The Duke's Dilemma

by Nadine Miller

  Emily had been looking forward to a respite from the stifling formality of the duke’s household and the sight of this opulence sent her spirits sinking to a new low. She turned to whisper as much to Lucinda but found her cousin gazing raptly at the Earl of Chillingham, who rode beside the Hargrave ladies’ carriage. Lady Hargrave, who had apparently just noticed her daughter’s overt flirtation with the earl, frowned disapprovingly, but to no avail. Lucinda was obviously besotted and had eyes for no one but the gauche young nobleman. Emily cringed, certain she would somehow be found to blame for her charge’s defection.

  Luckily, at that moment the duke diverted the countess’s attention. Riding up beside his doltish heir, he tipped his hat, made a polite inquiry as to the ladies’ comfort, then spurred his mount ahead to lead the procession to its destination.

  Dressed in biscuit-colored buckskin trousers and a tawny velvet riding jacket the exact color of his gleaming chestnut stallion, he was the epitome of sartorial splendor. Sighing audibly, Lady Hargrave made a remark to that effect, but Emily couldn’t help but compare him to his baseborn half brother—and she found the chilly duke sadly colorless beside that charming rogue.

  “Take this silly chit for a stroll until luncheon is served,” Lady Hargrave hissed, pushing Lucinda at Emily the moment they stepped from the carriage. “If she does anything to ruin her chances with the duke, I shall hold you responsible.” Then, pasting a determined smile on her face, her ladyship proceeded to engage the earl in conversation before he could follow his heart’s desire.

  “Don’t make a fuss,” Emily warned as Lucinda balked at being led away like a naughty child. “Your mama always takes an afternoon nap after she lunches; you can walk with the earl then.”

  Lucinda’s blue eyes puddled with tears. “Oh, Emily, whatever shall I do? Mama insists on tossing me at the duke as if I were a sweetmeat for him to consume, and I simply cannot abide the dreadful man. He terrifies me.”

  “He is a little off-putting,” Emily agreed.

  “Not at all like the Earl of Chillingham.” Lucinda sighed. “I am never terrified of him.”

  “Of course you’re not.” Emily smiled to herself. She doubted a babe in leading strings could find anything terrifying about the earl.

  “I will tell you a secret,” Lucinda whispered furtively, although they were already too far away for the countess to hear their conversation. “I am certain the earl loves me to distraction; he has as much as admitted so. But naturally he cannot declare himself until he can make an offer, and that will be a whole year away when he reaches his majority. Of course, he is not nearly as plump in the pockets as the duke, but I do not care a fig. Nor do I care that he will no longer be heir to the silly old title once the duke sets up his own nursery.”

  “Well, there’s your answer then,” Emily declared. “If the duke offers for you, simply refuse him and wait for the earl. This is not the Dark Ages, after all. No one can force you to marry a man you dislike.”

  Lucinda shook her head. “You are wrong. Papa can and he will because he cannot afford to wait a year with all his creditors hounding him. If the duke should offer for me, I am lost. Mama says I am the only asset Papa has not yet gambled away.”

  She stifled a sob. “Oh, Emily! How lucky you are to be so ordinary-looking. You will never come to the attention of a man like the Duke of Montford.

  Emily was still mulling over her cousin’s well-meant but somewhat unflattering observation when an hour later they sat down to the lavish picnic luncheon.

  She looked up from her plate of salmon and asparagus pie, buttered lobster, and réchauffé of Veal Galantine to find the duke’s stoic gaze leveled on her. Her breath caught in her throat, but he merely scowled darkly and looked away—leaving her with an odd feeling of deflation. Not that she cared the least for the man’ s opinion, she reminded herself. Still his obvious disgust of her somehow made Lucinda’s thoughtless comment all the more cutting.

  She watched him turn his attention to Lady Sudsley’s daughter, who sat on his right. It was obvious someone had warned the poor girl of her profile problem, because she was so desperate to face the duke head-on, her chin appeared to have formed a permanent attachment to her left shoulder.

  Emily stifled her urge to giggle and gladly abandoned the duke, and his opinions, to such silly fribbles as Esmeralda Sudsley. Evidently the dreary fellow could conveniently overlook one’s physical shortcomings if one were born into the proper social status.

  With a sigh of relief, she turned to Mr. Rankin, who sat beside her, and smiled so brilliantly at the kindly gentleman he blinked in surprise.

  “I have two questions, Miss Haliburton,” he said, pushing his spectacles onto the bridge of his nose and returning her smile with one of his own. “One—how soon do you think we can safely manage to slip away from this collection of boring aristocrats and go rowing on the lake? And two—since we have already discussed the first two tablets, what profound bits of wisdom do you conjecture the third tablet of Atrahasis contains?”

  Emily laughed. “My answer to your first question, sir, is as soon as possible. My answer to your second is papa believed that particular tablet most likely pertained to the great flood. He was working on the translation of the rubbings his friend at the British Museum sent him when he died.”

  “So we may never know for certain.”

  “Ah, but then again we may.” Emily leaned closer to Mr. Rankin and lowered her voice. “Papa taught me everything he knew about cuneiform Akkadian which, of course, is composed of wedge-shaped characters quite unlike any of our modern written languages. As I mentioned before, I hope to continue his work once I reach my twenty-fifth birthday and receive my portion.”

  Mr. Rankin ‘s eyes widened. “You are an heiress then, Miss Haliburton, as well as a scholar in your own right?”

  “Hardly, sir, on either count. I have much to learn before I can be considered a scholar such as papa, and my portion is a very small one willed me by my maternal grandmother—but sufficient for my simple needs. I inherited papa’s cottage and all his books and papers, you see, but there was no money left and the sad truth is, one cannot survive long on myths and legends alone.” She smiled. “But in exactly three months and twenty-two days, I shall be free to spend the rest of my life doing what Papa trained me to do.”

  “A worthy ambition, Miss Haliburton. One I sincerely hope you may attain.”

  “But why in the world should I not, Mr. Rankin?”

  “Why indeed, Miss Haliburton?”

  The Duke of Montford pushed aside his uneaten Banbury tart—normally his favorite dessert—and watched morosely as his man-of-affairs and Miss Emily Haliburton rowed away from the shore of the lake—undoubtedly to continue the lively conversation they had carried on during the picnic luncheon. The two of them had had their heads together for the past hour to the exclusion of everyone around them, and he fully intended to remind Edgar, when next he saw him, that he was expected to earn his remarkably generous salary by spreading his charm amongst all the guests currently at Brynhaven.

  He swiped angrily at a marauding fly that dared land on one of the raisins in his abandoned tart, and contemplated the boring afternoon stretching ahead of him. What sort of topsy-turvy world was this when his secretary was off happily punting about the lake with an exhilarating companion whilst he, the Duke of Montford, was left to entertain five insipid little misses recently released from the schoolroom?

  He would most definitely have words with Edgar—and not just about his neglected duties. The cheeky fellow had as much as thrown down the gauntlet when he’d accosted him at the stables that morning and warned him against plotting to carry on an assignation with the innocent Miss Haliburton. He laughed to himself. As if even the boredom of choosing a wife could drive him to such extremes when he had a beautiful, sophisticated mistress waiting for him in London!

  Still, he reminded himself as he signaled the nearest footman to refill his empty champagne glass, he deserved s
ome diversion during this deadly fortnight his obligation to the title had thrust upon him—and his dual of wits with Emily Haliburton was diverting. Probably because she was the first woman he had ever dealt in the guise of a common man—sans the title and wealth he suspected were a great part of what the women of his own social level found irresistible.

  And, though she would never admit it, Emily Haliburton did find him intriguing, even though she believed him to be a wicked ne’er-do-well without a feather to fly with. The very air between them crackled like summer lightning whenever he drew near her, and the temptation to explore that potent force of nature was much too alluring to resist.

  All at once, the despised Banbury tart looked appealing again, and he attacked it with his usual gusto. With each bite, his flagging spirits lifted. So Edgar thought to challenge him, did he? Very well! Let the prosy fellow try his best to win the sharp-tongued Miss Haliburton with his urbane charm and wit. For once he, as the penniless rogue Jared, would compete with his clever man-of-affairs on his own level and best him at the game he played so well.

  “Did you enjoy your morning ride, Miss Haliburton?” Edgar Rankin asked while plying the oars of the small boat effortlessly through the mirror-smooth water. His question seemed harmless enough, but Emily heard an intensity in his voice that immediately set up her guard.

  ” I enjoyed it very much,” she said carefully. “The mare is an absolute joy.”

  “And did you see any other riders—the duke, for instance, who is also known to enjoy an early gallop?”

  “No,” Emily replied thankfully, raising the parasol Lucinda had loaned her. “I did not see the duke. “

  Mr. Rankin looked puzzled. “How odd. I am certain I saw him set out in the direction the groom mentioned you had taken.” He studied her thoughtfully. “Then what about a scruffy-looking fellow in black trousers and a homespun shirt who bears a startling resemblance to his grace? Did you come across him?”

  Emily had never knowingly told a lie in her life; she could not bring herself to do so now, although she felt she might well be treading perilous ground. “I did have words with someone of that general description who calls himself Jared,” she said warily. “But only for a moment. I did not find him at all pleasant.”

  “I shouldn’t think you would.” Mr. Rankin sighed. “I feared the reprehensible fellow might accost you.” He shipped the oars and sat back, smiling his charming smile.

  “I feel it my duty to warn you about him since I am certain you will encounter him again.”

  Emily’s pulse quickened with sudden alarm. “Are you saying he is dangerous?”

  “Not dangerous. Just annoying. The old duke gave him free run of Brynhaven, but he has a rather unsavory reputation with the locals.”

  “I suspected as much,” Emily said primly, adjusting her skirt to make certain her ankles were properly covered. “One can always tell when someone is not quite a gentleman.”

  For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Mr. Rankin’s lips twitched suspiciously. She frowned. “Did I say something amusing?”

  “Not at all, Miss Haliburton. You said precisely what I would have expected an intelligent woman like yourself to say.” He paused. “I could arrange for a groom to accompany you if you would but request it.”

  “No.” Emily shook her head vehemently. “I am accustomed to riding alone. I much prefer it.”

  “As you wish, ma’ am.” Mr. Rankin returned to his rowing while Emily trailed the fingers of her left hand in the cool water. She glanced up, her attention caught by a flurry of activity amongst the guests remaining on shore. “What do you suppose is transpiring?” she asked. “There appears to be a great deal of excitement.”

  Mr. Rankin glanced toward the spot from which they had launched the boat and his brow wrinkled in a frown. “I cannot imagine what it could be, but I had best investigate. The duke might need my assistance.” He dipped the oars back into the water and minutes later the boat scraped bottom at the shallow shoreline. One of the footmen waiting at the water’s edge hauled it far enough onto land to allow Emily and Mr. Rankin to disembark safely.

  Puzzled, Emily joined the guests crowded around the duke, who had mounted his spirited chestnut and joined portly, gray-haired gentleman on an equally spirited white stallion.

  “Squire Bosley, how goes it with you, sir?” Mr. Rankin greeted the newcomer.

  “Not well, Mr. Rankin. Not well at all. A most dreadful thing has occurred. My wife’s carriage was waylaid last evening on the Pemberly Road, and she was relieved of some very expensive jewelry as well as the few guineas she had in her reticule. The poor woman was too overset to remember anything before she fainted dead away, but my coachman said the ruffian was dark haired, armed with two pepperbox pistols, and riding a horse as black as his evil heart.”

  Emily gasped. The coachman ‘s description sounded too familiar to mistake. Jared had already come by a costly signet ring through suspect means. Now this! The man must be a complete fool to court danger so close to home.

  She kept her gaze carefully averted from Mr. Rankin’s discerning eyes, lest he read her thoughts and realize the man he had already warned her about was the tobyman who had robbed the squire’s lady. Much as she disapproved of the black-hearted villain, she could not bring herself to betray him.

  The duke edged his horse around the crowd of excited guests and servants until he stood next to Mr. Rankin. “This thief grows too bold. I am leaving to collect some of my men to help hunt him down before he takes a life as well as a purse. I rely upon you to see my guests safely back to the manor house.”

  “Pettigrew and the footmen can handle that task quite admirably, your grace,” Mr. Rankin declared. “I would ride with you…with your permission, of course.”

  A glint of something Emily could not quite identify shone briefly in the duke’ s eyes as he stared down at his man-of-affairs. “As you wish, Mr. Rankin. I shall see you at the manor in a few moments then.”

  He turned to Emily and acknowledged her with a brief nod of his handsome, aristocratic head. “Your servant, ma’am,” he said stiffly, and turning his horse, galloped off with the squire close behind.

  Mr. Rankin directed a nearby groom to ready his horse, then turned to Emily with an apologetic smile. “It seems we must postpone our pleasant visit until later, ma’ am.” His eyes narrowed. “You are very pale, Miss Haliburton. Please be assured you have no reason to fear for your safety. The thief would not dare show his face with such stout men as Pettigrew and the footmen about. Neither the duke nor I would leave unless we were certain of that.”

  Emily hated the idea that Mr. Rankin should think her a missish creature, but she could scarcely tell him it was not for her own safety she feared. She cleared her throat. “What will you do with the thief if you catch him?”

  “Not if Miss Haliburton, but when, and the answer is we shall see a noose about his scurvy neck. His grace is not a man to countenance such licentious behavior close by one of his estates.”

  An icy chill traveled Emily’s spine as a picture of Jared’s lifeless body swinging from Tyburn ‘s gallows tree suddenly flashed through her mind. “Perhaps circumstances have made the fellow desperate,” she ventured.

  Mr. Rankin ‘s tight little smile did not reach his eyes. “You have too kind a heart, ma’am. There is no excuse for thievery—even in these desperate times. No man willing to put in a good day’s work is turned away from Brynhaven, or any of the duke’s other estates, with an empty belly. The brigand has made a calculated choice to live outside the law and, for that mistake, he will pay with his life.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The rosy glow of dawn had barely tinged the horizon when Emily crept silently from the manor house and hurried to the stables the morning after the picnic.

  She had watched by her chamber window until well after midnight when the duke and his men returned from hunting the outlaw. From their disgruntled remarks she’d concluded the hunt had been fruitless, and her reli
ef had been so great she’d sunk to her knees and offered a prayer of thanks that the mocking silver eyes which haunted her every thought would see yet another day. Then, conscience-stricken, she had spent the balance of the sleepless night chastising herself for being so taken in by the wicked fellow she had lost all sense of right and wrong.

  But all her soul-searching was to no avail. With the first light of day, devil take her conscience, here she was, scurrying to caution him to cover his tracks—like some witless chicken deserting the hencoop to give warning to a plundering fox.

  As he had the day before, the head groom met her at the entrance to the stables. Today, however, he wore a scowl on his weathered face. “Gorblimey, ma’ am,” he exclaimed in a voice still rough with sleep, “what with all the commotion up at the manor house, I never thought to see you this morning.”

  Emily managed a shaky smile. “But, as you can see, I am here as usual.” Feigning surprise, she looked about her. “Where is the little gray Mr. Rankin gave me permission to ride? Could you please have her saddled for me.”

  ” I could, ma’am, but it’s the should of it I don’t know. It would be bellows-to-mend if I was to let one of his grace’s lady guests ride off and get herself set upon by the gallows bird what robbed Squire Bosley’s lady. “

  Panic welled in Emily at the thought that this well-meaning fellow might prevent her from warning Jared of the danger he faced. “I hardly think that is a serious concern as long as I stay within the boundaries of Brynhaven,” she stated through lips whose trembling she could not quite control.

  “Maybe not, ma’ am. But then again, maybe so.”

  “Has the order to have the gray readied £or me each morning been rescinded?” she demanded, gambling that with all he had on his plate, Mr. Rankin wouldn’t have given a second thought to her morning ride.

  “No, ma’ am, but that’s not to say it shouldn’t ha’ been.”