The Wicked Duke (27 page)

He gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, then walked away. She stayed at her door, watching him.

Thirty feet away, he stopped, then turned. He must have noticed the lack of sounds from the door. “Is something wrong?”

“You know there is.”

“I am sorry, Marianne. My thoughts are never at peace now. You have asked that I not bring my anger to you, and I cannot promise that right now.”

“I have decided that I would rather have half of your mind, and all of your anger, to nothing at all, Aylesbury. I understand if what you have learned about my uncle's scheming has made you not want me, however.”

“Not want you?” He came back toward her. “Is that what you think?”

“Under the circumstances, it is understandable. I was part of a trick. One built on misunderstanding and bad motives.”

He cupped the side of her face with his hand. “You did not know what he was doing.”

“I knew there had to be a why. I should have found out what it was.”

His thumb slowly meandered down her cheek, until it reached her lips. He stroked them so they tingled. “Rather suddenly, I am not compelled to explain your innocence in your uncle's scheme. I am more interested in the decision you just shared with me. Did you mean it? Are you sure?”

She nodded, although she was not really sure. Her heart trembled, reminding her of the cost now, and in the future. She wanted to know the best that pleasure could be, however, even if he did not join her in intimacy's full potential.

He took her face in both his hands and kissed her. She
still felt the absence of part of him, and the churn of his thoughts. She wanted to soothe that, if she could. Even if he only knew a moment's peace, she would be happy for it.

She reached behind and pushed down the latch on her door. In a slow dance of steps they crossed into her sitting room, and on to the bed.

He tried very hard to bring none of the anger to that bed, and all of himself. She felt the effort his spirit made. He handled her with great care, slowly giving her pleasure and not allowing her to do more than receive it.

She allowed him to do as he wanted, although she yearned to instead care for him. She wanted to soothe and distract him from his hard thoughts and dark mood. She tried to absorb all of that into herself, through the way she held him and by the way she opened her heart to whatever he was willing to share.

It was not at all like the last time. Even at the end, the kisses and caresses mattered more than the release. To her, at least. Perhaps to him too.

Did she imagine that the last kiss he gave her before falling asleep was one of gratitude? She held him all night, while asleep and when awake. She kept him close, so he would know she was there, and so her heart could indulge its love as long as possible.

T
he scarlet coat grew larger, until its rider came into view.

“I told you to tell him he did not have to come,” Lance said.

“So I explained in my letter. It appears he came anyway,” Ives said.

They stood in the portico of Merrywood, dressed for riding, while they awaited their mounts. Gareth galloped up the drive, then pulled in his horse. He paced the steed forward, smiling.

“Are those pistols I see there? Only two, Lance?”

“I trust they will be enough, if any are needed at all. The goal is a conversation.”

“It is a good thing I came, then. Should you require
one shot to encourage a chat, I will hit his hat while you might blow off his head.”

“At least I will not shoot his ass, like Ives here.”

Ives sniffed dismissively. “Pistols are cowardly weapons. I prefer swords, and could slice off a lock of his hair if required.”

“We would have to get damned close for that. Do you expect him to just stand there while we walk up and you give him a haircut?” Gareth asked, dismounting.

“No, he will hurl a law book at him, and bring him to his knees from a distance,” Lance said. “What are you doing here, Gareth? Shouldn't you be with your wife, awaiting the glorious event?”

“It is months away yet, Lance. She does not require my constant attendance. Don't let your wife know I told you that, in case she has other ideas when you are in my shoes.”

Lance had no idea what attendance such events required, or when. While having an heir was the whole point of marrying, he had not even considered that eventuality. Until the last few nights. Rather suddenly it had struck him that with all the etcetera going on between them, he and Marianne might have a child soon.

He would like to say that the idea left him happy. Instead it terrorized him. Even good men sometimes made a shamble of being fathers. And, as he kept explaining to Marianne, he was not even good.

A boy from the stables rounded the house. He positioned himself out of hearing of their little group. He just stood there, looking nervous.

“What is it, boy? Why is it taking so long with the horses?”

“I was told by the others to tell you that the two were all set to go when the late request for the third came down. She is almost saddled now, and all will be here shortly.”

“We do not need a third. See, he already has one, and there are only two of us. There must have been a misunderstanding.”

“The lady called for the third, milord. Just a bit ago.”

Lance sent the boy off. His brothers' jaws shifted as they tried not to smirk.

“She is not coming, of course,” he said, in response to those burgeoning grins.

“Of course not,” Gareth said, then chuckled.

“Damn it, I won't have it.”

“Don't get all ducal with
us
.
We
were invited,” Ives said.

“I will not need to get ducal. I will explain she is not coming, and that will be that.”

“Of course,” Gareth said again, nodding sagely. “Perhaps you want to waylay her inside, and explain that to her there?”

“Why?”

Ives shook his head in disbelief. “Hell, you are green. Explain it to him, Gareth.”

Gareth clamped his hand on Lance's shoulder. “It could be in your interest not to annoy her by issuing commands in front of us, especially ones she is not likely to welcome. Women are not happy when involved in a scene, even if the audience is composed of friends.”

“
Especially
in front of friends,” Ives said.

“What shit.” Lance turned to the door. “Marianne is not willful like your wife, Ives, nor queen of all she surveys like yours, Gareth. She is reasonable and accommodating. However, I will explain it to her inside, and be out forthwith after we reach a fast and right understanding.”

He entered the reception hall just as Marianne descended the stairs, wearing one of the new riding habits her mother had soaked out of Radley. A handsome sapphire color, with military embellishments, it complemented both her form and her color. The former quality captivated him, and as she came down that staircase the habit dropped away in his mind, until she reached the last step naked.

She pulled on her gloves, then grasped her riding crop. “I am ready. We should be off. You said that poachers usually do their work in the early morning, and it is almost nine o'clock.”

“You are not coming.”

“Of course I am. I will not hold you back. I can ride with the best of you.”

“You ride splendidly, but you are still not coming.”

She looked up at him with a rebellious glint in her eyes. “It was my idea. I want to be there. I need to hear what he says, especially if I am right.”

So much for accommodating. “You knew I would not permit it. If you thought I would, you would have asked me, or mentioned it before this. Last night, when I confided our plan, for example.”

“I was preoccupied last night with other things, or have you forgotten already?”

As if he ever would. Her mention of it raised memories, none of which strengthened his spine.

He sliced his hand, to indicate finality. “I forbid it. He will be armed. It could be dangerous. We will be riding cross-country and through forests and brush. It is no place for you.”

She stepped closer. Very close. Close enough that the servants in the reception hall and adjoining spaces disappeared with a shuffle of quick steps.

She looked up at him with those doe eyes pleading. And seducing. “I very much want to do this. It is unfair of you to try to deny me. I will stay well back, and not put myself in danger. He may be armed, but I doubt he has ever turned his musket on a person, from how you have described him.”

He liked that “
try
to deny me” part. Even in petitioning the lord, she let it be known that she might lead an uprising. Hell, he was glad he wasn't outside. Ives would be howling with laughter by now.

“No.” He tried to sound firm, but it did not sound like he succeeded. His cock had risen to salute her, and that affected his voice.

She pouted. “Are you sure?”

“Ah—yes.”

She slid her hand under his coat and gave him a very different look. “Very, very sure?”

A good part of his mind wondered how late poachers poach, and whether he might tell Gareth and Ives to wait a half hour while he dragged her upstairs.

Whatever her gaze saw in his eyes, it was not
his
victory. She rose on her toes and pressed a kiss on his lips and her breasts on his body. “I knew you would be reasonable.”

She turned, and strode to the door.

She was already halfway down the steps by the time he reached the portico. Gareth and Ives stood like sentries on either side of the steps and she marched down between them. Then both turned their eyes on him.

Marianne accepted the groom's help in mounting Calliope. Lance joined his brothers.

“She will stay far behind,” he said.

“Oh, good.” Ives did nothing to subdue his sardonic inflection. “I am glad you reached that right understanding with her.”

“Stone probably has never used his firearm on a person. Only game and fowl,” Lance added.

“True. True,” Gareth said.

“She rides very well too. She should not hold us back at all.” Lance decided it would be a good time to lead them to the horses.

Ives mounted. Gareth did too. Marianne paced her horse over. They waited.

He looked at his horse. And the saddle. Gritting his teeth, he swung himself up, then lowered himself, very carefully. They turned their horses and began walking them away. He fell in.

There were, he decided, few worse ways to start a day than riding in a saddle with an erection. He looked forward to exacting a suitable revenge, but thinking about that now would only make it worse.

*   *   *

M
r. Stone saw them while he was still two hundred yards away. He turned and ran deeper into the woods.

Aylesbury led the chase. Marianne brought up the rear, as she had promised. Mr. Stone was too smart to stay on the rough path. He darted into the undergrowth when they had gained half the distance.

To her surprise, Aylesbury did not pursue their quarry. Instead he gestured for them to follow him, and galloped harder. In the blur that followed, it seemed to Marianne that the path took a circuitous route through the trees.

They jumped three fallen trunks and one broad stream. Low-lying branches snapped at her. She tucked herself low over Calliope's neck and hoped for the best. A branch caught her new hat. She glanced back to see its sapphire brim dangling above the path.

Suddenly the forest broke away and they were on a field. A lane wound a short distance beyond. Aylesbury raised his hand, and led them along the edge of the woods, then stopped.

Marianne cocked her head, and listened. She heard sounds, like an animal approached through the woods, still at some distance, but coming closer. She paced up beside Aylesbury.

“Is that him?”

“I hope so. If not, we will be doing this again in a few days.” He leveled a forbidding look at her. “Without you.”

“How did you guess he would come this way?”

“I played in these woods for years. I know them better
than he, and he knows them very well. The direction he took aims at that lane there, which is not on my property.”

Of course. Mr. Stone believed them to be after him for his poaching. He would want to get off the duke's lands as fast as he could.

The sounds came closer. Then a body thrashed its way free of the undergrowth and darted across the field.

They gave chase. Mr. Stone looked back, horrified to see them closing on him. He almost reached the lane before they caught up. Ives and Gareth circled him so he could run no farther.

Aylesbury looked down on the poacher. Marianne noted Mr. Stone appeared to be little more than a youth. He could not be older than twenty.

He hung his straw-haired head, dejected. In one hand he held his musket. From the other hung two hares.

Aylesbury dismounted and walked over to him. He took the musket, and threw it to Gareth. “Bold of you to come back here, Stone, after being caught so recently.”

Mr. Stone gazed at the ground, looking miserable.

“Did Radley promise to let you off again should you go up before him, if you did him that favor he wanted?”

Stone looked up, shocked. He glanced back at the others, with desperation in his eyes. Then he sank to the ground, crossed his arms over his knees, and cried.

*   *   *

“I
cannot believe that you let him keep the hares,” Ives said. They were almost back at the house before anyone spoke. Ives had looked fit to burst the whole way, and
now he finally did. “He admits that he was prepared to lie and say he saw you poisoning the food, and you give him his stolen game.”

“What was I going to do with it? I can only eat so much rabbit stew.”

“That is not the point. He steals with impunity, and you let him. Encourage him. Then you learn he was willing to name you as a murderer, falsely, and you reward him. Society cannot thrive with such generosity, Lance. The rule of law is suborned by how you overlook too much.”

“I think it was a nice gesture,” Marianne said with emotion. Mr. Stone's story of being tempted and coerced by her uncle had left her close to tears. “And Mr. Stone showed great remorse, not that you can blame a man for accepting a way out of being transported, or worse. It was a devil's bargain, and not of his making.”

Lance reached over to pat her hand. She saw the best in people. The truth was that while Jeremiah Stone poached to feed his family, he was by nature a thief. Since she wanted to sympathize, he would not explain that, however.

She looked disheveled from their chase and flushed from the cold. Locks of hair fell about her face. One epaulet on her habit hung, ripped loose by a branch. She had lost her pert little hat.

He thought she appeared beautiful and fresh.

Ives looked to heaven in his exasperation over their inability to see the bigger picture.

“He told us what I wanted to know,” Lance said, before the lawyer started in again with his lessons. “It is safe to
say that with three witnesses to his confession, he will not try to do it now, no matter what. Nor would he have, once Radley saw the error of his ways.”

“At least you know now,” Gareth said. “You will not have to wonder who the witness was, and whether he might come forward with his tale.”

He did know, thanks to Marianne. If she had not overheard that argument with Langreth while she had her nose to the shop window that day, if she had not remembered what she heard about Mr. Stone's trial, and her uncle's unusual magnanimity, if she had not looked at all of it this way, then that, as was her mind's method of working, he might never have known.

As for Radley's use of Mr. Stone—that would be handled later. He could not excuse it because of what Radley thought Lance had done to Nora. He knew Marianne did not think so either.