by Heather Boyd
The chase was often half the fun but the reward was always sweet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“It did help that we had something of mutual interest to talk about from the start.”
“Such as?”
“My daughter.”
Adam laughed softly. “I happen to have one of those. She could do with some mothering too, I suspect.”
“I’ll give you only one piece of advice about making a second marriage. Make sure your daughter likes the lady you mean to give your heart to. When they don’t, it causes uncomfortable friction in the family.”
He had suspected he might need Ava’s approval, and it was a reason he was hesitant to begin a search. Finding a woman who pleased both him and his family was no small feat. A favorite aunt of his had refused to speak to him from the day of his first marriage until his late wife had been buried. In the duke’s case, Adam had a fair idea where the friction in the family most likely stemmed from. “You’re speaking of Mrs. Warner.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s hard to miss the way the pair never speak to each other. Definitely frosty when they are in the same room.”
The duke scowled darkly. “Rebecca dislikes change.”
Adam had actually understood Rebecca’s reaction to the marriage because, at first, Adam had wondered at the wisdom of the duke’s choice, too. However, having spent more time with the couple, Adam saw little wrong in the match now. The new duchess was more timid than the last but always extremely courteous to all. She very obviously loved her second husband—which really was all that should matter in the end. Keeping that love, having it outlast the first blissful year, was never easy though.
“She’ll come around.”
“Rebecca and Fanny didn’t speak for two years when they married. I have little hope for a speedy acceptance in my case. Rebecca idolized her mother.”
Adam raised a brow in surprise, but they were at a doorway to a small, cozy drawing room behind the main staircase, and he held his tongue. He moved inside, eager to write his letter summoning his only child to join him for the party to come.
“You should have everything you need in this room,” the duke promised. “I’m sure my daughter will not mind sharing under the circumstances.”
Adam froze, one hand inches away from the catch on the writing desk. “Which daughter am I sharing the room with?”
“This is the room Rebecca prefers to use, but I’m positive she’s occupied elsewhere right now. She probably won’t notice.”
She probably would. Adam kept his suspicions to himself as he bid the duke goodbye.
Adam wrote a brief letter to his daughter and advised her to pack her best gowns for the house party. Once his message was drafted, he sealed the letter with the blue wax he found in the desk and waved it about until dry. As he waited, he noted a small collection of papers to one side of the writing desk.
Curious, he pulled one sheet toward him and found a list of expenses, meticulously kept in such spidery script that he had to squint to read. The pages reminded him of the shock of tallying his late wife’s spending each quarter. He did not miss those arguments, or her attempts at evasion when he’d politely asked her not to bankrupt the estate for the sake of impressing her friends and family.
He put the sheet back as he found it and rose to his feet.
“I thought you were resting?” Rebecca asked suddenly.
He stilled and then turned around. “I still am. But I desired a change of scenery.”
“The best views are out the windows.” She looked behind him to the desk, one brow rising. “What are you doing there?”
“I needed to write a letter.”
Her brow puckered. “Are you finished writing it?”
“Yes,” he murmured, collecting his letter and waving it in the air to show her. “I just need to summon a servant to deliver it to Gable Park.”
Rebecca nodded. “If you will excuse me, I need to retrieve something of mine from the desk, and then I’ll be on my way again.”
Adam quickly grabbed his bottle of rum and got out of the way.
As Rebecca bent over the desk, shuffling papers, his cock perked up when she seemed to waggle her derriere in his direction. She had not meant to do it, of course, but Adam couldn’t seem to look away. Rebecca Warner was a nicely shaped wench, pleasant to hold. Her lustrous brown hair—quite long, he suspected—was elegantly coiled at the back of her head. She had a narrow waist, he knew, from the carriage accident, and an ample pair of breasts that he imagined would fill his hands nicely.
He looked up at the ceiling and cursed softly. “I must be mad,” he muttered.
“What was that, my lord?”
“Oh, nothing.” Adam stuck a finger into his collar to loosen his cravat. He turned away to look out the nearest window, too, in a bid to get his ardor to cool. “I was just thinking out loud.”
“About the view?”
About her. Rebecca Warner drew his attention—and it wasn’t just today, either. The haughtier she acted, the more appealing she seemed, and the more he wanted to annoy her, too. He feared he was becoming infatuated with the idea of bedding her. To do so would be a delicate undertaking. He’d never heard of another gentleman succeeding with her—or even trying, for that matter. He’d be the second brave soul perhaps to win the honor of bedding her, if successful. Maybe the luckiest man still alive? “The views at Stapleton are quite lovely.”
“Indeed. Father is very proud of the gardens.”
He turned slowly and set the bottle aside. He noted the lady’s appeal was not diminished by her factual reply. She gave a man no encouragement whatsoever, and he didn’t even mind. It was no wonder she had not remarried. She had an excellent pedigree and was hardly penniless—not that he knew her situation with any certainty. Still, a duke’s daughter should have been sought after for a wife long before now.
Adam expected to be rebuffed should he attempt to seduce her, but the devil in him wouldn’t quit whispering in his ear that persistence often won the day. Rebecca had been a widow some years now. He recalled hearing about her husband’s infidelity, tupping a servant behind her back, causing an embarrassing scandal. Rebecca probably lived a moral life in response to that, and he suspected that might be why she remained a widow still.
Adam believed he would have no trouble pleasing her in bed should she extend him an invitation. But would she ever? Rebecca was undoubtedly a challenge—and he’d not had a worthy one in some time.
He held her stare until she seemed to squirm. “It is not just the gardens that I admire here.”
Her lips parted slightly but then her brow puckered again. “Are you foxed?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he promised without shame. “And I intend to stay that way for the rest of the night, madam.”
“Typical of you.” She glared at him, censure in her gaze, before looking back at her papers. She scooped them up with an unhappy grumble.
Adam did not mind when Rebecca pointed out his failings. He was often deep in his cups. The duke was an excellent host and encouraged his companions to indulge to excess. Or he had before his second marriage. Rebecca certainly had noticed his enthusiastic participation on past occasions and scowled constantly for it, too. To get closer to this lady, or any lady at all, he might need to curtail certain pleasures that he usually relied upon to cure his loneliness. A small sacrifice. What would it hurt to try to please her just once?
Since delicacy had never been his way, he chose not to mince words now about his intentions. “I tell you only so you might be forewarned not to expect too much from me right now. I would not perform at my best in such a state.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What reason could I have to worry about your performance? You don’t play an instrument.”
“I could be tempted to play your body, if invited.” He drew closer to her, enjoying the challenge she presented and her shocked expression.
Rebecca’s eyes widened as he approached, but s
he didn’t draw back or let him out of her sight for one moment. “You have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Impossible, madam.” He stopped inches away and inhaled deeply. The familiar scent of her perfume tickled his nose. She was refreshingly predictable. “You could invite me to your bed tomorrow night.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Sensing a chance, he reached out one hand and brushed his fingers across her soft cheek. She seemed frozen in place. He’d expected only one reaction—for her to move out of range. Since she remained, Adam bent his head down a little more.
When she still did not move, he smiled. “I knew you liked me.”
A delicate hand landed on his chest, and she shoved him back hard. “Eh, you stink of the bottle!”
He nodded but cursed the unfortunate timing of his decision to try to kiss her today. If not for the drink on his breath, he might have received that invitation. “I promise you, I won’t next time.”
Chapter 4
People in love could be so foolish, and the proof was practically dancing at Rebecca’s side.
“Oh, Rebecca, you were so right that he would come around,” Jessica gushed yet again.
“Indeed I was. Whitfield is perfect for you.” Rebecca sighed deeply as they headed for the duchess’ parlor. There was so much to do for the upcoming wedding, but her mind would not settle. She was still feeling a little shaken by the events of yesterday.
First, she’d almost been pitched out of a carriage. She could have died or been severely injured.
And second, possibly the most alarming development of her entire life, the Earl of Rafferty had tried to kiss her.
Rebecca was not the sort of woman who inspired scoundrels or whom seducers tried to charm on a regular basis. In fact, it was quite some time since she’d ever suspected a gentleman of her acquaintance considered her for such a dubious honor. That it was Lord Rafferty, a man Rebecca did not approve of, was even more perplexing—as was her reaction to him. She was ashamed to say that she was so stunned by his behavior, she’d taken too long rejecting his advances. Thankfully, the pungent aroma of spirits had enveloped her as he’d leaned down and delivered a reminder of exactly why she didn’t trust him.
Men always did foolish things when they were deep in their cups, and hopefully he would remember none of it today to make their next meeting awkward.
Jessica rushed forward and spun in a circle. “Oh, I never imagined I could love anyone as much as I do my Gideon.”
“So you said yesterday on the way to church, and this morning at breakfast, and now again here.” Rebecca eyed her sister wearily as she caught up. She was starting to wonder if Jessica would talk of Mr. Whitfield’s perfect nature from morning till night for the rest of her life. “Perhaps a little less gushing might be appropriate.”
Jessica clutched her arm and laughed at her rebuke. “Am I unbearable?”
“Only a little.” Rebecca had always been amazed by how easy Jessica’s life was. Bad luck seemed to follow Rebecca lately like a plague. But everyone worried that Jessica was happy, and it was nearly impossible to hold a grudge against her. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me that you’ve finally settled on the exact date you’ll marry.”
“Yes, we’ve decided on May sixth. Father believes we will have a special license by then. If we allow a few days for delays because of any poor weather, the date seems the most reasonable.”
And blessedly soon, too. Rebecca made a quick calculation in her head of the distances their siblings must travel and nodded. There would be just enough time for only immediate family to attend. “I have already prepared an initial itinerary for the day.”
“Did you show Mother?”
“The duchess was with me when I drafted the initial plan. She still has it.”
Jessica glanced at her sideways. “You and Mama are getting along better now.”
“I suppose we are.” Rebecca sighed though. There was no escaping the fact that their usually sensible father had married a common-born servant he’d recently employed. There was nothing to be done about it now. There was a babe in the duchess’ belly. Rebecca had to accept the change for the sake of the child and the family.
Rebecca might not entirely approve of the new Duchess of Stapleton yet, but so far the woman had caused no embarrassment or scandal for the family, which had been her initial fear. Her grace did seem open to suggestions on how things must be done, which was a relief. Rebecca had expected a battle over a dozen little things but so far so good.
Jessica tapped on the door to the duchess’ parlor and waited for an answer before pushing the doors open wide.
Rebecca gaped in surprise at what they found and quickly looked away. Jessica, however, just sailed inside.
Rebecca risked another peek. Her father was on the settee, and the duchess was draped against him. They looked cozy. Intimate. The duke should have told them both to come back at a later time.
“I thought I should have to send another pair of servants to find you,” Father complained
“We were out taking a walk together,” Jessica hastened to say as she flopped into a chair near their father.
Rebecca hesitated and remained on her feet. “If we are disturbing you now, we can come back at a later time.”
“No, no. Now will do nicely.” Her father gestured to a chair, and Rebecca sat in it quickly.
The duchess squinted at her. “Are you sure you were unhurt in the accident?”
“Yes.”
“Then what is wrong with your wrist? You’ve been favoring it ever since the accident.”
Rebecca looked down at her hands and saw the way she was holding herself. It seemed the duchess was more observant than Rebecca’s own family. “It’s nothing to make a fuss over.”
Her father stood quickly and held out his hand to her. “Let me look at you, Rebecca.”
Ignoring her father’s request was impossible so she put her hand in his.
Rebecca had not wanted to talk about the accident or those few moments where she had been in danger of losing her life. If she had fallen, the carriage would have crushed her, and the earl, too.
Father gently manipulated her wrist, and she winced when he bent it in such a way that caused pain.
“It is only strained, your grace. Lord Rafferty grabbed me to pull me back to safety, as did the grooms helping me out of the carriage. I’m sure by tomorrow, any discomfort will be gone.”
Father’s eyes widened. “You should have had the housekeeper look at it.”
“I’m quite capable of looking after myself. Besides, Lord Rafferty’s injury was much more severe and he deserved all the attention.” She pursed her lips. The man had saved her life then tried to seduce her while drunk. Good manners dictated she at least ask after him once. At the most. “How is Rafferty today?”
“Fine. Fine. Rafferty has suffered no lasting harm.” Father shrugged. “He ate a hearty breakfast with me earlier and has gone off to call on Whitfield.”
“You should have told us you were hurt,” Jessica grumbled. “I could have been of use to you last night, and instead you let me prattle on about Gideon.”
Being fussed over was never pleasant. That was why Rebecca had not mentioned her injury. She’d learned her lesson well in childhood. When Rebecca was younger, Father had her confined to bed for far less. “I promise you, I am well enough,” she murmured before looking at her father. “You wanted to hear about the plans for the wedding.”
“Indeed.” He reached for a folded sheet of paper and handed it over. “And I’ve written down some early thoughts for the celebrations.”
Rebecca studied her father’s scrawling penmanship, and her eyes widened at his unexpected requests. She sank back into her chair. She gulped at the nonsense written down. “You want all of this arranged by the sixth?”
“We can put off the wedding a bit.” He pointed to the page. “There’s more overleaf.”
Rebecca flipped over the page and saw
a long list of names. “You want to invite all these people, too?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca wet her lips and exchanged a long glance with her sister. The future bride seemed disappointed—by the delay, she thought, rather than the guest list. As a bride, surely Jessica was more interested in claiming the groom than a grand party. “Excuse me, Father, but this is…too much.”
“You feel I should do less for your sister?”
Indeed she did. Father had a tendency toward extravagance where his amusements were concerned. The cost of this wedding would bankrupt a less-wealthy family. Rebecca hadn’t allowed such an unnecessary fuss to be made when she’d tied the knot. “In the time we have before the date Jessica and Gideon hope to be married, it would be impossible to arrange even half as much.”
Her father snatched the list back and looked down at his notes. A frown line instantly appeared between his brows. “What would you suggest be cut?”
Three-quarters of the list, for a start. Rebecca considered what might be the most obviously wasteful expense. “Well, I don’t believe there needs to be two orchestras playing on the wedding day.”
“I thought we’d host a ball and have two playing at once—one outside on the lawn, the other inside as usual. That would be very pleasant for the revelers.”
“May I see the list, Nicolas,” the duchess asked suddenly in a firm voice.
The duke obediently handed it over and then sank down beside his wife.
Rebecca held her breath as the new duchess read her husband’s wishes. The woman’s eyes slowly widened. Was this the first time she’d heard of this nonsense, too?
The duchess straightened after turning over the page. “Really, darling. Mrs. Warner is correct. It would take half a year to arrange most of this properly. I doubt Jessica would be happy to wait so long for her happy day. The sixth is a perfectly reasonable length of time to wait to be married by special license.”
Was her grace going to be Rebecca’s unexpected ally in this?
“But—”
