All You Need is a Duke (The Duke Hunters Club, #1)

by Blythe, Bianca

  “Play it yourselves,” Jasper shouted, jogging toward the English Channel, unhampered by the uneven ground as he moved past his gardeners’ neatly maintained paths.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MARGARET RUSHED TOWARD the coast. Her long locks toppled from their position, and she secured her cap with her one hand, lest it decide to flit into the channel, confusing the fish with its abundance of lace and ribbons. Dark strands flew across her face, controlled more by the wind than by Margaret’s coiffure skills.

  She avoided the dukes, sprinting hastily past them, not desiring to enter into another uncomfortable conversation with them. The leaves of the chestnut trees rustled in the wind, and birds chirped.

  Were it another day, Margaret would have been content to search for birds and record the features of birds she did not recognize in her notebook.

  But this wasn’t a normal day, nor was it a normal weekend.

  Today she was near the very coast where the most intriguing fossils in England had been discovered. The fossils resembled crocodiles. In fact, they didn’t even look so dissimilar from huge birds. The fossils seemed to be of a completely new species, as if strange large creatures had once swam and strode along England’s coast.

  The chestnut trees disappeared. Long strands of grass covered the ground, accompanied only by the occasional daisy. Margaret quickened her pace, wanting to immerse herself into this new world.

  Finally, the English Channel appeared before her. Azure waves lapped against a tawny-colored beach. Fluffy clouds zigzagged the sky, as if to marvel at the area’s beauty, rather than because of any plans to force water down upon it.

  Birds chirped and sang, and wildflowers swayed in the breeze.

  She was here.

  Mary Anning had discovered large, intriguing fossils not far from here. What creatures had roamed this coast?

  Margaret approached the cliff’s edge. A path curved onto the beach, and she followed it, winding her way until she reached the shore. She settled onto the sand, listening to the waves. The sun shone brightly, casting everything into a golden light. She removed her gloves and touched the sand with her fingers. How lovely it would be to explore this coast thoroughly, to see if she could find anything similar to what Miss Anning had found.

  There wasn’t time for that now. She shouldn’t even be here. Mr. Owens had made that fact clear, even if the area seemed lacking in typical dangerous qualities. No port was nearby, swarming with sailors eager to revel. Threats of Frenchmen invading had long ago diminished. There was no storm descending, forcing the tide to grow higher and to surge quickly over the shore. She wouldn’t be dashing into one of the caves for shelter.

  No.

  Margaret could simply enjoy herself.

  “Miss Carberry?” a male voice jolted her from her thoughts, and she jerked her head around.

  She blinked toward bright light, masking the figure.

  “I’m sorry to startle you,” a baritone voice she recognized said.

  Her heart flew: it was the duke.

  She scrambled up, slipping on the sand, and he caught her in his arms.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Quite well, Your Grace.” Her voice squeaked. At some point, her breath seemed to have left her. No doubt, it preferred lingering about him.

  Now that she stood, the light no longer masked him. Rather, it illuminated his broad shoulders, chiseled face, and exquisitely tousled hair.

  She touched her throat.

  “I shouldn’t have disturbed you,” he said, and his cheeks seemed a tawnier color than before. “I wondered when you went off on your own.”

  “I’m quite happy on my own,” she said.

  “But you don’t need to be.”

  “No,” she admitted, and she found herself smiling. “I simply wanted to see the coast.”

  “Ah,” he glanced toward the waves. “It is beautiful.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You are an admirer of beauty.”

  She hesitated. He expected her to agree.

  “I am,” she said, “but I’m also an admirer of fossils.”

  “Ah. But of course. Mary Anning, correct?”

  “You heard of her discoveries?” For some reason she was surprised.

  His lips twitched. “I am not solely concerned with festivities.”

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  “Though...” He looked down. “It is possible that I first heard about her at a party.”

  She giggled, and his eyes sparkled.

  Fiddle-faddle.

  She averted her gaze, lest he catch her staring.

  It would be easy to linger her eyes on the manner in which the sunlight played in his hair, turning some of his tousled locks caramel.

  The thought was hardly original to her. Other women remarked on the man’s attractiveness, as they strove to determine which Greek God he most resembled.

  “Discovering the bones of huge, ancient creatures,” the duke continued. “Quite extraordinary.”

  “Indeed,” she said, finding herself beaming.

  “I’ve read that perhaps these fossils are remnants of large elephants that the Romans may have brought to Britain when they conquered the country.”

  Margaret frowned. “I have heard that theory.”

  “Yet you’re not a proponent of it?”

  “The fossils do not resemble elephants.”

  “They are large.”

  “That is not the only trait elephants possess. In fact, there’s a similarity with birds I find fascinating.”

  He turned to her sharply. “So these creatures had feathers?”

  She shook her head. “I wouldn’t necessarily say that. But they may have at times strolled on two feet.”

  “So less similar to Lily.”

  “Precisely.”

  They strode along the coast, chatting about the implications of the discoveries. The sun continued to shimmer golden beams, the waves continued to sparkle with the force of diamonds, and the grass and wildflowers continued to sway elegantly under the wind.

  “You must speak of your theories to Ainsworth,” the duke remarked.

  “Ainsworth?” Margaret’s shoulders sank. For a blissful few moments, she’d managed to forget about the house party.

  The duke nodded. “Ainsworth is most intellectual. He will find your ideas fascinating.”

  “You didn’t give the impression of finding my ideas dull.”

  “N-Naturally not. But he will understand them more. He understands everything.”

  Margaret averted her gaze, lest the duke see her frown. She was certain the duke was much more intelligent than he seemed to think. Emma had told her that when he’d accompanied her future husband to the continent that the duke had been in possession of excellent language skills.

  “Much like elephants are not the only large creatures, I suspect the Duke of Ainsworth is not the only intelligent duke.”

  He furrowed his brow. “You mean Brightling? He is quite the expert in flora and fauna.”

  “I meant you.”

  The duke’s cheeks grew ruddy. “No one says that.”

  “Perhaps they should.”

  He looked at her curiously, and Margaret’s heart trembled. She shouldn’t go about complimenting him. Compliments might make him think that perhaps she held him in overly high regard. He’d arranged this entire event so he would not be saddled with her in the future.

  “Perhaps I will speak with the Duke of Ainsworth,” she acquiesced.

  “Good, good,” he said, but his voice seemed to lack its customary force, and Margaret wondered whether her feelings were already too clear.

  She adopted a faster pace so they might reach the castle more quickly.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JASPER SHOULD HAVE been relieved to find his friends sitting in the drawing room when Miss Carberry and he returned to the castle, but instead an odd twinge of irritation moved through him. The feeling was not improved when Miss Carberry’s
mother and grandmother joined them. Lady Juliet was apparently not feeling well and would not join them, though Jasper suspected Lady Juliet was aware tonight was supposed to be about Miss Carberry.

  Clearly, Lady Juliet was a good friend. Lady Metcalfe had also been close to Miss Carberry. Many people seemed to know Miss Carberry was wonderful. He only wished Miss Carberry would know it as well.

  The conversation with Miss Carberry had ended, and he contented himself with his friends.

  Finally, her father reappeared with their dog. Lily wagged her tail and rushed toward Margaret. Margaret exclaimed and petted Lily unselfconsciously, and something in Jasper’s chest tightened at witnessing such obvious affection.

  “Did you have a pleasant stroll?” Jasper asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Mr. Carberry beamed.

  “The sun is setting,” Mr. Carberry said. “I can see it from the window. It’s beautiful.”

  Jasper widened his eyes. “You’re jesting.”

  “Er—no.” Mr. Carberry eyed him strangely. “It’s not something I would jest about. If I jested.”

  Jasper threw his hands up in the air. Of course. It had been a foolish question. Mr. Carberry was not prone to jesting. He was unlikely to begin by attempting complex jokes about sun patterns. Most people new to the process favored placing a simple banana peel on strategic places on the ground—a hard surface was required for that particular effort at levity. Carpets would not do.

  Jasper gazed at the window. The footmen would arrive with the first food soon, but Jasper resisted the urge to wallow away his regrets about sunsets while gobbling canapes. He needed everyone to be outside. Now. No matter how smug they might appear at their armchair selection.

  “Let’s go outside,” Jasper said.

  “Outside?” Ainsworth shot him a quizzical look.

  “Naturally outside,” Jasper snapped. “Outside isn’t an absurd concept. After all, places are either inside or outside, and most places are the latter.”

  Brightling’s mouth dropped open, but Miss Carberry’s lips twitched.

  Jasper headed toward the door, pivoting only to say, “this way.”

  “You want us to join you?” Ainsworth drew his forehead together.

  “Naturally,” Jasper said.

  His friends shot one another odd glances, as if they found him peculiar.

  He threw up his hands. “You needn’t look so puzzled. The statement shouldn’t be necessary. You did enter this way.”

  Miss Carberry lifted her eyebrows, and Jasper nodded.

  She needed to come too.

  This was important. Sunsets were one of nature’s most consistently romantic occurrences. They seemed popular with everyone, even if he was grateful that men’s fashion no longer demanded that one swathe oneself in pink as if to emulate one of the striking features of a sunset. Black suited him just fine: one worried far less about the occasional spillage and garden wanderings were not sources of stress.

  Soon, they stepped onto the gravel. The castle soared behind them, casting a shadow, and Jasper shivered.

  Unfortunately, shadows were not known for their romance inducing quality. Most people who spoke of shadows, when they mentioned them at all, categorized them with more fear-inducing things. If people lingered on the castle’s shadow, they might contemplate the prospect of ghosts and whether they might reside in the castle.

  Naturally, if ghosts did exist, they were bound to choose the castle as a residence. His guests simply didn’t need to muse over that indisputable fact.

  There were other things they could linger on: the scent of roses wafting from the nearby garden, the manner in which the light spilled over Miss Carberry’s face, illuminating her soft skin. She gazed upward, dear thing, as if entranced in the sunset.

  The others should be making conversation with her. They should be sharing the names of flowers and pondering the names’ suitability for unborn children.

  Miss Carberry strode beside her mother. Men tended to view mothers with suspicion, and in this case, any instinct to be wary of them was entirely well-founded. He could not blame his friends, who had not all seen one another recently, from taking the opportunity to chat with one another.

  Jasper stared as Ainsworth began to speak with Miss Carberry. No doubt they were speaking of something intellectual. That was what Ainsworth tended to do, and Jasper had no doubt Miss Carberry was quite capable of following any conversation.

  At Lord Metcalfe’s house party, Miss Carberry had shared obscure subjects with ease. Jasper would consider himself proud to remember the names of any vertebrae, much less expound about a particular species’ habits.

  Barking sounded, and Jasper turned.

  “Lily!” Mr. Carberry bellowed, despite his retiring nature.

  Miss Carberry halted and glanced in the direction of the sound. Lily sped through the garden, wagging her tail.

  “Lily!” Mr. Carberry bellowed again, with the force of a man auditioning to replace a bugle.

  “Lily!” Mrs. Carberry and Miss Carberry said, their high-pitched voices joining in what would be in other circumstances a pleasant harmony.

  He’d left the castle with too much haste. He hadn’t even determined the door was closed, and the servants, doubtless, had been too bewildered to ascertain it.

  He’d need to find Lily. He couldn’t let something happen to her.

  He took off at a run. His friends sprinted after him. Thuds sounded behind him, and a great many voices now shouted “Lily!”

  It was of no avail.

  Lily was content to run. She might halt when boredom set in, though regrettably, there was little in the estate to tire of. He feared the estate was filled with interesting scents and exciting small animals.

  And this was Margaret’s dog.

  Margaret’s dog that she’d raised from a puppy.

  Margaret’s dog that was one of the few connections with her previous life that she had.

  And Lily might become lost, might become hurt, on his estate.

  There was only one thing Jasper could do: follow the dog.

  Jasper pounded over the estate, soon losing the others. Perhaps they were strong, but they didn’t know every short cut here. Jasper did.

  Unfortunately, Lily seemed to be heading for the water.

  Blast it.

  She’d spotted the ducks.

  Jasper leaped over a gate that separated the rose garden from the orchards and sprinted toward her. He couldn’t see anyone else now. It was up to him to not lose her. The sun was setting, and this was not a good time for a dog to be lost. If only this estate had hedges that enclosed it.

  Lily leaped into the lake and paddled toward the island.

  Jasper cursed.

  She was in the water. That beastly, beastly water. The sort of water people drowned in. The sort of water his parents had drowned in. The sort of water his siblings had drowned in.

  He stared at the liquid, imagining Lily being pulled below. Lily paddled, but her pace slowed in the water. Perhaps swimming was not one of her common pastimes.

  He needed to get her.

  Damnation.

  He wasn’t going to tell Margaret he’d let her dog drown.

  Jasper leaped into the water. The water was wet and dreadful, but Jasper refused to turn back.

  “Over here, Lily,” Jasper said.

  Lily tilted her head at him suspiciously. Still, she didn’t move farther toward the island, and he swam toward her.

  “Come,” Jasper said again.

  Then Lily swam toward him.

  Jasper grinned.

  Lily paddled rapidly, even passing him. Well, she was a good girl. She knew he wanted to be back on land.

  Jasper turned to follow her, then halted.

  Miss Carberry stood before him. The sunset glowed over her, casting rose and violet light over her.

  She looked... beautiful.

  “It’s you,” he said dumbly.

  “I heard some splashes.” She knelt and tie
d a ribbon she must have pulled from her dress onto Lily’s collar.

  “You’re very practical,” he said.

  Her cheeks pinkened somewhat, and she focused on petting Lily.

  Jasper looked about. “Where are the others?”

  “They headed toward the coast.”

  “Oh. And you didn’t follow?”

  Her cheeks pinkened again. “I saw you going this way. I—er—hoped you had seen her.”

  “I thought you would prefer to stay with the dukes.”

  “I don’t know how to speak with a duke,” Miss Carberry stammered.

  Jasper frowned. “You do realize I’m a duke.”

  “Well, yes. But that’s different.”

  Jasper arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying I do not fulfill your ducal expectations? Am I not sufficiently imposing?”

  “Not precisely,” Miss Carberry admitted.

  Jasper narrowed his eyes. He stepped toward her but was distracted by an odd squeaking sound. He frowned. “Did you hear that?”

  Miss Carberry’s lips twitched. “I believe you have water in your shoes, Your Grace.”

  Jasper contemplated those words and took another tentative step toward her. The same irritating noise sounded again, this time accompanied by distinct sloshing.

  “This is why you don’t think I’m respectable,” he growled.

  “I think you’re perfectly respectable,” Miss Carberry protested, her eyes sparkling. She shook her head, and for a moment he was distracted by her luscious midnight locks that had come undone from her pursuit. He resisted the temptation to run his fingers through her hair.

  Jasper scrunched his brows, conscious water was dripping from his face in a distinctly unrespectable manner.

  “I haven’t forgotten you’re a duke.”

  “I’m glad my soggy presence hasn’t eliminated your memory, Miss Carberry,” he said grumpily.

  The woman grinned, and Jasper smiled back.

  Few people were so genuine in their emotions. Most held them back when they found things amusing, and displayed them, when things were not amusing, as if they’d confused smiles with shields.

  Lily wriggled her body.

  “Oh, no,” Miss Carberry said. “Lily, don’t.”