A Duke for Miss Townsbridge (The Townsbridges, #4)

by Barnes, Sophie

  “Miss Townsbridge,” he said as he stuck out his hand, presenting her with a huge bouquet of pink roses. “These are for you.”

  “Thank you. They’re lovely.”

  “Hmm. I suppose they are, rather.”

  The utterance was so offhanded it made him sound like the sort of person who’d never paid attention to flowers before. Maybe he hadn’t. In which case Sarah had more work ahead than she’d realized.

  She gave him a swift once over, called for a maid to fetch a vase, and placed the bouquet on a nearby table to wait for said vase. At this point she ought to invite him to sit and have tea. Instead, she said, “Let’s take a walk.”

  “A walk.” He glanced about as if at a loss.

  “Yes. I happen to enjoy the activity. Plus, it will give us something to do while we talk.”

  “Of course.” He seemed to consider her logic for a moment, then asked, “Will it take long?”

  She really wasn’t sure how to respond to that besides saying, “You called on me, so I suppose it will take however long you intend it to.”

  He made a sort of grunting sound, upon which she headed into the hallway, pausing only briefly in the parlor doorway to ask, “Are you coming or not?” before continuing toward the foyer. She allowed herself a small victorious smile when she heard the steady footfalls behind her.

  MATTHEW’S EVERY INTENTION had been to make a better impression on Miss Townsbridge today. The flowers had been meant as a peace offering of sorts, but rather than give them the admiration he’d imagined she would, she’d set them aside with nary a glance. Although to be fair, she had said they were lovely.

  Now, instead of sitting quietly with her in the parlor as he’d envisioned doing, he was trying to figure out why anyone would willingly choose to use their feet instead of a horse or carriage. In a way, it was his own damn fault for deciding to set his cap for a woman who took at least one long walk each day. He always saw her during his morning ride, at roughly this hour, marching through the park as if she were running late.

  “I have a lovely curricle,” he said with a hint of longing.

  “How lucky for you.” Her pace increased until he feared she might start jogging.

  “I’d be happy to fetch it so we can enjoy a nice ride.”

  “The whole point in going for a stroll is not to sit.”

  “This isn’t a stroll,” he grumbled.

  “In any event, taking a carriage rather defeats the purpose, wouldn’t you say?” She glanced up at him as if she wasn’t sure he could grasp that fact. “I gather you’re not fond of walking.”

  “How on earth did you deduce that?”

  She ignored the sarcasm, choosing instead to concentrate on the traffic as they got ready to cross the street. He liked that about her. She was too sensible to allow a needling comment to ruffle her feathers so much she forgot about being careful.

  “Fresh air and exercise are important,” she said once they’d entered the park. “Walking is the simplest way to obtain both and...” She glanced at him again. This time with the sort of appraising look that caused his muscles to tense. “Well, if you don’t walk you obviously do something else or you wouldn’t look like that.”

  Matthew’s heart began beating faster. “Like what?”

  She waved her hand at him. “Lean and such.”

  He almost laughed, the stretch of facial muscles so foreign to him, he stopped mid smile. How had she managed it? He supposed it could be chalked up to the offhanded, matter-of-fact manner in which she’d delivered her dry remark, as if she were giving advice on how to select a good slab of meat.

  “I’m glad you noticed,” he said. Was that a faint blush of pink creeping into her cheeks? Perhaps Miss Townsbridge wasn’t quite as immune to him as she’d like to appear? Smirking, he drew closer to her side and caught her by the arm. She jerked in response to his touch but didn’t otherwise pull away. Strange, the extent to which that pleased him. Deciding not to put too much weight on it - after all it only made sense that he’d appreciate some agreeability - he said, “I prefer to engage in physical work.”

  Now why in the hell had he just said that? Wasn’t it his intention to share as little about himself as possible in an effort to maintain a comfortable distance? Why, then, volunteer this personal information?

  Because you want to pique her interest.

  If that had indeed been his aim, even if only on a subconscious level, it had the desired result.

  “What sort of work?” she asked with no small amount of curiosity.

  Not surprising since few aristocrats ever engaged in any activity that might be misconstrued as labor. As a duke, he was even less likely to do so and... He frowned. What if Miss Townsbridge wouldn’t approve? What if, in his haste to impress her with something he hoped she’d find more commendable than his approach to marriage proposals, he risked incurring additional displeasure?

  Too late for that now.

  “I lift rocks.”

  She actually sputtered. “You what?”

  “I started building a folly a few years ago.”

  “On one of your estates?”

  “No.” He hardly ever visited those. “Here in London.”

  “In your back garden?” She’d stopped walking. Most likely so she could gape at him properly. “From what I’ve been able to make out, it’s not any bigger than ours, in which case–”

  “I will admit the folly takes up a large amount of space, but it gives me something to do.” Something to busy his mind and steer his thoughts away from the constant darkness. “I decided to make an attempt at a medieval castle ruin.”

  Her eyes held his, allowing him to notice their color for the first time. It was more complex than he’d have imagined, a golden brown shade of bronze seeping into an outer ring made of green.

  Unable to look away, he remained perfectly still until the sound of her voice pulled him out of his mesmerized state.

  “And you’ve been working on this for years, you say?”

  When he nodded she made a soft huffing sound and recommenced walking.

  “I also fence,” he said with a sudden and very perplexing need to assure her that he was normal, that he also engaged in gentlemanly sports appropriate to his station. The last thing he wanted was for her to start wondering if all his faculties were in order.

  “I’d like to see it,” she said.

  “I’m afraid the club is open only to men.”

  “I was talking about the folly,” she said as they made their way onto a path that would take them toward the lake. “You sound so passionate about it, I think it might be a good place to start.”

  “Start what?”

  “Getting to know you.”

  Dear God, he was an idiot. Getting to know each other was what he’d hoped to avoid. He didn’t want her getting close, bonding with him and sharing interests. He wanted distance and solitude - no cause for affection.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said on the heels of all that thinking. “I want you as my wife, not as my friend or confidante.”

  She speared him with a scowl. “In that case we’ve little else to discuss. Good day, Your Grace.”

  She veered right at an increased pace.

  Damn.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. She was meant to see reason and tell him she’d reconsidered his offer. Instead she’d turned him down yet again without him even getting to the point of another proposal.

  He should have insisted they stay in the parlor. No good ever came from walking. As evidenced by the blister starting to form on his right foot.

  Irritated, he strode after Miss Townsbridge while cursing himself for selecting her. If it weren’t for the fact that the Season was almost over, he might consider resuming his search for the perfect bride. Except of course he’d already pondered every available woman. In the end, Miss Townsbridge was the only viable option not only for the obvious reasons, but because none of the others would have turned him dow
n.

  The fact that she had, made him want her even more. This - whatever this was - had turned into a challenge. One he meant to win even if he had to agree to show her the damn folly.

  Christ almighty, she was fast!

  He quickened his pace, cursing the blister with each step he took. “Miss Townsbridge. Please wait a moment.”

  She drew to a halt and turned to face him. “There is no need for you to continue escorting me. In fact, I’m sure you’d rather not.”

  Good God.

  He wondered if she was always this merciless or if she’d just decided to give him some sort of special treatment. Considering this was a quality he’d not noticed during his observations, she most likely had.

  “On the contrary,” he said, deciding it might be time to change his tactic, “I would enjoy nothing more.”

  She actually groaned and muttered something beneath her breath, at which point he simply had to smile. Again. How unexpected. And yet, there was something wonderfully amusing about teasing this woman. It lifted his spirits and reminded him of the mischievous streak he’d had as a child. Before the darkness had swept in and drowned out his joy.

  He deliberately blocked the memory by focusing his full attention on Miss Townsbridge. “I’ve reconsidered regarding the folly. I’d be happy to show it to you. Perhaps tomorrow if you’re not otherwise engaged?”

  “Oh.” Her eyes had widened with surprise and he had to stifle a laugh. “What time?”

  “Would three o’ clock in the afternoon suit you?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” They stared at each other a moment, not in awkward silence exactly, but with a sense of uncertainty. Until she suddenly said, “Let’s go fishing.”

  “Fishing?” Where the devil had that idea come from? It sounded spontaneous and more or less exactly like yet another thing he probably ought to avoid. The list kept growing while he continued ignoring every item on it. At least when it came to this, he had a good reason to dissuade her. “Last I checked, fishing required a bit of equipment. We, however, don’t have any rods or bait or–”

  “Not to worry. Everything we need can be rented right over there.”

  Blast

  “Would it make any difference to you if I told you I’d rather not?”

  “No.” A devilish gleam appeared in her eyes. “In fact, I think that would only make me want to do it more. Especially since Lord Penwood did offer to take me until you ruined everything with your proposal.”

  Accepting his fate - for now - Matthew puffed out a breath and followed Miss Townsbridge over to the shed where all the necessary paraphernalia could be found.

  Once they’d gotten all their gear together, including two boxes of worms, they wandered over to the area where fishing was allowed.

  “Have you ever done this before?” Matthew asked, scanning the water.

  “A few times. My parents have a lovely house in the Lake District. My siblings and I spent our summers there as children.” Her gaze grew distant. Sentimental. “It was the ideal place for us to explore nature to our hearts’ content. We’d ride, fish, climb trees, and build forts. It is, in fact, where I first discovered my fondness for walking.”

  “I see.”

  She grinned. “How about you? Have you done much fishing before?”

  “Honestly?” When she gave a small nod, he shook his head. “Not really. I don’t visit the countryside much, so I’ve not really had a chance until now. Didn’t even realize fishing was something one could do in London.”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean, you don’t visit the countryside?”

  Realizing he’d given away more about himself than he’d intended, he shrugged one shoulder to pretend indifference and focused on tossing the weighted hook at the end of his line into the water. “I’m not very partial to it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She frowned at that and eventually turned away, giving her attention to her own fishing line. “Not really.” He sighed in response until she followed the comment with, “Unless you’re still trying to get me to marry you, in which case your oddities do become more important.”

  “Choosing to stay in London in a house I feel comfortable in is not an oddity. It’s a personal choice.”

  “Hmm...” She looked at him with discriminating suspicion. “You bought that house yourself. Did you not?”

  “Yes,” he said without even bothering to hide his increased agitation. This was why he hadn’t wanted to take a walk or go fishing. Because it invariably led to probing conversations from which there could be no escape.

  “Why not live at Brunswick Manor instead?”

  His grip on the fishing rod tightened. Easy does it. With long deep breaths he fought to keep the encroaching darkness at bay.

  “Perhaps I don’t care for it any more than you care for being treated like a soon-to-be spinster who can’t get a man’s attention without her mother’s help.”

  Miss Townsbridge tightened her jaw and averted her gaze while Matthew cursed himself for his despicable rudeness. “I’m sorry,” he said, wishing he could retract the words. “That was unkind.”

  “The truth isn’t always pleasant, Lord Brunswick.” A wistful smile pulled at the edge of Miss Townsbridge’s mouth, and although he watched her in profile, there was no mistaking the clarity of her gaze as she looked out across the water. “I’ve always admired those who have the courage to speak it without any fear of repercussion.”

  Matthew could not take his eyes off her. He’d thought her only mildly pleasing to the eye until now, but in this moment of reflective pensiveness, with golden sunlight spilling across her cheek, she looked divine.

  “Nevertheless. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t incorrect.”

  “I disagree.” He waited for her to turn her gaze toward him before admitting, “I noticed you completely on my own. No one pointed you out and yet here I am, desperately trying to win your hand.”

  Her smile broadened, transforming into a wide and beautiful grin. “Desperately?”

  “You’ll see. Once I set my mind on something there’s really no swaying me.”

  “I can be stubborn too, you know.”

  “As proven by your reluctance to consider my offer.”

  She let out a small sigh. “You’re not inviting me for a night out at the theatre, Your Grace. What you’re asking is for me to spend the rest of my life with you. Surely you can appreciate how impossible it is for me to even consider doing so without having some sense of what to expect.”

  “You won’t want for anything.”

  “I’m not convinced of that.” When he frowned she said, “Material things can’t feed the heart or the soul. I won’t accept a marriage devoid of friendship.”

  “Hence the fishing?”

  She pursed her lips. “If we can’t get along for a couple of hours, I don’t see how we’ll tolerate each other for several decades.”

  He liked her reasoning, even though it didn’t mesh well with his plan to keep a distance. “And how would you say we’re getting along?”

  “Better than I’d imagined. We’ve already had our first proper argument, and yet we’re still talking to each other. Plus, I’ve learned that you might not be as arrogant as I initially thought. If you were, you wouldn’t have cared if your comment upset me.” She gripped her rod in response to a tug on the line. “Goodness. Do you think you can help me with this?”

  Setting down his own rod, Matthew leapt to her aid. Without thinking, he placed one hand over hers and held on tight while trying to reel in the taut line. The action brought him closer to her than ever before. His hip bumped hers and his arm settled firmly against her shoulder. Maintaining a gap between them while helping her keep the rod steady and reel in a fish was impossible. So he pretended their intertwined stance was perfectly normal and cast a quick glance about in case any onlookers disagreed.

  “Look, look.” Miss Townsbri
dge bounced with excitement, her body jostling his. “Goodness gracious, Lord Brunswick. It’s huge!”

  Gritting his teeth, Matthew put his back and upper arm strength into hauling the fish onto land. It was harder than he’d expected, wielding what had to be well over ten pounds of struggling weight hanging from the end of the line. The soles of his boots started slipping.

  “How much do you want this monster?” he asked, bending his knees and leaning back further for added purchase.

  “A lot,” she said as she leaned back as well, bringing her back against his chest, and her bottom...

  Dear God.

  He had to get her away from him before his body responded as he feared it might at any second. Already, a flare of desire was coursing through him as if to test his resolve. Damn it. They were pulling a wet, slimy creature out of the water. How the hell could he be getting aroused?

  She shifted her weight once more, moving against him and...

  Matthew cursed in frustration. She was trapped in his arms but if he let go and she didn’t, that blasted fish would likely haul her straight into the water.

  Right. He needed to focus. On the task at hand. Not her.

  “I want you to let go,” he said, his jaw brushing hers as he spoke.

  There was a pause, and then, “You do?”

  Matthew’s stomach clenched. Her voice was breathy and far too seductive for what they were doing. “Yes. Absolutely. Let go now and duck under my arm.”

  “All right. If you think you can manage it on your own.”

  “I can.” Certainly better than he could with her. Hell, she stood so close his brain could barely function. So if he hoped to convince his body it was meant to be fishing instead of engaging in an entirely different kind of sport, he needed her gone.

  She huffed a breath, no doubt because she wanted to take credit for the catch as well, but did as he asked.

  Sensible girl.

  Matthew repositioned his grip and tried to reel in the line, but every time he thought he was making headway, the line would slip back out.

  “I think the teeth have been ground off the gears,” he said and glanced around. There was quite a large group of onlookers now, all gawking at his inexpert efforts. Matthew searched for the biggest man among them and called out, “You, there. Can you hold this steady for me while I murder that beast?”