“How am I supposed to take that?”
“Any damned way you want.”
Dexter’s hands closed into fists.
Ari stepped between them and laid a hand against Jared’s chest. “I am sure there is an explanation.”
Her fingertips tingled at the heat she could feel through his shirt and waistcoat. Jared’s eyes tracked hers, and they had gone black as onyx. Anger? Desire? Or something she did not recognize?
She tore her gaze from his and faced Dexter. “Just tell us where you were the last couple hours. Who were you with?”
The earl stared for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “I went for a ride in the countryside to exercise my horse. Alone,” he said carefully.
She smiled at Jared. “You see? He has a perfectly good alibi, and the stable boys can attest to it.”
“No, they can’t,” young Bostwick interjected. “They been with me all morning, helpin’ to round up Kyle Kipling’s sheep what got out last night.”
“That’s right,” Harrison added. “I had to saddle horses for my guests whilst the lads were gone.” He frowned suddenly and turned to the earl. “But I didn’t saddle yers, m’lord. Ye didn’t ask.”
“No, I didn’t,” Dexter said, evenly. “There were no stable boys about, so I saddled my own horse.”
“An earl saddled his own horse?” Jared accused.
Dexter stiffened. “That’s correct. Maybe dukes do not, but this earl keeps close tabs on his own stable and horses. You should try a spot of work yourself sometime.”
Jared took a step forward, fists clenched, and Ari pressed him back.
“Stop it! Both of you. You’re friends.”
“Like hell!” Jared and Dexter spouted in unison.
She fisted her hands at her hips. “If Dex was out riding—”
“So he says,” Jared interrupted, and she glared him to silence.
“—he could not have been in town. We do not doubt a peer’s word in Dolan,” she finished, hoping that put an end to the argument.
“Since when do you call him Dex?”
“Since I asked her to!” Dexter bellowed.
Ari stiff-armed both men to prevent the two from surging forward. “Enough!”
She glared at Jared. “When I invited him to our ball Saturday night, he asked me to call him Dex as all his friends do. As you have always done.”
Jared stared blankly and considered her words for several long moments. She thought she heard him mumble something about Bedlam, then he took a step back. Dexter relaxed, too, and she sighed with relief.
“Who else might want to do you harm?” she asked Jared, who looked lost in thought.
“He fought with Baron Dalton just this morn,” Harrison blurted, then clapped a hand over his mouth.
Common innkeepers could not accuse the nobility of anything without suffering repercussions.
“It’s all right, Mr. Harrison,” Ari soothed. “You are merely stating facts.”
“What is this about a fight?” Dexter wanted to know.
“Baron Dalton was, um—”
“—harassing my lady when I stepped out of the inn this morning,” Jared finished for her.
“The devil you say!” Dexter roared and turned to Ariana. “Did he hurt you?”
“I took care of it,” Jared snapped.
“And mighty well, too,” Harrison piped up, “if I do say so m’self. He laid the baron flat out on the street he did and stole Lady Ari back.”
Dexter narrowed his eyes at Jared. “Really?”
“What? You don’t believe I can?”
“Well, let us just say, it is a bit out of character for you, Reston.”
Jared once again took affront, and Ari rolled her eyes. “No more of this arguing.” She turned to Jared. “Please just take me home, and we shall figure this out later.”
Jared quirked his infuriating brow. “You have forgotten. My curricle has been disabled.”
“Oh.” Distracted by her efforts to keep the two friends from fighting, she had indeed forgotten.
“But my carriage has not,” Dexter said silkily and extended an arm to Ari. “If you would do me the honor, my lady, of allowing me to escort you home.”
She smiled. “That is very kind, Dex. Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Jared said. “We appreciate the ride.”
Dexter raised his own brow in mock confusion. “The offer was extended to Lady Ariana. Your Grace must see to the repairs of his prized curricle.”
Ari reached out and laid a hand on Jared’s arm. “It’s all right. I know how much you love that curricle. Dex can see me home.”
“Harrison, if you would ready my carriage,” Dexter said and whisked Ari out the door.
****
Prized curricle? What sort of dolt was his ancestor to put so much stock in a carriage that a beautiful woman expected to take second place to it?
The same sort of dolt who has forgotten dates with supermodels once he gets involved with his sulky-racing team.
Had he really done that? Yes, he had.
He had even forgotten about Eddy a few times. Had that forced her back to the arms of her old boyfriend? If so, Jared had gotten exactly what he deserved. Eddy may have cheated on him, but Jared had cheated on her and every other girlfriend he’d ever had by making them take second seat to his job, his hobbies, his sports, his everything. Jared’s wants had always come first—perquisites of being a duke, he supposed, and being born with everyone around him expected to wait on him. It had been easy to take advantage, and he had always had to work to rise above the inclination and to treat others fairly and with dignity.
Had that bump on his noggin made him wax philosophical all of a sudden? He touched the tender spot, relieved to discover the lump mostly gone. One thing he had learned for certain this day. If Ariana had been waiting for him, he would have remembered their date.
“Yer Grace?”
He glanced up.
Young Barry Bostwick had remained and now stared open-mouthed at him.
“Yes?”
“Ye want I should fix yer curricle straight away, Yer Grace?”
Jared bit back a smart retort. “Yes, of course.”
Barry shot him a disbelieving look.
“What?”
“Really?” Barry asked incredulously.
“Of course, you—” Jared took another deep breath. “Yes, I want you to fix my curricle,” he said between clenched teeth. “Why would I not?”
“Because ye always said only a London coachmaker were fit to build or repair yer carriages. Village blacksmiths—” Barry swallowed hard, and his eyes went wide.
“Go on. What do I always say?” He tapped his head. “My memory is fuzzy.”
“Ye always say village blacksmiths don’t have the sense God gave a clam.”
Good Lord—my ancestor Seven really was a dolt. I never would have said that—aloud anyway.
“I must have been in my cups when I said that.”
Eyes wide, Barry shook his head before Jared even finished.
Jared sighed. “Then I should not have said that.”
Barry gaped at him.
“I would very much like you to fix my curricle. As soon as possible.”
“I’ll have to wait until the stable lads get back to help me get the curricle into the hay wagon.”
“I need my curricle posthaste, so I’ll come along and help you bring it back.”
Barry’s answering smile was positively radiant, and he started for the door bobbing his head. “’Twould be my honor, Yer Grace. My real honor. My very best honor.”
Jared strode alongside. “It’s all right. I get the idea.”
The village thoroughfare was deserted as they made their way to the smithy. No sign of Dexter or his carriage. Contrary to the earl’s claims, Jared knew absolutely nothing about the man, and thoughts of what might transpire in the man’s carriage on the road between Dolan and Wakefield Manor set Jared’s teeth to g
rinding.
“Tell me, Barry, are the villagers of Dolan familiar with the Earl of Dexter?”
“Aye, Yer Grace. He has got quite a reputation the earl ’as.”
“And what exactly would that reputation be?”
Obviously, Barry realized he had spoken out of turn and to a peer of the realm no less. The poor lad looked as though he had swallowed a frog. Must be true—things were different in the country.
Jared clapped a companionable hand on his shoulder. “Just between us. To help my fuzzy memory along.”
The boy grinned. “Yes, sir. The earl has a reputation for bein’ a rake. Harrison’s cousin says he be the biggest rake in London next to Yer Grace.”
Jared winced at the slight, but the lad seemed oblivious. “Harrison’s cousin?”
“Lives in London. Has an inn there. Even bigger than Harrison’s.”
“Have Dexter and I stayed there?”
Barry looked aghast. “Criminy, no! Yer Grace and the earl would never stay at the Bear and Beagle. It’s much too small and not nearly nice enough.”
“Where is it exactly?” Jared asked, oddly curious.
“Knightsbridge. Well, the outskirts of Knightsbridge.”
“So if the earl and I have never stayed at the cousin’s inn, how does he know our reputations?”
Barry gave him a chagrined look.
“Out with it.”
“All of London talks about Yer Grace and the earl.”
Ouch.
“I see.”
Sadly, he did see, and he could not perch in his glass house and cast stones. He had been the equivalent of a twenty-first century rake. Surely, these constant attacks of conscience would disappear with the now-reduced lump on his head—he hoped. Better to spend his time figuring out who was trying to injure him, or rather injure Seven. Circumstances pointed to Dexter who had shown up at both scenes of attack. Always safer to eliminate suspects rather than conjuring them.
“Tell me something, Barry, just between the two of us.”
The lad’s radiant smile returned, and he bobbed his head.
“Does Baron Dalton have the know-how to sabotage my curricle?”
“I don’t believe so, Yer Grace. He is worse than ye are about not lettin’ villagers work on his coaches. He’ll barely let the Compton lads fix whate’er’s broke. Buys his carriages in London, he does. Got expensive tastes, that baron.” Barry led him into the smithy. “’Course he does say us village blacksmiths got the sense of a jackass. Better’n a clam, if ye ask me.”
****
Jared did not rise until midmorning the following day and awoke exhausted and sore from his fight with Dalton, his work on his curricle, and long hours spent lying awake trying to figure out who and why someone would want to hurt Seven—maybe even kill him. He’d had plenty of time to assemble possibilities while waiting for Bostwick to put a new axle on his curricle. He and the lad Barry had hoisted the broken cart onto Bostwick’s enormous hay wagon and hauled it back to Dolan. Bostwick Senior and the stable lads showed up shortly thereafter to help with repairs, or Jared might have had to take a room at the Hare and Hound for the night.
While he waited for the curricle, he tried to recollect everything he had read from Six’s journal and could not recall any mention of the Earl of Dexter. He had spent several additional hours perseverating on Dexter and Ari riding off in the earl’s carriage and had not liked the paths his thoughts had traversed. Dexter was a known rake, and rakes seduced. Jared should know. The future would call them jetsetters, but they were still rakes.
After the Bostwicks finished with Jared’s curricle—he could have had an engine in his Bentley replaced faster—he drove past Wakefield Manor to check on Ari and was stunned to discover Dexter’s carriage still parked at the stable when dinner had no doubt been served. Had Ari invited Dexter to stay? Jared found he had not liked that possibility one whit.
Young Bostwick had claimed the earl was a rake of the worst sort, and that had started Jared wondering whether his real worry had been for Ari’s virtue or that another rake might beat Jared to her? He hadn’t liked the answer, and guilt had no doubt instigated his insomnia.
Ari was not some experienced beauty he could dally with and then abandon. She was a beautiful, refined lady of innocent virtue and deserved far better than a playboy from the future who would flee this century at the first opportunity. No, if he decided anything the night before, it was to keep his distance from the incredible Lady Ariana Hart. At least, he would do one noble thing while stuck here.
Heading downstairs to the mansion’s dining room in hopes of finding something that passed for breakfast, he was relieved to see a few covered platters remained on the sideboard. He helped himself to several delectable pastries and a bowl of fruit with clotted cream that had thankfully awaited his arrival on a bed of crushed ice. He needed to have a care about the preparation and maintenance of food in this century. And keep his Bedlam-tempting mouth shut about things like salmonella, which would not be discovered for almost seventy-five years.
Heddy breezed in and startled him. “We didn’t know when ye’d rise, Master Jared, but I can ’ave Cook make eggs and sausages right quick for ye.”
“This is fine,” Jared said, spooning up fruit. “Is Bullen about?”
“Right here.” Bullen strode into the dining room. “Been waiting for you for hours, Your Grace.”
Jared didn’t care for the tone of his Your Grace but decided to ignore it. He had too much to do and too little time to worry about retraining staff he may never see again.
“I am glad you’re here,” Jared said companionably. “I thought—”
“I thought I would take you around the estate today,” Bullen interrupted, “and let you meet some of your tenants.”
Jared stared. “That is precisely what I was going to suggest.”
Bullen and Heddy exchanged glances.
“Really?” they said in unison.
“You needn’t look so surprised. I have been gone for a long while,” Jared said indignantly.
“Too long,” Bullen said.
The man was definitely cheeky.
“Yes, well, I need to look in on all of them.”
He wanted to make sure the tenants were cared for, and if things were as bad as his staff intimated, he would need to see some funds infused into the estate before he left. He had to make sure a substantial inheritance remained to bequeath to…well, him.
“We’re just surprised ye’re wantin’ to visit tenants so soon after ye’re back is all,” Heddy offered.
“Or ever,” Bullen muttered under his breath.
“Surely, you don’t think I would ignore them,” Jared said to Heddy.
She leaned close. “I know yer memory’s gone, Master Jared, but blimey, Shirley is the—”
“—upstairs maid. Yes, I remember,” Jared snapped.
“Well, then why—”
“Oh, never mind. Thank you for the breakfast, and I will see you back at dinner.”
Heddy gaped. “Ye’re thankin’ me for breakfast?”
Jared did roll his eyes then, grabbed the last pastry off his plate, and strode to the library with Bullen hot on his heels.
“I want to get my account book to take with me on the estate tour,” he said and crossed to his desk.
“Why don’t you just ride along and meet everybody today, see how they are faring. You can take your books the next time.”
Jared stiffened and chose his words carefully so as not to commit any misstep. “I already know my tenants. I need the book to…er, help me remember.”
“Who are you trying to fool, Your Grace?”
There was that tone again. Did this fellow know Jared’s secret somehow? No, that was impossible.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I have always taken care of the estate and the tenants.”
“Yes, yes, I know—while I was gone to the continent.”
Bullen’s eyes narrowed. “N
o, always. I have been the one to take care of things at Haverly. It’s just the two of us in here, so I don’t have to cover for you.”
Jared sighed. “You don’t like me very much, do you?”
The stable master’s gaze remained narrowed. “It’s complicated.”
“Because you think I don’t care enough about the tenants.”
Bullen shrugged. “You don’t even know the tenants.”
“Don’t be silly.” Every Reston duke had known his tenants. Maybe not on sight, but he knew of them. He rubbed his temple where his head had begun to ache again.
“This has nothing to do with your memory loss, Your Grace. You cannot remember what you never knew.”
Jared’s turn to gape. “Are you saying—”
“—that you have never met the tenants? Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying.” Bullen’s expression turned stony.
“But I became the duke when number…when my father died. Surely, I took over the accounts.”
Bullen was shaking his head before the words left Jared’s mouth.
“No?”
“You had me watching the accounts for you from the beginning. Said you were too busy.”
Good Lord, the accounts would have been Seven’s only job, and he didn’t do even that? “Too busy doing what?” Jared blurted.
Bullen’s brows went up. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes! I do!”
“The money from the estate funded your activities in Town. Let’s just say you were quite busy.”
“And spent all the money,” Jared finished lamely.
What sort of dissolute wastrel had his ancestor become? Jared himself had played, sure, but he made sure he expanded his legacy at the same time.
“That explains your familiarity and lack of respect, I suppose.”
“Does it?” Bullen looked surprised. Finally.
“Well, it is obvious you are not impressed with my position as a noble peer of the realm. You say Your Grace like it’s something nasty.”
“When the duke died, you insisted we all call you Your Grace and nothing else. All but Heddy.” He smiled. “She refused. You let it go.” The smile vanished. “Not so with me, though I had called you Jared or Master Jared my whole life.”
That did not seem so awful. Seven was the duke and as such, deserved the moniker Your Grace.
Duke Du Jour Page 10
