinda all evening.

  Entirely. The lady informed me both idiosyncrasies stem from necessity rather than choice.” He chuckled. “When I complimented her on the originality of her dress, she flat out accused me of dealing her Spanish coin. I believe her exact words were ‘It is one of Lady Lucinda’s done over. It probably suited her admirably. I, however, resemble an overstuffed Christmas goose.’”

  The duke stifled a laugh; he could well imagine the outspoken Miss Haliburton saying such a thing.

  Brummell accepted the decanter from Edgar Rankin and poured an inch of brandy into his glass. “The lady is no beauty but she is as you say, your grace, an original. If I could take her in hand, starve off a few pounds and dress her decently, I guarantee she would take London by storm.”

  “By all means a change of dress, but never suggest reducing the lady’s measurements in the duke’s presence,” Rankin said with a chuckle. “It is well known his grace prefers his women plump.”

  “Voluptuous. Not plump. However, Miss Haliburton is not one of my women,” the duke pointed out. “I am amazed you both should be so intrigued by a lady of plain countenance with five beauties to choose from.”

  Edgar Rankin shrugged. “But the beauties had eyes only for you, your grace.”

  “Or for my title, at any rate,” the duke said sourly. “But that is a subject best left unexplored.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “However, do continue your discussion of the fascinating Miss Haliburton. Tell me, was her expertise limited to Mesopotamian legends or could she converse on other subjects as well?”

  “She had a nauseating enthusiasm for horses,” the Beau said with a shudder. “Informed me she loves to ride early in the morning, of all things. There we parted company. Myself, I cannot bear the beasts except to provide mobility for my carriage, and I consider any hour before noon fit only for domestics and Hottentots.”

  “It appears Miss Haliburton and his grace have something in common beside an interest in ancient myths,” Edgar Rankin commented.

  “Mr. Rankin alludes to my own preference for an early morning ride,” the duke said, noting Brummell’s puzzled expression. He smiled benignly at his helpful man-of-affairs. “If Miss Haliburton is such an ardent horsewoman, she must by all means avail herself of my stables whilst at Brynhaven. Send a footman to alert the head groom to have a mount ready for her at dawn—the dapple-gray mare sired by Windstorm, I think. And have a maid slip a note to that effect under the lady’s chamber door.”

  Edgar Rankin’s mouth dropped open. “Tonight, your grace?”

  “Tonight, Mr. Rankin.”

  “Very well, your grace. And I shall request a groom be ready to accompany her, of course.”

  “I think not, Mr. Rankin. She is perfectly safe as long as she is on Brynhaven property and she would have to ride several hours to cross its boundaries.” He idly twirled his brandy glass in his fingers. “And as I have recently been reminded, a companion for a companion is a bit superfluous.”

  The duke drained his brandy and set the glass on the table at his elbow. “And now, gentlemen, I bid you goodnight. The hour grows late and for those of us who are not confirmed lay-abeds, the morning comes early.

  On his way to his suite after the tête-à-tête in the library, the Duke of Montford congratulated himself on managing two rather clever maneuvers which made an otherwise depressing evening worthwhile.

  First, he had gained a great deal of information from Edgar and Brummell about the unexpectedly intriguing Miss Haliburton, and then effectively silenced the questions he could see both those astute gentlemen were longing to ask about his. interest in the lady.

  And second, he had had the foresight, before he’d faced her as the Duke of Montford, to remove the plain gold signet ring he had worn since the day he’d removed it from his dead grandfather ‘s finger. Replacing it with the gaudy bauble that had belonged to his tasteless, spendthrift of a father had truly been a stroke of genius.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The dapple-gray was the sweetest little goer Emily had ever ridden—swift as the wind with a stride so smooth, she found herself laughing aloud from the sheer joy of the ride. She would never be able to thank Mr. Rankin sufficiently for arranging this treat for her.

  It had all been so unexpected. First the white envelope slipped beneath her chamber door during the night and then the footman standing by to escort her to the stables, where the gray stood saddled and waiting. Much as she hated to admit it, there were certain indisputable advantages to a life of privilege such as the duke’s household enjoyed.

  She had taken the gray into a glorious full gallop across an open meadow, then slowed to a canter in a sparsely wooded area when she suddenly became aware of someone watching her from atop a gentle rise. Her heart leapt in her breast when she saw the horseman’s unruly black hair glistening in the morning sun, and an embarrassing rush of heat flooded her cheeks at the wicked gleam in his eyes when the magnificent stallion beneath him reared onto its hind legs at the sight of the little mare.

  She urged the gray forward, but he edged his mount down the slope and cut her off.

  “You’re a neck-or-nothing rider, I see, Miss Haliburton,” he said conversationally. “May I compliment you on your excellent seat?”

  ” I am a country woman, sir, and have ridden all my life,” she replied, but she felt inordinately pleased at the unexpected praise.

  “And now you are trying out one of the duke’s nags.”

  “Yes. Isn’t she a beauty! Mr. Rankin, the duke’s man-of-affairs, arranged for me to ride her while I am at Brynhaven. The man is kindness itself. I cannot think how I shall ever be able to repay him.”

  One black eyebrow elevated slightly. “I am certain he will think of something
. But be that as it may, I am happy to see you again, Miss Haliburton. May I join you in a ride?”

  Emily surveyed him dubiously. He sounded entirely too polite to be trusted, considering his outrageous behavior of yesterday—and somehow this congenial mood made him appear even more dangerous than the mocking one he ‘d previously maintained.

  ” I don’t see how I can stop you,” she said bluntly.

  “Thank you, ma’ am. Your graciousness is exceeded only by your sense of style. “His silver gaze lingered on the moss green fabric straining across her bosom.

  “This is not actually my riding habit, but rather one my cousin discarded,” she explained self-consciously. Though why she should feel constrained to explain anything to this ratchety fellow, she had no idea.

  He nodded. “I deduced as much. I take it the lady is somewhat less endowed than you.” He smiled, as if the mere act of curving his well-formed lips would make his daring remark less offensive. “Oh well, at least it is an improvement over that schoolroom uniform you wore yesterday.”

  “Really, sir,” Emily said, bristling with resentment at his untoward rudeness.

  “It is an exceptionally fine morning,” he remarked cheerfully before she could make a cutting retort and go about her business. “And I am in the mood for a bit of sport. Are you game for a race, Miss Haliburton—say to the tallest oak at the far side of the meadow?”

  He took her by surprise. She didn’t know what to make of such a fellow. One minute he was insulting her; the next suggesting a friendly competition.

  Obviously, the proper thing to do would be to give him the set-down he deserved and ride on. Still, she liked nothing better than a good race; the very thought of it heated her sporting blood to the boiling point.

  She eyed the oak speculatively. The gray had speed but she could never match the stamina of the huge stallion. But then, at such a short distance, stamina might not be a factor.

  “Afraid to accept my challenge, Miss Haliburton?” he asked when she remained silent. “You surprise me. I would never have taken you for a pudding-hearted miss.”

  Emily’s temper flared. “Done, sir!” she declared, throwing both propriety and caution to the winds.

  “And for the prize, the winner may ask anything, within reason, of the loser.”

  Emily considered this carefully. “As long as I define ‘within reason,’” she agreed finally, knowing full well that just being alone in this isolated spot with such a man was scandalous enough without the added iniquity of a provocative wager. She wondered what her friend the village vicar would think if he could see her now.

  For two-thirds of the sprint across the meadow, they rode neck and neck, although Emily could see that while the game little mare was pushed to her limits, the stallion merely loped along at his ease. He showed the gray his rump a safe distance from the goal, and the handsome rogue who rode him pulled him to and waited for Emily and the mare to catch up.

  “A fool’s bet wagered; a fool’s game lost,” Emily admitted breathlessly as she approached the devilish-looking pair. “I should have known the little mare had no chance against your stallion.” Her cheeks were wind-blushed and her hair, loosened from its confining pins, fell like a mantle across her shoulders; she felt certain she must look a complete hoyden, but she couldn’t remember when she had felt so wonderfully, vitally alive. For some reason she couldn’t begin to understand, this annoying fellow had that effect on her. The truth was, she scarcely recognized herself when she was in his presence.

  “So, what is it you ask, sir?” she queried, twisting her hair into a coil and securing it at the back of her neck with her few remaining pins.

  The duke couldn’t tear his gaze from her luxuriant brown hair. Now that he knew how it looked tumbling like a lustrous, satin waterfall down her back, he found himself contemplating it fanned out across a pillow. His pillow.

  He pulled himself up short. What was he thinking? Except for her glorious hair and the keen intelligence in her bright blue eyes, this was a plain-as-porridge spinster who was far more likely to give a man a tongue lashing than a sweet kiss-me-hello. Besides which, she was a commoner— too far beneath him to consider for a wife and too prim and prissy to be mistress to any man.

  He must have attics-to-let to rise at dawn to clash verbal swords with this vinegary antidote when five milk-and-honey misses waited at the manor house to hang on his every word. Still, he had to admit he found an excitement in the challenge she offered—an excitement that had been noticeably lacking in his life of late.

  “Please be good enough to tell me what forfeit you demand,” she said when he failed to answer her question. “I cannot waste the entire morning you know. Mr. Rankin is organizing a picnic and has promised to take me rowing on the lake whilst the duke entertains his bevy of pretties. I should not wish to miss that, above all.”

  Edgar again. Hell and damnation! The fellow was becoming a nuisance. The duke swallowed his frustration. Changing tactics, he favored Miss Haliburton with a smile, the like of which his current mistress, Lady Caroline Crawley, had more than once declared could melt her bones at twenty paces. It appeared to have the opposite effect on the shrewish Miss Haliburton; she simply drew herself up straighter in the saddle and continued to stare at him with unconcealed impatience.

  ” I ask that we dispense with the tedious formalities, ma’am, and address each other by our given names,” he said in a sugary tone that sounded false even to his own ears. “Is that beyond reason?”

  She cocked her head to the right while she considered his request, looking more than ever like the country sparrow he had named her. “It really is improper—but then everything about someone like you is unthinkable for someone like me. So I suppose that, relatively speaking, your request could be considered within bounds.” She frowned. “You already know my name, but how am I to call you by your Christian name when I have never heard it?”

  “My name is Jared.” He had intended to give her a false one in case she had occasion to hear the Duke of Montford’s given name, but at the last moment, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. She had a strangely husky little voice with a faint West Country accent, and he felt an undeniable compulsion to hear his name on her lips.

  “Jared. It suits you. It has a wicked ring to it.”

  He laughed. “You see me as wicked? How so, Emily?”

  “Dark and wicked and mysterious—quite unlike anyone I have ever before known.”

  “Except the duke, since we are peas in a pod.”

  “That cold fish!” Emily shook her head.” You are nothing alike. But speaking of the duke, are you not taking a great chance riding on his land? He strikes me as a man who would deal harshly with anyone who crossed him.”

  Jared leaned forward to stroke the restless stallion behind his twitching right ear. “I have always ridden Brynhaven as if it were my own. The duke cannot object to what he does not know—and the tenants are my friends; they pretend they do not see me when I pass.”

  Emily cocked her head again, her eyes thoughtful. “You are very bold, sir, as well as extraordinarily well spoken for the base born fellow you claim to be.”

  “As are you for the simple country woman you claim to be.”

  “I never purported to be a farmer’s daughter. My father was a noted Oxford scholar who chose to pursue his research in the quiet countryside of the Cotswolds. He educated me himself.”

  Jared thought quickly. “And the local vicar saw to my education,” he said, inventing the story as he spoke. “The poor fellow hoped I would someday succeed him, despite my unfortunate lineage. But I, of course, was much too wicked and mysterious to consider such a vocation.”

  “Now you are laughing at me, sir.”

  “Never, ma’ am. I laugh at myself and my pretentions.”

  He watched her gaze drop to the signet ring adorning his left hand. “You wonder, no doubt, how someone of my lowly station should come by this expensive bauble.” Lifting his hand, he let the sun gl
int off the rich gold. “The truth is, I took it off the finger of a dead man.”

  Emily ‘s eyes widened; her cheeks paled. “You are even more nefarious than I had imagined,” she gasped. “I cannot comprehend why I waste my time with you.”

  “Probably for the same reason I go to such lengths to waste time with you,” he said, following close behind her. “Curiosity about a creature so different from myself. “

  She urged the gray forward into a canter. “Well my curiosity is well and truly satisfied now.”

  ” Is it? Mine is barely whetted.” He slowed his mount and watched her take the little mare into a gallop, carrying her away from him. “Until tomorrow, Emily,” he shouted. “I shall wait for you by the oak tree. Perhaps I may even carve your initials in the trunk.”

  “You shall wait in vain, sir,” she called back over her shoulder.

  “Oh I don’t think so.” He laughed to himself. “Somehow I don’t think so, Emily.” But by then she was too far away to hear him.

  Dining alfresco was nothing new to Emily; picnicking had been her mother’s favorite summer pastime. Even her reclusive father had found enjoyment in it since he could relax beneath a shady tree with one of his precious books after the meal. But the ostentatious luncheon the Duke of Montford hosted bore little resemblance to the simple basket of chicken, lemonade and pastries Emily had carried across an open meadow to her favorite picnic spot.

  The richly gowned ladies, complete with ornate fans and lacy parasols, traveled in open carriages to the chosen spot beside one of Brynhaven’s lakes, where a massive table, complete with the finest linen, crystal, silver, and china had already been set up.

  The gentlemen of the party rode escort on their blooded mounts, and behind them came wagons carrying covered serving platters of food and flagons of champagne, as well as three carriages conveying Pettigrew, the duke’s butler, and twelve liveried footmen to serve the table.