Miss Dane and the Duke

by Louise Allen

  Antonia averted her gaze from his face and began to talk of the magnificence of the shrubberies and the greenness of the grass despite the warm weather.

  Her determined horticultural commentary was rudely interrupted by Hewitt. ‘That’s a damn fine bit of horseflesh.’

  Antonia turned, but she had no need to follow her cousin’s pointing whip. The magnificent black stallion emerging at a controlled walk from one of the side paths was turning all heads in the vicinity. But after one glance, Antonia’s attention was riveted not on the horse but on the rider.

  Marcus was controlling the spirited animal with one hand, the other at his hat brim acknowledging greetings from many of the passers-by.

  ‘Drive on, Hewitt,’ she demanded sharply, but her cousin had reined back almost to a standstill and was not listening. ‘Stop gawping, Hewitt, it is only a horse.’

  What was Marcus doing here? It was only three days since that disastrous dinner party at Brightshill, now here he was riding through Hyde Park, as cool as a cucumber. One thing was clear, he had not followed her, for how could he know where she had gone after all the precautions she had taken to cover her steps?

  Antonia’s heart was thudding in her chest so loudly she felt sure it would be audible to her cousin sitting alongside her. She could not take her eyes off Marcus, sitting erect in the saddle. His boots were burnished to the black sheen of the animal beneath him, his riding clothes were immaculate. His hair was caught by the slight breeze as he raised his hat and her fingers clenched against the desire to run her fingers through it.

  ‘It is Allington, is it not?’ Hewitt demanded. ‘I wonder if he would tell me where he got that animal?’

  ‘Please, Hewitt, take me home, my ankle is painful and I am sure it is swelling.’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, Coz.’ Hewitt, recalled by her sharp voice, started and let his hands drop. The bay, feeling the lack of control, broke into a trot and the curricle lurched. Antonia, thrown off balance, gripped Hewitt’s arm with both hands and was still in that position when Marcus saw them.

  He urged the stallion forward with the pressure of his knees and came alongside the curricle as Hewitt once more gained control.

  Hewitt just managed to doff his hat without dropping either it or the reins. ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘You have the advantage of me, sir, no doubt Miss Dane will introduce us. Your servant, ma’am.’ He replaced his tall hat and raised one eyebrow. ‘I had not looked to find you here, Miss Dane.’

  ‘And indeed, why should you?’ Antonia retorted. She put her chin high and left her hand resting on her cousin’s arm. ‘Allow me to make known to you my cousin, Mr Granger. Hewett, the Duke of Allington.’

  The gentlemen exchanged stiff half-bows. Hewitt patted Antonia’s hand proprietorially.

  Marcus’s face showed nothing but the bland amiability of a gentleman introduced to a new, boring, acquaintance but Antonia, knowing him so well, was aware of a watchfulness in his eyes. Some devil in her made her lay her free hand on top of Hewitt’s. ‘You will forgive us, Your Grace, but we have been out for some time and I am fatigued. Hewitt dear, take me home now.’

  Marcus’s lip curved in an unpleasantly satirical smile. He did not believe a word of that, and Antonia knew it. ‘ln that case, ma’am, I would not detain you.’ To her chagrin Marcus tipped his hat once more and cantered off without asking for her direction. Not that I would have given it to him anyway.

  Antonia was glad to descend from the carriage at her great-aunt’s house. The footman helped her down with care and she waved Hewitt goodbye as she limped up the steps on James’s arm. To her relief, her cousin showed no desire to accompany her into the house; she had been concerned that she had overdone things in the Park and that he would try and follow up her unexpected warmth. But no, she reassured herself, Hewitt was too stupid to notice.

  The following morning her ankle was still stiff. Lady Granger, having failed to persuade her to allow her physician to examine it, had insisted that she spend the morning resting with it supported on a footstool. The old lady had driven out to visit an ailing acquaintance, promising to return in time for luncheon.

  Antonia obediently settled down to read the latest volume of Lord Byron’s work. Many ladies would have considered it far too shocking for an unmarried girl to read, but Lady Granger had thoroughly enjoyed it and had no qualms in passing it to her niece.

  Despite the disconcerting tendency of Marcus’s face to appear in her imagination every time she read a description of the hero, Antonia was engrossed in Manfred when Hodge threw the door open and announced, ‘Mr Granger, Miss Antonia.’

  She groaned inwardly, wishing she had given instructions to Hodge that she was not at home. But then he would have denied all visitors…

  Hewitt bustled across the room. ‘Dear Cousin. How is your afflicted, er...’ He boggled at naming part of a lady’s anatomy and finished lamely. ‘Injury?’

  ‘Much better, thank you, Cousin,’ Antonia said coolly. Why was he here? ‘Please, sit down and allow me to ring for some refreshment.’

  Hewitt showed no inclination to sit, instead striking an attitude which displayed an inordinate amount of crimson silk waistcoat. ‘What a striking waistcoat,’ Antonia said weakly, eyeing the garment with horrid fascination. In combination with trousers in an assertive shade of canary yellow the whole ensemble this early in the morning made her feel quite bilious.

  ‘l knew you would admire it,’ he beamed. ‘l thought to myself, a woman of taste such as my cousin Antonia will admire this garment. In fact, I would go so far as to say I donned it especially for you.’ His expression was doubtless supposed to be a roguish twinkle, but it emerged more like a leer.

  ‘Really?’ Antonia was lost for words. She was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable and wished she could reach the bell-pull to summon Hodge.

  Eyeing her even more warmly, Hewitt crashed to her side on one knee and seized her right hand in his damp grasp. ‘Miss Dane. Cousin. Antonia. Be mine, I beseech you! Say you will consent to be Mrs Hewitt Granger.’

  Antonia stared down appalled at the head bent over her hand, then struggled to her feet with a painful lurch, attempting at the same time to extricate her fingers. Hewitt, misinterpreting her gesture, staggered to his feet and seized her in his arms manfully.

  ‘No,’ she cried as his lips descended inexorably towards her face, but the sound was muffled by Hewitt’s chest.

  There was a discreet cough behind them and Hodge’s voice announced, ‘His Grace the Duke of Allington, Miss Dane.’

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Antonia knew she was scarlet with mortification. She attempted to free herself, but Hewitt clung to her hand until she extricated it with a sharp jerk. ‘Your Grace, good morning. Please sit down.’ She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded: inside she was trembling and, in truth, felt a little queasy. Her ankle throbbed, but that was nothing compared to her utter revulsion at Hewitt's embraces.

  Steeling herself, she raised her eyes to Marcus’s face, hoping to see some sign of jealousy, some sign that finding her in the arms of another man was painful to him.

  Marcus stared back, his face a polite mask. Not by one whit did he betray surprise, dismay or the slightest sign of jealousy in finding the woman to whom he had recently proposed in the arms of another man.

  ‘How kind of you to call,’ Antonia continued desperately. ‘May I offer you some refreshment? Hewitt, please ring the bell before you sit down.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Dane.’ Marcus sat back and crossed his legs, smiling politely at both the cousins. ‘How pleasant to see you again, Mr Granger. I was wondering where you had acquired the striking animal you were driving yesterday.’

  So you can avoid the same dealer, no doubt, Antonia thought sourly. She was hoping that Hewitt would leave, but at such flattering attention her cousin settled himself comfortably and began to prose on about his search for the perfect driving horse.

  Marcus caught Antoni
a’s eye and allowed one eyelid to drop into an unmistakable wink. Antonia, despite everything, could hardly contain the laugh that bubbled up her throat. Marcus could have asked nothing better calculated to encourage Hewitt into a display of pompous conceit and now Marcus was inviting her to enjoy it with him.

  With a struggle she controlled her expression. Beside her Hewitt, conscious for the first time that the other man’s attention was not solely on him, ground to a halt. Antonia spoke hurriedly in the sudden silence. ‘How did you know my direction, Your Grace?’

  ‘Your direction? Why, I had not come to see you, Miss Dane, but Lady Granger.’ Marcus smiled. ‘No, this is merely a pleasant coincidence. Did you know, Mr Granger, that Miss Dane and I are neighbours in Hertfordshire?’

  ‘No, I was not aware of that,’ Hewitt said shortly. ‘I was also unaware that you were acquainted with my grandmother.’

  ‘I have never had the pleasure of meeting her ladyship, but she and my grandfather were great friends. When I heard she had risen from her sickbed and was receiving once again, I naturally hastened to pay my respects. I would not have wished to, shall we say, leave it too late.’

  ‘l can assure you, Your Grace,’ Antonia snapped, ‘that my great-aunt is in the best of health. Touching though your concern is, there was no need to hasten to her side as though she were on her death bed.’

  ‘But she is very frail,’ Hewitt added hastily, as if to reassure himself.

  At that moment the lady herself entered, looking not a day over sixty five in a mauve silk creation that combined the latest fashion with great dignity. Both men leapt to their feet, but she ignored her grandson completely, fixing Marcus with a gimlet stare before allowing him her hand.

  ‘Well, well. There was no need for Hodge to tell me who my caller was. Just like your grandfather, another handsome dog. Sit down, can’t stand people hovering about! What are you still doing here, Hewitt? Every day you are cluttering the place up, every day. Go to your club, why don’t you, if you can’t stand to go home to that simpering peahen your brother married.’

  Hewitt, clearly deciding that being belittled by his grandmother in front of the Duke was detrimental to his dignity, smiled at Marcus as though to indicate that the old lady was ga-ga and bowed himself out with a meaningful stare at Antonia.

  Marcus sat and smiled back at her Great-Aunt, apparently at his ease although Antonia wondered if he had ever encountered such a terrifying old woman in his life.

  ‘So you think I am like my grandfather, ma’am?’ he enquired.

  ‘Cut from the same cloth. I would have known you anywhere as an Allington.’

  ‘And I would have recognised you, ma’am, from his description.’

  ‘Get away with you, boy!’ Lady Granger waved a hand dismissively but Antonia could tell she was pleased. ‘I’ll wager he did not tell you everything about our acquaintance.’

  Antonia blushed at the improper implication, but Marcus laughed. ‘Enough to make me envious, ma’am.’

  The two settled into a conversation that subtly excluded Antonia. She sat to one side, watching Marcus’s face, the play of expression, the movement of his hands, listening to the laugh in his voice. She loved him, wanted nothing more than to run across the room to him, bury her face in his shirt front and hear his heart beat under her ear.

  It was so painful to see him here in her old home, talking to her great-aunt, but to know that nothing had changed, nor could it. Ruthlessly she reminded herself that she could not ally herself with a man so unprincipled he would flaunt his mistress before her. And if that meant she had to live out her life in spinsterhood, well, so be it. If she could not have Marcus Renfrew, she did not want second best.

  Not that she any longer had the choice. He had made it quite clear that he was not here to see her and his reaction to Hewitt had been one of total indifference.

  Antonia became aware that Marcus was on his feet taking his leave. As he bowed over Lady Granger’s hand once more, Antonia saw her great-aunt give a decisive little nod as though she had reached a conclusion to a difficult puzzle.

  Antonia curtsied slightly. ‘Good day, Your Grace.’ And goodbye for ever, she whispered to herself.

  Antonia discovered, as she dressed for Almack’s that evening, that deciding on a life of spinsterhood did not diminish her pleasure in putting on her newest gown. The confection of silver cobweb gauze over a deep jade green underskirt was outrageously becoming, especially when worn with her great-aunt’s diamond set, just returned from the jeweller that afternoon.

  As she waited for the carriage to come round Great-Aunt Honoria regarded her critically and observed, ‘You look very beautiful tonight, my dear: that simple Grecian hairstyle becomes you. But you are not in spirits, are you? It is Allington, is it not?’ Antonia nodded silently. ‘Well, I can see why you have fallen for him. Can you not forgive him? Men are but fallible creatures.’

  ‘No, never,’ Antonia said emphatically. ‘He flaunted his mistress before me and besides, he does not love me.’

  Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of the carriage with the Granger party. Reluctant as she was to accept Emilia’s chaperonage, Antonia knew she had little choice: Great-Aunt Honoria could not be expected to attend every evening party with her niece.

  As soon as they reached Almack’s Antonia accepted an invitation to dance and was not displeased at the end of the measure to find herself on the far side of the room from her relations. She encountered the family of Sir George Dover, another Hertfordshire neighbour, and was soon in conversation with his two pretty daughters.

  Miss Kitty fell silent in the middle of a description of the most ravishing silk warehouse she had visited the day before. ‘…and two dress lengths for scarcely more than you would expect to pay for one…’ and blushed.

  Antonia turned to follow her gaze and saw Marcus enter the room. Few men could carry off the severe evening wear insisted upon by the Patronesses of Almack’s to such advantage she thought. Her pulse rate kicked up and she fanned herself, fearing her cheeks were as flushed as Miss Kitty’s.

  ‘Is he not the most handsome man in the room, Miss Dane?’ Kitty Dover whispered in Antonia’s ear. ‘In fact, I do declare him the most handsome man in Town.’

  Antonia could only stare dumbly across the dance floor, lost in hopeless love for Marcus, a lump in her throat preventing her from answering. She just hoped her feelings were not written plain on her face.

  ‘Oh. He is coming over here! Why, I shall just die if he asks me to dance,’ Kitty's younger sister Amanda exclaimed.

  Marcus strode across the floor as the next set was forming. Antonia was aware that many pairs of female eyes followed his elegant progress, and when he stopped before the three young women, bowed and then addressed her, she was conscious of several dagger-like looks.

  ‘Miss Dane, Miss Dover, Miss Amanda. Good evening to you. Miss Dane, will you do me the honour of standing up with me for this cotillion?’

  ‘You must forgive me, Your Grace, I have a headache and cannot dance. Excuse me,’ she said to the girls as she pulled back a curtain and stepped into one of the small retiring rooms.

  The room was deserted, without even the presence of the maidservant who was normally in attendance armed with smelling salts, a pincushion and other essentials for rescuing ladies at a disadvantage.

  Antonia laid one hand on her breast in a vain attempt to steady her hectic breathing. It was so foolish to respond like this. After all, she told herself with an attempt at lightness, if she came to the most fashionable resort in Town she must expect to find Marcus there. She must accustom herself to the sight of him.

  A footfall behind her sent her whirling around. ‘Marcus. You should not be in here, it is most improper. Were we to be seen people might believe… assume…’

  ‘Then they would be correct,’ he remarked calmly and took her in his arms in a manner which brooked no argument.

  Despite that, Antonia tried to break free, just fo
r her own self-esteem, but his arms were strong around her waist and when his lips neared hers she stopped struggling. All propriety, all thought of what was correct flew from her mind the moment his teeth nibbled delicately along the sensitive curve of her upper lip.

  Antonia gave herself up to the sensation of being kissed by the only man she would ever love and when he deepened the kiss she responded in kind, kissing him so fiercely that she felt rather than heard his answering groan.

  At length he freed her mouth, although his arms continued to support her. That, Antonia acknowledged shakily to herself, was a good thing, for her legs were too tremulous to hold her up.

  Marcus's eyes as they smiled down into hers were dark with desire, yet sparkling with mischief. ‘Now confess – that preposterous cousin of yours does not kiss you like that.’

  Antonia freed herself with an angry shake. ‘So that was what prompted your kiss, was it? A desire, not for me, but to best my cousin Hewitt? Well, for your information, Marcus, I have never permitted Mr Granger to embrace me, nor will I ever do so.’

  Marcus looked down into the angry eyes, sparkling magnificently in the indignant face, saw the rise and fall of Antonia’s bosom and judged the time was right to do what he had intended ever since he came to Town in pursuit of her.

  ‘But you permit me to embrace you. Come, Antonia, let us end this charade. Say you will be my wife and have done with it.’

  ‘It is no charade,’ she said furiously. ‘When I give my hand, it will be to a man whom I can love and respect, not to one prompted only by primitive possessiveness.’

  ‘Antonia, stop behaving like an outraged old maid. After all, you have not always shown such delicacy.’ Marcus groaned inwardly as soon as the words were out. Clumsy clod, he told himself. There was hurt as well as anger now in her face. Even so, he was not prepared for the stinging impact as her palm met his cheek.