The Hazards of Hunting a Duke

by Julia London

  “It’s obvious to me that you want him all to yourself,” Sally blithely continued. “I reckon it’s obvious to him, too.”

  Ava stopped her pacing, put her hands to her hips, and glared at Sally. “Don’t you have some maidish thing you should be about?”

  Sally glanced around the room. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “I think I’ve tended to all here.”

  “I am certain that you do,” Ava insisted.

  Sally caught her meaning and casually came to her feet. “Perhaps I do,” she agreed, and left Ava to stew alone.

  Ava stewed, all right. And she paced.

  When Middleton returned to the room an hour or so later, she was sitting at the hearth, a book in her lap.

  She glanced up as he entered and smiled thinly. “Did you enjoy your hunt, my lord?”

  He gave her a quick once-over as he yanked roughly at his neckcloth. “Not particularly.”

  “Oh?” she asked, turning her gaze back to her book. “Didn’t you find your fox? Or perhaps your fox found you?”

  He stared down at her as she flipped the pages of her book, but she refused to meet his gaze. Without a word, he walked into the dressing room. But he returned a moment later, standing over her once more. Again, Ava refused to look up, waiting for him to speak. Except that he didn’t speak. He just stood there, staring down at her, as if he expected her to speak.

  She shut the book, put it aside, and looked up. His expression was full of strife, but more than that, as his eyes locked on hers, she realized that she was seeing pity in his eyes. Pity for her. Pity, no doubt, that she’d seen him with his lover and was hurt by it.

  The realization knocked her off her feet and sent her mind reeling. It was a disgusting feeling, to be pitied, and she quickly stood up, managing to look him square in the eye without the help of her heart, which was staggering about in her chest, drunk with despair. “I want to go home,” she said quietly. “I can’t bear to be here a moment longer.”

  “We will leave at dawn’s light,” he said, surprising her. He turned and walked to the bellpull. “Ask for a bath when the footman arrives. I should like to clean up before supper.”

  Ava watched him disappear into the dressing room.

  Something was wrong with him. Something was different, something that made her feel even a twinge of pity for him.

  But for only a moment, until she realized how absurd that was. He didn’t deserve her pity—she wasn’t the one with a lover. He was. Yet he still seemed deeply troubled, and at least she could empathize with him, for she was no stranger to the torment of being deeply troubled. Not of late, anyway.

  True to his promise to leave early, Jared made sure the Middleton party was in the drive by eight o’clock the next morning, much to the dismay of their host.

  “Are you certain you must go?” Harrison asked again as a footman settled the last bag on top of the coach.

  “I’m sorry, but we must,” Jared said. “I’ve a meeting in Marshbridge to buy some cattle and I dare not miss it.”

  He could tell from Ava’s expression that she knew it was a lie. He’d told her himself when the cattle had come weeks ago that it was all the cattle he’d purchase this year. The land could not sustain more grazing than that.

  “Ah, well…if there’s nothing to be done for it,” Harrison said, and smiled at Ava.

  “We’ll be in London in a fortnight,” Jared added.

  Again, Ava looked at him, her displeasure clear. Jared raised a brow and returned her look. He owed her no explanation—it was his prerogative to move his household to London. Furthermore, he was quite certain that no matter what he did, his wife would be sorely displeased.

  That annoyed him to no end, primarily because he realized he actually cared that she was displeased. He cared.

  At least Harrison seemed overjoyed by the prospect. “Capital news! I’ve missed you at the gaming tables.”

  “Not as much as I have missed your purse,” Jared added with a thin smile as he handed Ava up into the coach.

  As he moved to shut the door behind her, Ava suddenly put a hand out to stop him. “Wait…what are you doing?”

  “Closing the door so you do not fall out during the course of the journey,” he answered curtly.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you mean to stay behind, my lord?” she asked, her voice cold.

  Jared consciously curbed his reply. “No,” he said quietly. “I will ride alongside on horseback. I thought that this arrangement might allow us both to find a bit of peace on the journey home.”

  Ava glanced at Harrison, then at Jared, and without a word, she moved back against the squabs, out of his sight.

  Jared clenched his jaw tightly and closed the door behind her. He took the reins of his horse from the stableboy, and when he had mounted, Harrison called up, “Godspeed,” and slapped the side of the coach, signaling the driver to go.

  As the coach pulled away from the house, Jared paused to say good-bye to Harrison, and caught sight of Miranda standing in the drive in the company of Stanhope. They were dressed to go riding, but as the coach rolled by, Miranda’s eyes were on him.

  Jared spurred his horse and caught up to the coach without looking back.

  When they arrived at Broderick Abbey, Middleton went directly to his study, closeting himself there for the rest of the day. That was just as well with Ava. She wanted to bathe, to wash the entire weekend away, and to write a letter to Phoebe.

  In fact, it was the following afternoon before she saw her husband again, as he was returning from some sort of work that had soiled his clothing and put a bit of mud across his face. She was walking along the path when he rode up and began to trot alongside her.

  “It’s rather cool,” he said as he slowed the horse to a walk. “Are you certain you ought to be about?”

  “I’m quite all right.”

  “Mmm,” he said, and he swung down, took his horse by the bit, and began to walk with her. “We are to London at the end of the fortnight,” he said.

  “So I’ve heard,” she responded sarcastically.

  He ignored her tone and said, “I should like to be in London before the rainy season. With enough rain, these roads are impassable.”

  Actually, that sounded quite nice to Ava—so far away from his bloody mistress and all the speculation about her marriage—but she remained silent.

  “And if, by chance, you are with child,” he said, slanting a look at her, “then it would be best if we were in London.”

  Ava stopped midstep. That angered her. It was all he cared about, whether or not he got his precious heir. After days of feeling like a forgotten wife, of wishing for something more, she lost her patience and composure. “That’s all this is to you, isn’t it?” she asked hotly. “I’m only a vessel to you.”

  Her remark obviously crawled under his skin, because his eyes were suddenly hard and cold. “You are a vessel, Ava. We are both vessels, you and I—I carry the seed to put in your womb. And lest you forget it, you agreed to be a vessel, so please do not take issue with my inquiry! I have a right to know!”

  “I will take issue!” she cried. “I never agreed that the only thing you would care about is my womb.”

  “Madam, you knew very well what game we played—to pretend otherwise is beneath you.”

  “Did I really know what game we played? I certainly didn’t know you had a mistress on our wedding day!”

  “Oh dear God.” He sighed impatiently. “There is no mistress! I did not have a mistress on our wedding day, or now for that matter—”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t leave your love letters lying about, my lord.”

  He paused; his gaze narrowed dangerously as her words sunk in. “You have been through my mail?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes!” she cried, throwing up a hand and marching on. “And I don’t want to hear your pathetic lies!”

  “My lies?” He caught her roughly by the arm and jerked her around to him. “I have never lied to you,”
he said through gritted teeth. “Let me never hear you say so again! I have been frightfully honest with you from the beginning, Ava—you cannot deny it.”

  “Honest? That’s a lark!” she said disgustedly. “You pretended to esteem me!”

  “Don’t pretend your innocence! You wanted my title and my fortune, just like every other woman I have ever met in my life,” he said through gritted teeth. “You were desperate for a match!”

  “And you were desperate for an heir!” Ava retorted hotly. “Apparently, the only way you might sire a legitimate heir is through a deceit of feelings, for you are incapable of any real feelings.”

  That turned his expression so dark that she thought for a moment she might have gone too far. “You know nothing—”

  “What of Edmond?”

  The mention of the boy’s name paralyzed him. He glared at her, his eyes filling with ire, his jaw rigid.

  But Ava had gone too far to stop now, and stepped back, away from him. “I know he is your son, just as I know you are ashamed of him. It’s why he’s not allowed to the abbey or to Broderick, for fear that someone else might recognize you in him! How could you be so cruel? How could you deny your responsibility?”

  His expression turned dangerously dark, and he clenched his fists. “On my life, you know nothing. And if you dare say to another living soul what you just said to me—”

  “Dear God, have you no heart? Are you incapable of even the most basic of human feelings?”

  “What in God’s name do you want from me?” he suddenly roared. “I have given you all that you asked for! I have spent time with you, I have tried my best to be good to you, and yet you find fault! Mother of God, Ava, what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to love me and no other!” she blurted, and whirled to the side as tears suddenly filled her eyes. She hugged herself tightly, and struggled for her composure as tears begin to slide down her cheeks. “I want you to love me because I love you so!”

  His silence was suffocating. Everything seemed impossibly bleak all at once and she felt as if she had reached the end of her tether. She couldn’t bear it another moment—her shoulders sagged and she let out a long, painful sob.

  “Ava,” he said, and reached for her, his hand on her waist.

  “Dear God, I beg you, please don’t condescend—”

  “I am not condescending. I do hold you in the highest esteem—”

  Oh God, here came the infamous but, to be followed by words that would most assuredly send her into seclusion, if not a convent for the rest of her life. Yes, that’s what she’d do. She’d write Phoebe and tell her she was joining a convent because she had been humiliated beyond repair.

  He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. “Ava…I will be painfully honest. I am conflicted. I have very strong sentiments about you, sentiments that might yet be love…but I find myself quite unprepared for it.”

  Her humiliation effectively sunk into deep-seated hurt like she’d never felt in her life.

  “I don’t know how to explain it to you,” he said.

  “You don’t need to explain anything to me—I am not ignorant. You are not unprepared for love—you are incapable. Edmond and I know it very well.”

  He looked as if she’d struck him. He yanked the hat off his head and thrust a hand through his hair. “I will not dignify that with a response. You have no idea of what you are speaking. Can’t you at least try and understand?” he snapped. “It’s not as if ours was a love match from the beginning, is it? You pursued this match with a single purpose, and that purpose, I would submit, was not for me to love you!”

  “But you made me think it was possible!” she tearfully insisted.

  He looked unbearably sad, as if he’d lost someone very dear. “It was not my intent,” he said quietly. “I assumed you understood.”

  Oh dear God. Dear God. Humiliation, despair, and now the ugly truth presented her a crippling blow. Tears blinded her, but she shook her head. “I cannot deny it, then,” she said weakly. “I did not set out for you to love me. But then…then everything changed, and where I once feared being trapped by this marriage of convenience, now I fear unhappiness.”

  “Oh, Ava…”

  “I feel it seeping inside the abbey, under the doors, through the windows, filling the entire house and surrounding us because you and I are so far afield from one another,” she said, wrapping her arms about her.

  “Maybe not so far afield as you think. Things have changed for me as well.”

  She laughed wryly. “But not quite as profoundly as they have for me, have they? You are conflicted. I am not. No,” she said sadly, “I am astonishingly unconflicted.”

  His eyes said it all—he could not return her affection.

  “So there seems nothing more to say…except that I cannot exist this way, my lord. I…cannot.” She looked away from him and began to walk, stumbling along, the path blurred by her tears.

  “Ava!” he called from behind her.

  “Please leave me be!” she shouted pleadingly, and began to run.

  He didn’t argue. He didn’t follow. He let her go.

  Ava walked for what seemed hours, each step heavier than the last, until it seemed she had dug a furrow in the ground as long and deep as the ache in her heart.

  Twenty-eight

  I n the days that followed that afternoon, the two of them existed just as Ava imagined her mother and her friends existed—in the same house, certainly, and with the required civility—but with very little physical contact between them.

  Middleton rode out every morning, returning late in the day, usually covered in dirt or his boots caked with mud, and usually exhausted. Ava attempted to keep her mind from her troubles by playing games with Sally, much to Miss Hillier’s dismay. Ava hardly cared—she would do anything to keep her mind off of him.

  But it wasn’t very easy. She thought of him constantly, listened for the sound of his horse in the drive. She longed to speak to him—or better still, she longed for him to speak to her, to tell her that he was no longer conflicted, that he loved her completely.

  She felt like a silly girl with silly dreams.

  One day, she received a letter from Phoebe reporting that the paper had carried an interesting on dit one day about a “certain” marquis and his new wife who had journeyed to a country estate for a bit of a hunt, and what should the marquis snare but his mistress? And furthermore, Phoebe, wrote, the on dit speculated that there was a rift between the newlyweds, given their hasty departure.

  Marvelous. Now all of London shared in her misery.

  Middleton came to Ava’s rooms twice during that fortnight, and both times Ava’s resolve melted. All it seemed to take was his touch, and she was lost. They hardly spoke during these moments, just reached for each other, taking solace in their physical longings. Their hearts could not seem to exist as one, but their bodies and their passions were perfectly matched to one another.

  At least Ava believed that was so. She couldn’t possibly have known that after Jared’s heart had been reduced to mush, he despaired that it would ever grow again.

  But much to his genuine surprise, it was growing, slowly but surely knitting itself back into one piece. And that piece, as fragile as it was, was wrapping its roots around Ava.

  Every morning he rode out just to put some space between them, just so he might think, might learn to understand himself before he hurt her more. When he returned home, it was Ava’s face and bright smile he longed to see, the same smile that had captured his imagination the first time he’d met her.

  In fact, the irreverent Ava had returned to him, sitting with him every night at supper, pretending not to care in the least what he thought of her. One night, for example, she complained that the abbey was bereft of any good books.

  “I’ve a library full of them,” he informed her, surprised by her declaration.

  “I’ve seen them all,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “I suppose if one actually enjoy
s Shakespeare or Jonson, they might consider it quite nice.”

  “And you don’t enjoy Shakespeare or Jonson?”

  Ava rolled her eyes. “I am not a bluestocking, my lord. I much prefer the secular. Modern novels.”

  “I will make certain the next time we are in London that I purchase many modern novels for the Broderick Abbey library.”

  She shrugged. “As you wish. I really don’t have time to read, what with the redecorating of the green salon.”

  He ignored the incongruency of the conversation. “The green salon?”

  “Mmm,” she said, fitting a bit of sorbet on her spoon. “It’s quite dreary. Far too many portraits of positively ancient people, and the décor is really rather feudal.”

  “How odd,” Jared remarked, shaking his head at the offer of sorbet from the footman. “The furniture is French. I had it on good authority that it is the sort of furniture currently sought after in all of the finest salons.”

  Ava snorted. “I suppose, if one prefers that sort of look.”

  He smiled. “Please do as you like. You are mistress of Broderick Abbey.”

  “Thank you,” she said, inclining her head sweetly. “I ordered some new fabrics from a tradesman in Broderick and put it to your name.” She smiled at him. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” he said, and meant it. As far as he was concerned, there was no limit for Ava. Whatever she needed to make her happy, whatever would stop the unhappiness from, as she said, seeping in under the doors and through the windows to swallow her whole, whatever would bring that sparkle back to her eye he’d do. To the extent he was capable of doing it.

  Certainly he knew what might make her happy—and if he didn’t know it, he was reminded of it on those occasions he visited her bed. The way she held him, the way she moved with him, the way her mouth hungrily sought his—it was obvious to him that her feelings for him had not changed, no matter how hard she might pretend that they had.