Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  The same thought pummeled him over and over—who would take care of these tenants if Jared went back to the twenty-first century? Bullen said the next in the ducal line was some distant cousin in Northumberland who had only visited Haverly once.

  Jared had asked what he thought of the cousin, and Bullen had shrugged. “Not very memorable. Touched every vase, statue, and painting in the house, according to Heddy, and a few things had gone missing when he and his skinny wife left.”

  Blast and damn.

  Most of Jared’s tenants could not even read. Who would watch over them? Protect them from shysters?

  As if he didn’t have enough to worry him, the brickmason in Compton had sent word his wife had taken ill, and he would be delayed by several days, maybe even a week. After that, word came that the Duke of Glomersford had bought up all the existing bricks in a three-county area for his new summer house on the coast, and all new-fired bricks for the near future would belong to him as well. So, Jared had set Bullen on a brick search, determined to send to London, if necessary, to get his fountain bricks. Haverly had lost their brickmason years earlier, and no one in Dolan knew how to accomplish the task of making more.

  Three days elapsed while he and Bullen visited all the estate tenants. His brother had also informed him Jared had two other estates to visit as well, one in Kent and another closer to the coast.

  “Are the other estates as bad off as Haverly?” he had asked, and Bullen had given him another of those damnable shrugs.

  Through all the visits and the work with his tenants, Jared could not keep his mind off Ariana Hart. She had lurked at the edge of his thoughts during all his waking hours and filled his dreams at night. Probably because he was alone and away from home—though technically he was still in his home. That had to be the reason, for no woman had ever dominated his thoughts so completely before.

  When the estate visits had finally been completed, he decided to put an end to his day-and-night dreams and confront Lady Ariana, to prove he had only exaggerated her uniqueness in his imagination. Besides, Lady Ariana needed a husband to appease her father, and that was simply out of the question.

  Chapter Eight

  “Lady Ari?” Maddy knocked as she barged through the door. “Malcolm says ye have a gentleman caller in the drawing room.”

  Ari groaned inwardly at the thought of Oxley Pearson or pie-eyed Baron Simpson or even worse, the pitiful Carroll Andover, fourth son of Viscount Whitestone, who had a horrible lisp and hated the out-of-doors.

  “Who is it?”

  Her maid smiled slyly. “’Tis the Duke of Reston, m’lady.”

  “Jared?”

  The maid nodded, her smile growing wider. “Himself indeed.”

  Ari patted at her hair. “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful as always.”

  “Dogs, stay,” Ari ordered the five furry heads that perked up from the fireplace rug when she rose to her feet.

  “I wish they stayed for me like that,” Maddy muttered and followed her out the door.

  Ari swept into the drawing room with a perfect swish of silk skirts. Jared stood at the window looking all kinds of devilish handsome, and his gaze swept down and back up as he approached with a confidence that wriggled a light tremor down her spine. She had truly meant to get over this man, she truly had. She knew she could have no future with him. She just couldn’t convince her heart.

  Thankfully, her brain kicked in with a plan—a proper plan. She would make him regret passing her over for that wicked Lucilla years before. Jared deserved his comeuppance. Yes, he did. Especially striding in here so full of confidence and eying her like a cat with a bowl of cream. A good comeuppance is exactly what she would do. Let him think he had a chance, then hand him his congé. She curtseyed—perfectly, thank goodness, even with her heart pounding like thundering hoofbeats in her chest.

  Stick to your plan.

  He took her hand and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles. “So good to see you, Lady Ariana.”

  She opened her mouth to correct the politeness, and he pressed another light kiss to stop her, this one to the inside of her wrist. Her heart seized up, then ceased beating altogether. What had been her plan again?

  “Good afternoon…Ari,” his deep baritone rumbled on, lower than normal it seemed. “See? I remembered.”

  Good Lord in heaven. Could a man’s voice alone arouse a woman?

  His midnight blue eyes twinkled, then gazed past her to either side. “And where are the Hounds of the Baskervilles?”

  “The hounds of who? Oh, my dogs.”

  Had he known another woman with hounds? Probably some Countess of Baskerville from London. Hmmph. Her mind swiftly focused.

  “I have left them upstairs and told them to stay.”

  “You have quite a way with animals.”

  “Yes, all sorts of animals.”

  His eyes widened a fraction. “Why do I suspect I am included in that remark?”

  “Why, whatever do you mean, Your Gr—um, Jared?” she quickly amended at his raised brows and tried for her best innocent gaze.

  She felt more confident when she tweaked that ego of his, which only reminded her the two of them did not suit. Though her racing heart begged to differ.

  “I believe you are a little minx.” He gave her a knowing wink that seemed to say, “Nice try, but it didn’t hurt.”

  The last time he had called her a minx, she had ended up in tears. She sashayed over to the windows giving her hips a little extra swish for good measure. Make the rake sweat.

  “I didn’t expect to see you till tomorrow at the ball,” she said, to change the subject.

  “I could not wait that long.”

  Her heart gave a little jolt, but she refused to turn and look at him. Why did he persist in doing this to her? She had not had a moment’s sleep the night of their escapade in Dolan, her mind preferring to dwell on his incredible kiss in the tavern, his defense of her against that big oaf, Dalton, and Jared’s uncharacteristic take-charge aura during the Jarvises’ childbirth. Throughout the long, sleepless night, she had allowed herself a remembered hope from her childhood that maybe the two of them could suit.

  Then the rake had gone and disappeared for three days without a word, as though she was infinitely forgettable—and that was the Jared she knew. The one who never meant what he said to the little hoyden from the neighboring estate. He only said things to tease her and string her along, finding some deviant satisfaction in her childish crush. Well, two could play that game.

  “We are quite busy with the preparations for the ball,” she said primly. Most of which were already complete, thanks to her efficient housekeeper and butler, but Jared needn’t know that. “I hope you shall enjoy the event Papa is giving in your honor.”

  “I am sure I will,” he said from right behind her.

  Startled, she almost jumped. Sakes, but the man snuck so close with nary a sound.

  “As long as you will be dancing with me,” his deep baritone rumbled.

  He had eased closer still. She could feel his warmth at her back, and she fought off the delicious tremor trying to make itself known to the tingling vertebrae in her spine.

  Deep breath. Focus.

  “Of course I will,” she managed in a light tone. “At least once. If you ask nicely.” She hated that she sounded breathless. Had he noticed?

  “Only once?”

  She could feel his warm breath on her neck, and she could have sworn her heart skipped one full beat. She wanted that beat back. He had no right to steal it, and she needed that same beat for this battle.

  “You are worried about more, and you haven’t asked for the first one yet, Your Gr—Jared.” There, much better.

  “I am asking now. For as many dances as you will grant me.”

  She pulled in a trembling breath. “Unmarried ladies can only dance twice with the same man in case you have forgotten that, as well. No more than three times even out here in the country, away from Town.�
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  He grinned. “In that event, I only know how to waltz.”

  “Don’t be silly. You know all the latest dances. You are the most accomplished dancer in the county.”

  “I have forgotten. My memory only recalls the waltz now.”

  He rested a hand against the small of her back, and she jerked at his unexpected touch. A chuckle rumbled low in his throat, and she felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “Shall we practice, Ari?”

  Practice?

  She felt a familiar stab of disappointment, a painful reminder of an awful evening years earlier. Jared had used that same exact word the night of Barwood’s ball. The night she had been overjoyed when he had asked her to dance. The night he had broken her heart.

  ****

  A slight breeze had wafted through the open terrace doors into the ballroom at Viscount Barwood’s country house and chilled the beads of nervous perspiration on the back of Ariana’s neck.

  Her first ball.

  She smoothed her peach-colored silk skirts for the eighth time and tugged at the new ivory evening gloves with the embroidered peach flowers she had enticed her father to buy. She would never get a London come-out like other debutantes. Her father hated going to London and refused to let her go without him, so she waited breathlessly tonight for someone to request her very first public dance. The musicians played the first few bars of a waltz, and Ari knew, if asked, she would be dancing on air.

  “Enjoying yourself?” a deep voice sounded behind her.

  Her heart leaped.

  Jared.

  She beamed up at him. “Yes, very much.”

  “So, you talked Wakefield into letting you attend your first ball at only seventeen?”

  Why did he have to make her sound so very young? She nodded her assent, a bit of her joy diminished.

  “You look older tonight, Ari, so I suppose it’s good he let you come and experience your first ball.”

  Not the compliment she had dreamed Jared would pay, but right enough to suit. “Yes, and thank you—I think.”

  He gave her his trademark devilish smile, guaranteed to turn her legs to pudding as the musicians struck up their waltz.

  “Since Wakefield cannot dance with his bad leg and me being your neighbor and all, it is my duty to ask for your very first dance.”

  She beamed as he held out his hand and fully expected her to accept—which she did. He wrapped his big warm hand around hers; his other hand moved to the small of her back.

  “Good practice for me before I dance with the women later,” he said.

  Jared tugging her into his arms blunted his practice remark, and she refused to consider the women he would waltz with later, for she had him now. Finally. All to herself. Whirling across the dance floor, anchored by his strong arms, she did feel as though she danced on air.

  “My, my, I am impressed,” he said, leaning in. His breath swathed her ear with warmth.

  Feeling her cheeks flush, she tilted her head slightly and waited for him to finish.

  “Your French dance instructor must be over the moon at your proficiency. You waltz divinely, moppet.”

  She beamed at him again. All right, so he could have left off the nickname he had called her since she was five. She could ignore that. Jared—her Jared—had said she danced divinely. She had dreamed of this very moment for years, maybe since the first time he had called her moppet, which was why she had worked so hard on her dance lessons with Mr. Lemaire.

  She graciously inclined her head. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  He gave her a swift little tug. “None of those airs now. I am Jared and always will be. I don’t want you taking on airs like the rest of the ladies in the ton. At least when no one else can hear you.”

  She grinned and nodded. “Jared.”

  She was so excited she stutter-stepped, gained a small frown from Jared, and quickly recovered. He had just set her apart from all the other ladies. She was special to him. Joy pressed her closer—probably closer than was proper for a girl her age and a rake his age—which gained her another small frown and an odd look she didn’t recognize.

  “Why, you little minx.”

  She had done it. She had actually flirted with Jared, and he had noticed. She felt as though she could fly.

  “Whatever am I to do with you, Ari?” he said, soft enough for her ears alone.

  “I am sure we shall think of something,” she said, feeling more worldly than she ever had in her life. “Maybe another dance or a walk in the garden.”

  His stunned look took her aback. She had completely forgotten herself and reverted to their old familiar ways of childhood. Young ladies never made such suggestions to other men, especially not to bachelors and never, ever to confirmed rakes.

  He stared incredulously for a long moment, and then he laughed. “I can see I will have to keep an eye on you and protect you from prowling rakes.”

  He twirled her between two couples and deftly maneuvered her to the edge of the dance floor as the waltz ended, then bowed over her hand. “Thank you for allowing me the honor of your very first dance, Lady Ariana,” he said formally.

  Practicing great restraint, she regally inclined her head in acceptance. He led her over to two local debutantes perched along the dance floor perimeter, then headed off to join a few of his visiting friends. The two girls nattered on about the ball guests, their gowns, and other girls, but Ari only had eyes for Jared. He had said he wanted to protect her from dangerous rakes. How delicious was that? And if she was lucky, he would waltz with her again.

  Though she danced with several young men over the course of the next hour, she kept one eye out for Jared and was positively thrilled he had eschewed the dance floor for most of the hour, submitting only to a single dance with that forward Lucilla Tartley who had blatantly approached him.

  Ari had just finished a country dance with a local squire’s son when she spotted Jared near the terrace doors. He briefly locked gazes with her, then winked and disappeared out onto the terrace.

  Had he been looking for her? He had locked gazes certainly. Did he wish her to meet him out on the terrace? She had suggested precisely that when he had called her a minx earlier. Maybe he didn’t approve of the squire’s son and wanted to protect her. Yes, he must want her to meet him outside.

  She slipped through the crowded ballroom and out the double doors onto the terrace. Torches illumined the near gardens, and she spied Jared moving down a shell path to the darker rear gardens. He glanced back over his shoulder once and moved on. Was he checking to see if she followed? Young ladies should not venture much beyond the terrace at a ball, but this was Jared, her childhood friend and rescuer.

  She hurried down the shell path after him and into the deepening shadows. She could just make out a tall form ahead, moving between the hedgerows and aimed for a small dark outbuilding at the rear of the garden. She momentarily lost sight of him as he rounded one corner, and up ahead, she spied a small summerhouse that looked more like a large dollhouse than a garden pavilion.

  As she approached the enclosed structure, her heart danced wildly. She could hear a deep baritone voice through the open window. Jared was speaking to someone? She then heard a faint feminine voice, and her heart felt the squeeze of a painful vice. Jared had not expected her to follow. He was meeting someone else out here in the dark. But who?

  Angry tears stung the backs of her eyelids, and she almost bolted for the terrace. Her mind screamed, Who? and she froze. Another one of his London widows here for a visit? She suddenly wanted to know, needed desperately to know. She eased up along the outside wall of the summerhouse and felt a stab of guilt for eavesdropping.

  “You certainly took long enough getting here,” the unknown lady complained in a husky voice that sounded vaguely familiar to Ari.

  Jared’s low chuckle sounded. “Impatient, are we?”

  “I just don’t like to be kept waiting,” the lady said sulkily.

  “It was all for your benefit, m
y lady. I waited a while after you left the ballroom, so no one would connect us.”

  There was a mild sniff. “I feared you had taken up with Wakefield’s brat again.”

  Wakefield’s brat? Ari fisted her hands. How dare the woman? The voice sounded so familiar, too, as though the name was right on the tip of her tongue. The moon had passed behind a cloudbank, and only shadows moved past the windows in the gloom of the enclosed summerhouse.

  Ari heard Jared laugh, and she cringed, the angry tears again fighting to escape.

  “Are you jealous of Ariana?” Jared asked.

  “You did waltz with her,” the sulky voice complained.

  “Only because it was her first-ever ball and first-ever waltz, and I am her neighbor.”

  “You looked to be enjoying yourself altogether too much.”

  Ari almost smiled at the thought of the woman noticing Jared enjoying their dance, but the moon slid from behind the clouds at that moment and sent a meager shaft of light through the window of the summerhouse. Meager, yet enough to illuminate the face of Lucilla Tartley.

  Jared stepped into the light and pulled Lucilla into his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous, my dear. Ariana has had a crush on me since she was ten. I dally with women, not girls, and certainly not a little hoyden who runs unchecked about the county racing horses and climbing trees.”

  The two laughed again, and Ari held her breath to fight the sob trying to burst from her throat.

  “That little hoyden is the last female on earth you should worry about,” Jared said, then leaned Lucilla back and kissed her.

  Ari scrambled to her feet and hustled back between the hedgerows, a branch here and there catching at her skirt. Tears fell unchecked, punctuated by stifled sobs. She could not go back to the ball or let her father see. He would know she had been crying and would pummel her with a hundred questions. Fumbling her way through the shadows along the garden perimeter, she reached the old stone stable and hid in the adjacent shrubbery until she spied Dorsey, her father’s coachman, and managed to signal him over when no one was looking. Dorsey met her with the carriage at a small cluster of trees adjacent to a side path to the stable.