The Duke's Dilemma

by Nadine Miller

  Emily drew herself up in her best imitation of Lady Hargrave. “That judgment is not yours to make,” she declared haughtily. “Please be good enough to saddle my horse immediately.”

  “Yes, ma’ am.” The old fellow’s bravado instantly wilted before her lady-of-the-manor posture. Moments later, to her relief, she watched him lead the gray through the stable door. Muttering a few well-chosen words about the cork-brained thinking of the gentry, he held the little mare steady while Emily availed herself of the handy mounting stair.

  Jared Neville Tremayne, Eighth Duke of Montford was in a foul mood. Above everything, he hated cowards. They were the most unpredictable of creatures, tormented into rash acts by nameless fears that braver men steadfastly put aside. This thief who preyed upon helpless women traveling the roads near Brynhaven had to be just such a weakling. Sooner or later, unless he was caught and dealt with, he would likely be driven to murder some hapless coachman or traveler who challenged his demand to “stand and deliver.”

  They had set a careful trap for the brigand. Edgar, dressed as a woman and in the squire’s coach, had been driven for hours on end down the countless highways and byways of the nearby countryside, while the rest of the party followed at a discreet distance waiting for the blackguard to strike.

  The slippery devil had almost been lured in—had even been sighted waiting, pistols drawn, at one turn of the road. But at the last moment, he had smelled danger and turned tail before they could come within firing range. Jared emitted a string of expletives that would have stood his aristocratic guests’ hair on end had they heard him. It was a galling thing indeed to have to acknowledge defeat at the hands of such a rascal, yet here he stood with nothing to show for a long ride and a short night’ s sleep except a throbbing headache.

  Wearily, he tucked a clean, homespun shirt into his black trousers, and perching on the edge of his ornate canopied bed, pulled on the scuffed boots he habitually chose to wear for his first ride of the day, much to the disgust of his fastidious valet. Perhaps a brisk gallop in the cold morning air would set him right.

  Minutes later, he exited the manor house by the private stairway leading to his suite and, much to his surprise, spied Edgar Rankin walking across the courtyard, apparently en route to the stables. “What brings you out at this hour?” he asked his somewhat bleary looking man-of-affairs.

  “I’ve never known you to open your eyes before the morning was well and truly launched.”

  “Miss Haliburton,” Edgar grumbled. “The head groom sent word she had persisted in her morning ride despite his protests that it wasn’t safe until this blasted highwayman was apprehended. Though what he thinks I can do about the situation, I’m sure I don’t know. Miss Haliburton strikes me as a woman who follows her own dictates.”

  “Amen to that,” Jared said, more concerned than he wanted Edgar to know. He frowned. “I doubt our thief is bold enough to cross Brynhaven land, but still I would have expected Miss Haliburton, or any other sensible female, to stay safely within the walls of the manor house with such a fellow on the loose.”

  “I fear Miss Haliburton ‘s good sense is overset by her zeal in this case,” Edgar said morosely. “She is most likely hoping to encounter the thief so she can persuade him to give up his evil ways. I gained the impression yesterday that she held him in sympathy—claimed circumstances could have made him desperate—or some such rot.”

  “She said that?” Jared stopped in his tracks, struck by a sudden thought that brought an unconscious smile to his lips. He gave Edgar a hearty whack between the shoulder blades.

  “Go back to bed. You’re as useless as a duck in a thunderstorm before the hour of eleven. I’ll search out Miss Haliburton. I feel certain I know where I can find her.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because, dear fellow, I simply do. Leave it at that.” Edgar’s sleep-glazed eyes narrowed to accusing slits.

  “Why you unconscionable rake! You arranged an assignation with her yesterday morning, didn’t you—and don’t try to play the innocent. She’s already told me she met up with some scruffy fellow named Jared on her ride.” He gasped. “Good God! Never say she thinks you are the highwayman!”

  Jared shrugged, determinedly ignoring the twinge of conscience that made him avert his eyes from Edgar ‘s shocked scrutiny. “It is possible I could have given her the impression that I plied some such lawless trade,” he admitted, “but I shall tell her the straight of it when next I see her.”

  “I should certainly hope so.” Edgar’s voice held a quiet menace that set Jared’s teeth on edge. “I have watched you play some havey-cavey games in the past with your demimondes and superficial ladies of the ton. But be assured Miss Haliburton is neither of those; she is, in fact, not at all the kind of woman a jaded aristocrat such as yourself could understand or appreciate. She could be deeply hurt by what you perceive as merely a clever jest.”

  “Cut line, Edgar. You overstep yourself,” Jared snapped. “I’ll tolerate no lectures on my behavior from any man, not even you. I said I would tell the lady the truth, and so I shall.”

  Edgar pulled himself up to his full height and stared Jared in the eye. “Be certain you do, your grace, or I swear by all that’s holy, she will hear it from me. “

  Jared breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Emily had safely reached the oak tree before him. If the fool woman had come to harm at the hands of the outlaw because of him, he would never have forgiven himself.

  There she sat, stiff as buckram astride the gray, watching his approach and only when he drew quite near could he see the shadows the long night had painted beneath her troubled eyes. The sight of those telltale shadows touched him as nothing else had in a long time.

  “Good morning, Emily,” he said softly. “I am pleased you changed your mind about joining me for a morning ride.”

  “I did nothing of the sort, sir. I am here only because I wish to…that is, I felt I should…”

  “Should what, Emily?”

  “Warn you, you fool. Whatever were you thinking of to rob a coach so close to Brynhaven? Now you have the Duke of Montford and Mr. Rankin and the local squire, and heaven knows whom else, all determined to put a noose about your useless neck.”

  Jared smiled, moved by her sharp words of caution and by the concern he saw stamped on her pale, pinched face. “I take it you think I am the highwayman who is currently terrorizing the local gentry.”

  “I do not think so, sir. I know so. The description was far too accurate to mistake.”

  “It has been my observation, ma’am, that things are not always as they appear to be. However, I see you are not to be persuaded from your conviction.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Tell me then, how can a proper law-abiding citizen like yourself justify coming to the aid of a dangerous, hunted outlaw? For shame, Emily, I fear that beneath that prim country woman facade of yours lies a streak of larceny.”

  Emily’ s blue eyes sparked with anger. “Must you make a jest of everything—even your own impending death?” She leaned forward in the saddle, her neat but ordinary features taut with anxiety and some deeper emotion Jared couldn’t quite name. “Heed me, sir, I beg of you,” she cried. “You must give up this unlawful profession of yours before it is too late. You are an educated man; surely you can find an honest way to make a living.”

  The heat of her fervor washed over Jared’s parched heart like warm rain. She hadn’t the slightest idea who he was; she truly believed him a lawless renegade. Yet, every flash of her expressive eyes, every movement of her tense body spoke volumes. This sweet, gullible innocent honestly feared for his safety. He found himself wondering if she would be as passionate about making love to him as she was about saving his neck from the hangman’s noose.

  He pulled himself up short, remembering his promise to Edgar. Now was the perfect time to tell her the truth and end this ridiculous charade before he sank any deeper into the mire of his own falsehoods.

  He opened his mouth
, but his lips refused to form the words. Just a little longer, he told himself. What harm could come of a few more draughts of rich, heady country ale? Too soon he would be forced to settle for the insipid taste of champagne.

  As if reading his mind, Emily raised her chin defiantly and stared him in the face. “I have done my best. If you refuse to acknowledge the danger you face, then so be it. I, for one, shall not weep over your grave.”

  “Liar,” Jared said softly. “Even now your eyes are bright with unshed tears at the thought that I might reap my just desserts at the end of a rope.” He leaned forward to tuck a windblown tendril of hair behind her ear. “Never be ashamed of your too-tender heart, sweet Emily. It is a commodity far more rare than any of the gemstones my ‘unlawful profession’ has yielded me.”

  His fingers grazed her cheek and instantly a hot rush of pleasure coursed through him. He stared at her, amazed by the intense, irrational desire he felt for this plain, unworldly woman—desire all the more poignant because it could never be fulfilled.

  He’d become a master of seduction in the ten years he’d been on the town and he felt no regrets over his many conquests. His baser instincts told him this woman could be his for the taking, but some nobler aspect of his nature warned him that this was one seduction he would live to regret. For to seduce a woman like Emily Haliburton would be to destroy her.

  His hungry gaze slid to her lips—her soft, unconsciously provocative lips. Hell and damnation. He might not be a complete scoundrel; but neither was he a saint. If nothing else, he owed it to himself to taste their sweetness just once before he took his leave of her.

  “I will make you a bargain, Little Sparrow,” he said. “One farewell kiss to remember you by and I will ride away, never again to ply my infamous trade near Brynhaven.”

  Emily stared into the silver eyes perusing her, expecting to see their usual glint of cynical mockery. She saw only a wistful sadness that twisted her heart and left it thumping painfully in her chest.

  She frowned thoughtfully. “That is a most improper request, sir, and a frivolous one at that. I suspect you have kissed many women in your time and will kiss many more before you are through. Why you should wish to add a plain country spinster to that list, I cannot imagine.

  “Nevertheless, that is what I wish. Is a kiss too much to pay for the satisfaction of knowing you have saved a man ‘s life?”

  “A very wicked life,” Emily said severely. Still, to her everlasting shame she felt herself sorely tempted, as much by the rogue’s bold, sensuous mouth as by the thought of how relieved she’d be to see him quit this part of England before the law caught up with him.

  “Will you give me your solemn promise that you will never again rob a coach or stage?”

  “I cannot promise you that, Emily. What self-respecting highwayman could? But I will promise never to accost another traveler within a hundred leagues of Brynhaven.”

  Emily studied his face with solemn eyes. “Will you take an oath on your honor?” She frowned. “No, for that is, I fear, suspect. On your mother’s honor then.”

  Jared raised his right hand as if taking the oath she demanded. “On my mother’s honor,” he declared, a bitter note sharpening his voice. My beautiful, fascinating mother whose “honor” did not prevent her from abandoning her only son when he was but six years old.

  ”Very well then,” Emily acceded, “you may have your kiss.”

  Before she could catch her breath, Jared dismounted, grasped her by the waist and lifted her to the ground. It was the first time she had stood next to him. He towered over her and the scent of him—musky, masculine, and faintly redolent of horse and leather—stirred her senses in a most disturbing way. Still, oddly enough, she felt none of the trepidation facing this lawless rogue that she’d felt in the presence of his half brother, the icy duke.

  He cupped her face in his two hands and for one brief moment studied her upturned face with his remarkable eyes. Then drawing her gently into his arms, he brushed whisper-soft kisses across her eyelids, closing her into a dark cocoon in which nothing existed except the strange new sensations this man’s touch evoked. As if in a dream, she felt his lips brush the shadowed hollows beneath her eyes, her fevered cheeks, the tip of her nose. Breathlessly, she waited for him to claim her lips.

  Finally, when she thought her pounding heart must surely burst from her breast, his lips covered hers—firm, as she’d known they would be, yet softer than she had ever imagined—and so incredibly warm she felt their heat penetrate to the very core of her being.

  She gasped, startled by the waves of pure exaltation undulating through her, by the heady feeling that she was detached from earth and only the strength of Jared’s arms kept her from flying up into the boughs of the oak like the sparrow he had called her.

  When those arms tightened inexorably around her, she wound her own about his neck and gave herself wholly to the strange and wonderful magic of his lips, his tongue, his very breath intermingling with hers.

  Long moments later, he raised his head and grasping her shoulders in his strong fingers, put her from him. She felt instantly bereft, as if in severing his mouth from hers, he had stripped away some vital part of her and left her sadly empty and incomplete.

  Dazed and trembling, she opened her eyes to meet his intense silver gaze. “So that is what it is like to be kissed,” she murmured when she finally found her voice. “No wonder Mrs. Radcliffe makes such a to-do about it in her novels.”

  Jared drew a shaky breath, stunned by Emily’s impassioned response to his kiss. He had expected her to be reticent, even a little frightened by what he ‘d felt certain was her first physical contact with the opposite sex. Instead, she had responded with such warmth, such pure, uninhibited pleasure, he had momentarily lost himself in the sheer joy of the experience.

  He shook his head in disbelief. A strange reaction to a simple kiss from a man who had freely partaken of the endless sensual delights offered by London’s most accomplished Cyprians. How ironic that an inexperienced little provincial from the Cotswolds should be the first to make him suspect there might be more to “making love” than mere physical gratification.

  Studying her enraptured expression, he felt one brief moment of triumph that he had been the first man to awaken the passion lurking beneath her prim exterior until he remembered that some undeserving country bumpkin would likely warm himself at the fires he had banked.

  With a groan, he pulled her to him and once again claimed her lips in a deeply passionate kiss. Then he lifted her into the sidesaddle atop the little gray, handed her the reins, and gave the mare a sharp slap on the rump.

  “Ride for the manor house and safety, Emily, and don’t look back,” he commanded. “Ride as if Lucifer himself were at your heels, for he might well be.”

  Edgar was waiting for him at the stables when Jared rode in an hour later. The question in his troubled eyes begged an honest answer.

  “No, I did not tell Miss Haliburton the truth of who I was,” Jared said as they walked together through the walled courtyard leading to the duke’s private stairway. “I could not bring myself to humiliate her—or myself by admitting how falsely I had played her.”

  He raised his hand to silence Edgar ‘s objections before he could utter them. “But never fear, my friend, my days as a soi disant highwayman are at an end. Regrettably so, since I suspect that in many ways my temperament lends itself more happily to that role than to the one I am forced to play.”

  Edgar removed his spectacles to polish the grime of the stables from them, and the dust motes circled his head like hundreds of tiny, glistening diamonds in the pale morning sun. “Then what did you tell her if not the truth?” he asked.

  Jared shrugged noncommittally, grateful he’d had an hour to compose himself before he had to face his perceptive friend. “What else?” he asked, stopping before the door to his private suite. “I simply bade the lady farewell and promised to never again darken the Brynhaven countryside with my w
icked presence.”

  “And what do you suggest I tell her to keep her from riding out alone until we capture the real highwayman?”

  “Tell her the duke forbids it,” Jared said wearily. “She already holds me in disregard. Such an edict will only add one more nail to my coffin.”

  ” I will tell her. But I fear she will sorely miss her morning rides. I suspect that is the only real pleasure she derives from her stay at Brynhaven.”

  For a long moment, Jared massaged his aching temples, deep in thought. “Have a pianoforte moved into one of the small salons and make it available to her,” he said at last. “It will help her pass the time. Anyone who plays with such skill must have a great love for music.”

  “Capital idea.” Edgar hesitated just outside the door to the suite, an anxious look on his narrow, aristocratic face. “I take it your brief sojourn into the world of the common man is over then?”

  “Over and done with,” Jared said, steadfastly ignoring the persistent ache deep in his chest.

  “Then perhaps we should discuss the ball your aunts are proposing you give Saturday.”

  Jared groaned. “A ball! Good God, must we?”

  “I am afraid so. Your guests expect it, as do your neighbors. It has, after all, been close to two years since you have been in residence at your ancestral home.”

  Jared grimaced. “I despise Brynhaven. It holds nothing but unhappy memories for me. If I had my way, I would never spend another night beneath its roof. But if you feel a ball is in order, then we must, by all means, have a ball.” He beckoned Edgar to follow him into his suite.

  A glimmer of understanding shone in Edgar’s dark, myopic eyes but, as always, his advice was profoundly practical. “Bury those ugly memories as you buried the people who caused them, Jared. For here you must reside until you plant your seed in your future duchess. Every Duke of Montford, since the time of Charlemagne, has first seen the light of day at Brynhaven. Tradition dictates your son should do the same.