Now, that was pointed. His blithe tone indicated that he assumed he would have his way on this and most everything.
“If you are going to insist on your property rights, I would be foolish to refuse you.”
“And, as I saw at first glance, Mrs. Joyes, you are not a fool.”
“I hope not. However, if we extend the hospitality that you expect, let us have a right understanding on one point, sir.”
“How stern you sound.” Again, that too-familiar gaze and slow smile. He possessed a talent for crossing lines without overtly taking any steps. “It must be a significant point.”
She tried to sound very stern indeed. “There is a young woman living here. If you in any way importune her in your ongoing efforts toward varied badness, if you even flirt with her, I will shoot you.”
The splats of rain picked up their rhythm while she spoke. One hit her nose, as nature conspired to undermine the authority she tried to convey.
He smiled, far too amused for her purpose. He reached over and flicked the little bubble of rain off her nose. “If I die, they will hang you.”
“No, they will not. My lawyer will pack the courtroom with other women you have seduced, and every father on the jury will vote to acquit me.”
He placed his hand over his heart. “I give my word as a gentleman that I will treat this young woman like she is my sister.”
He seemed sincere, even if naughty lights danced in his eyes.
“Then you are welcome inside to share our simple dinner and make use of one of the spare chambers.”
The rain began falling in earnest now. He joined her as she hurried to the garden door. He followed her into the house, peering this way and that at the new surroundings.
Katherine came in from the greenhouse, and Daphne introduced her. Katherine bobbed a curtsy and fled.
“I doubt you will see Miss Johnson again,” she said. “It was probably unnecessary to require your word.”
“I promise that it was. I have no interest in Miss Johnson. The fact is, Mrs. Joyes, if I were of a mind to seduce any female in this house, it would be you.”
B
y eight that evening, Castleford was concluding that someone putting a gun to his temple would be a mercy.
The exquisite Mrs. Joyes had dodged him all afternoon. First he saw to his horse—a chore he had not performed in more years than he could count. By the time he finished he was in a sour mood and grousing privately that Mrs. Joyes had better be worth all the trouble that his impulsive and determined desire for her was causing.
After that, he was left to his own devices in her small, feminine library. The presence of women all but drenched this house, and their light steps and quiet voices just out of sight and just out of hearing hardly helped his concentration on the tome he chose to pass the time.
Finally, the housekeeper, a scowling little woman named Mrs. Hill, dark of eye and sharp of beak beneath her cap’s lace edge, showed him to a bedchamber decorated in feminine yellows and blues. He prepared for a casual dinner.
To his delight, Katherine did not attend, so he was alone with his hostess. He settled down, anticipating a lively exchange while he lured Mrs. Joyes into more high color and, once all progressed as he intended, another outburst of passion. One that he would ensure went on a good long while.
He politely asked early on after the gardens and this business called The Rarest Blooms. A mistake, that. He had listened to the ensuing detailed explanations for two hours now, barely managing not to yawn. Mrs. Hill served a simple meal of soup, cold ham, and finally a trifle probably whipped up just because he had intruded.
Mrs. Joyes remained a chilled column of winter composure the whole time. Etiquette impeccable and expression serene, she entertained him with grace, speaking in a slow monotone that made his eyes want to cross. The result was that he found himself imprisoned in exactly the kind of tediously proper congress that he loathed. It was so unbearable that he even gave up wondering what the woman looked like naked.
It was time to take matters in hand and make things more interesting. Since Mrs. Joyes was of considerable interest, he forced the conversation onto her.
“I am told that you are a widow,” he said when she finally paused after naming every damned variety of verbena grown in her greenhouse.
“My husband died in the war.” She lowered her eyes as she replied, to signal that this topic should be avoided.
Perhaps it should be, but he never learned anything useful if he obeyed such cues. “Were you married long?”
“Less than two years.”
“He was at war most of that time, I assume.”
“I followed the drum, so we were at least together.”
“Still, how unfair for you, to be made a widow before you barely had time to enjoy the pleasures of marriage.”
She gazed at him so blandly that one might think she had missed the sensual allusion and the way it pushed a door ajar just a tad. She was good, he had to give her that. She wore her composure like a shield. Getting her to drop it, even for an instant, was turning into a challenge.
He in turn gazed around the chamber. “Did none of our mutual friends ever think it odd that an army captain left you a property like this? That is what they assume, isn’t it? That this came to you through your husband.”
“I suppose they might assume that. I was never asked about it.”
Vague memories regarding references to Mrs. Joyes had been emerging since he learned her identity outside. “Is that why you have that peculiar rule here, that no one pry into anyone’s past? So no one would ask, and you would not have to explain?”
A few of those dark glints sparked in her eyes. She did not favor this topic. On the other hand, he was not being bored by lists of flowers anymore, itemized by their Latin names, no less. That had not been an accident, he decided. She had deliberately tried to numb him senseless. His reference to seduction must have put her on her guard. Careless, that.
“Lady Sebastian Summerhays lived here briefly and is your cousin, is she not?” he pressed. “One would expect a relative to inquire about the particulars of an inheritance.”
“I did not establish that rule to hide the duke’s generosity regarding this property from Audrianna or anyone else, but to protect the women themselves. There were a few who required privacy in such matters. Sometimes a woman has good cause to leave the past completely behind.” She spoke with tense emphasis, clarifying an important point.
“You do your sex proud in your lack of curiosity. I doubt I could be so restrained.”
“I never said I was never curious. One is not obligated to pry as a result, however.”
“I always pry if I am curious. It breaks up the ennui.”
He drank some of the sweet punch provided with the dinner. It tasted of berries and was probably made from the garden’s own products. It was the sort of drink of which his physician would approve.
“This is delicious. It would be even better with a splash of brandy in it,” he said.
“We only have a small amount of spirits here, kept strictly for medicinal purposes.”
He had a flask with him, but it would be rude to retrieve it to improve the punch. Unless she invited him to use one if he had it. Which it appeared she was taking some pleasure in not suggesting.
“I knew that you would be more comfortable at the inn,” she said with pointed satisfaction. “Hence my suggestion that you stay there.”
“Is this another rule? None of you ever imbibe, even secretly? Not even sherry or wine?”
“Wine is permitted, when we have it. We do not have it now.”
“Pity.”
“Yes. I am so sorry.”
The hell she was sorry. Mrs. Joyes was turning this into a Tuesday on purpose. It was his punishment for forcing this intrusion on their convent.
The meal was finished. She looked poised to take her leave and pleased at how well she had handled him. Well, being a duke had its privileges. He settled back in his chair to indicate she did not have permission to escape just yet.
The dining room’s window faced north, and the heavily overcast evening light coming through flattered her and made her eyes very dark gray.
“I recognized you,” he said. “As you approached in the garden, I knew I had seen you before. You were governess to Becksbridge’s two daughters nine years ago. I saw you at a garden party.”
A bit of color tinted her ivory cheeks. Not extreme surprise, but surprise all the same.
“You have an excellent memory for a man said to be drowning his brain in drink, Your Grace.”
She had not forgotten herself again, but she was angry enough under that cool exterior to speak bluntly. He was glad to see a bit of spirit emerge despite her determination to bore him to death.
“My brain swims quite well, Mrs. Joyes. Especially when I turn my mind to a question that piques my curiosity, as I said.”
“Does that happen often? I expect stroking against the tide requires some effort.”
“Admittedly not often. A beautiful woman can prod my curiosity when otherwise it might remain dormant, however. And you are an exceedingly beautiful woman.”
Her fingers rested on the hilt of her dinner knife, and now they absently fingered the silver surface. She did not appear aware of that nervous tiny action.
He liked that she did not disagree with his assessment of her beauty or feign ignorance of a quality that had to have been commented upon her whole life. He hated false modesty in women, whether in response to praise for wit, intelligence, or looks.
“How came you to be at that garden party? I would not have expected that family to welcome a man with your reputation,” she said.
“My reputation was still in its infancy. Back then I practiced a good deal of discretion in enjoying my sins. Hence, I was invited as a friend of Latham and as a relative.”
Her fingers froze on the silver. “You are Latham’s friend? Considering his essays, that must be uncomfortable for your varied badness. Saints and sinners rarely get along well with each other.”
Latham, now the new Becksbridge, was no saint. He never had been. He had only been sly and secretive instead of honest in his hedonism. “We have not been friends for a good long while.”
“I am relieved to hear it.” That slipped out with a sigh. It was possibly the first uncalculated sentence she had uttered all evening.
“Relieved for his sake? Do you fear I will corrupt him?”
She hesitated, to calculate once again. “I remember him as capricious and untrustworthy. I do not care for him. I would not like to think he might influence your Tuesday decision.”
Now,
that
was interesting. Almost everyone loved Latham. Vicars quoted his damned essays from the pulpit. The papers were currently full of irritating anticipation of him taking his father’s place and heralding his return to England as the salvation of the world. One rarely heard a bad word about him.
Yet it appeared Mrs. Joyes held little admiration. Quite the opposite, from the way the subject darkened her expression. Perhaps she knew about Latham’s worst sins. If she had lived in that house, she well might have heard the servants talk about the master’s heir.
A memory forced itself into his mind. An ugly one in which he saw Latham going too far and crossing lines that no man should cross. The images stirred a visceral disgust, with himself as well as Latham.
He looked at the glass of punch with resentment while he conquered the thoughts and the reaction they provoked. He had not thought about that long-ago day for years. He probably would not have now either, if this woman had not made this a damned Tuesday.
“We are of like mind regarding him, Mrs. Joyes. I promise he is incapable of influencing me, or I him, unless pistols are involved.” He angled toward the table and her. “Now, about the questions I find here—”
“There are no questions to consider here, so you can cease straining your mind,” she said.
“There are many questions to consider. This legacy was odd enough. Finding you here now compels my attention. So little does these days that I am wont to seek explanations when puzzles taunt me.”
“You already know why and how I live here. All that remains to clarify the situation is this: My father was a gentleman in Becksbridge’s county and a friend of the duke. When he died and my relatives did not give me a home and support, the duke kindly accepted me into his household as a governess. Since the duke had known my father, I was treated better than other women in that situation might expect. I stayed a little less than a year before I left.”
“To marry Captain Joyes.”
She inclined her head in half a nod. “When I was left to my own devices once more, the duke kindly allowed me the use of this property. In his goodness he tried to help me again and ensure that I was not left destitute.”
“You expected the title to this land, however.”