What the Duke Wants (12 page)

“Well, I heard the duke’s father liked boys. Though I admit I’m not sure what that means. I heard the duke is just like his father that way.”

“Ewww,” they said in unison. Despite the fact that they had no idea what they were talking about.

Grace nearly snorted out loud. The idea that the current duke liked men, romantically, was obviously untrue based on what almost happened between them last night. As for his father, she didn’t know, but it really didn’t matter, did it? To each their own. But what it did say was that these two were degrading into fantastical rumors now, and so Grace ignored the rest of their questionable gossip.

During the entire whispered exchange, the two men continued to square off in silent fury. Neither was prepared to back down. And just when Grace thought they were actually going to throw down their mallets and begin brawling amidst the wickets, Middlebury relaxed his shoulders and readopted his rakish façade. It was a thin disguise.

“Well, let’s get stared, shall we?” he said. And broke eye contact with the duke.

The crowd released their collective breath all at once. They all realized a more serious altercation had only just been circumvented. A few people continued to fidget with their mallets, their nerves stretched taut.

Grace shook off her anxiety and picked up her mallet, resting it against her left shoulder as she walked over to the starting wicket. She couldn’t help but notice the others eye her with some hesitation.

Hmmm…Are they thinking to see the infamous ‘Calamity Grace’ in action, perhaps?

The secret imp in her couldn’t help but come out then, and thus, with a subtle grin, she lifted the mallet high in the air and swung it about a few times before resting it back on her shoulder. She hadn’t said a word and couldn’t help her grin when the others all jumped or cringed, startled by her antics.

“Whatever is the matter? You look as if you’ve had a fright,” she said to the crowd in general. “Let’s get on with it then,” she stated, with a cheeky grin. Humor was her strongest defense against her own personal anxieties.

She thought she heard a deep but quiet chuckle from behind, and with a surreptitious glance over her shoulder, saw the duke quickly look down, keenly inspecting his own mallet.

Did he actually just laugh at my jest? Doubtful. Mr. Stiffshirt.

She inexplicably desired to look back and stick her tongue out at him, but really, she was too much of a lady for such childish antics. Really.

As the game progressed all were surprised that although having been at it for almost an hour, everyone was still…intact. No one was more surprised than Grace. She had never made it this far in the game without some misfortune or other occurring. What a rarity. Her parents had owned a pall-mall set themselves, a rare splurge for sure, and they had played with people from the village on weekends or at village fairs.

Despite her success, she noticed that each time it was her turn to take a swing at her ball, the others seemed to hold their breath in anticipation, and throughout that time, the imp in her couldn’t help but play on their unease by either physically accentuating her swings, attempting ridiculously odd shots, or orating verbal jests at her own potential for disaster.

Perhaps this was the key to success? She was enjoying herself and therefore she was completely relaxed; she quit worrying about any major incidents occurring in front of the others. So, perhaps she was a bit crass. Certainly for the high-sticklers of society to accept.

Everyone seemed to be more at ease as the afternoon progressed. Even the duke quit trying to hide his amusement, which seemed completely out of character. Normally, he was scowling at her. When he wasn’t nearly kissing her, that is. The only person who didn’t appear to be enjoying herself was Beatryce, though even her glowering looks could not prevent Grace’s fun.

Grace shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to take her next shot. It wasn’t a difficult one, and she relaxed as she took her aim. She was just about to take her swing when she heard Beatryce quip, “Ambrose, darling, I'd love to take a walk with you after the game.”

Grace choked and ended up hitting her ball a bit too forcefully, sending it crashing off into the shrubbery. Gracious.

There was no doubt Beatryce spoke aloud for Grace’s benefit.

Why does she think I even care? Why do I care for that matter?

Grace couldn’t deny that her heart was beating in double time just thinking about Beatryce and Stonebridge taking a walk. Alone. And she was edgy and irritable because of it.

Didn’t he try to kiss me in the library? Just last night?

Grace growled in frustration to mask the hurt that threatened her composure. It would do no good to revisit what happened—or didn’t—in the library. Hadn’t she already spent the entire night reliving the experience anyway? Over-analyzing every moment? Wondering what might have happened had she stayed?

Last night, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from dreaming of something more with the duke. The hero out of her old dream, the one about the handsome stranger who rescued her for her life, now had a defined face (with green eyes, imagine that), yet she knew it would only ever be that—a dream.

So why did the duke’s flirtation with Beatryce bother her? She didn’t really know this man. She was attracted to him—absolutely—but this shouldn’t matter. Likely, she was just tired of her family’s attempts to make her feel less, simply because of the taint of trade surrounding her. And his actions fell right in line with making her feel as if she wasn’t good enough, which was ridiculous, of course. Grace clenched her fists and firmed her resolve. She would not let them ruin her day.

With a newfound sense of confidence, she marched off through the hedge in search of her ball. She might be awhile at it, for hers was a natural sort of green, making it doubly hard to spot, so she bade the others to continue on without her rather than wait.

She had been searching for several minutes to no avail, when she thought she heard a rustling nearby. She looked about for a moment, but nothing appeared suspicious. She waited a few seconds more, then shrugged and carried on in her search. It must have been a squirrel.

A few moments later, she was focused on the ground beneath her, not watching where she was going, when her ball landed at her feet with a thump.

“I found it near the hedge; you must have just missed it,” he said softly. He sounded odd. Hesitant.

Of course, she knew immediately who it was; his voice was etched too firmly in her mind already.

“Thank you. It’s quite an unfortunate shade of green.” She spoke without looking up, as if talking to her ball and not him, Stonebridge. She was too surprised and discomfited by his presence to confidently manage his direct gaze.

“It’s easy to miss, for sure; I almost did myself.” There was an awkward silence before he blurted out, “Do you know why I’m here?”

She was so surprised at his outburst; her gaze jerked up to meet his. She wasn’t sure which he meant: here with her in the woods or here at Beckett House. She decided to play it safe and answer assuming the latter. “Of course. You’re here to propose marriage to my cousin, Lady Beatryce.”

He chuckled before responding, “Yes, I am, and I will; I must.” He was quite serious when he spoke again. “I also wanted to apologize for last night. I behaved…badly, and I wanted to reassure you that it won’t happen again.”

She nodded her acceptance of his apology. At the moment, she didn’t trust herself to speak. It was what she needed to hear, but the truth hurt. Which was ludicrous. Hadn’t she just had this talk with herself? And yet when he asked her if she knew why he was here, she envisioned an entirely different response, one that involved heated kisses and…

She broke the chain of her thoughts, her face alight with flame. She knew the rules of life, and they said no handsome duke would be in her future no matter how much she wanted it otherwise. She pulled herself together and said, “We should return before we’re missed. And, thank you.”

Then, she picked up her ball and walked off, leaving the duke behind.

* * * *

She didn’t use his title, and she didn’t clarify what she was thanking him for, but there wasn’t anything else to say, and it was fine. He was glad she didn’t use his title; it made him feel more human around her, and he liked that. Just a man. Not a duke.

He watched her walk back to the others, her head held high. He couldn’t help but watch the way she moved with poise, despite her acknowledged clumsiness. He tamped down his desire, which always flared when she was around. They both knew the rules of society to which they were bound, but it didn’t stop his lust from reminding him he was only human.

Chapter 9

The duke’s dressing room…

The next morning…

“Your grace, if it pleases you, I would like to have a quick glance over your jacket in the brighter light, and one last chance to see your coat in perfect order before you brave the wilds of the back garden,” said Bryans, with mock solemnity.

Stonebridge ignored his valet’s dry humor—he was not in the mood—and stepped into the wash of light from the sun shining through the window, eager to look outside. He preferred the outdoors to being inside, regardless of the weather. Today, it was sunny and brisk. Perfect. He noted the various pathways lined by hedgerows filled with roses while Bryans brushed at his coat. Despite the almost stark formality of the gardens, he anticipated being out there, breathing in the fresh, crisp air. A vision in blue on the garden path beneath his window caught his attention. He faltered and his heart skipped at least two beats. Even from his great height above, he knew her.

“Er, Bryans, if you’re finished, I’m off to take a turn about the gardens.” He hadn’t exercised Abacus this morning, yet a walk suddenly seemed just the thing.

“Certainly, Your Grace. May I ask? Will you be meeting Miss Radclyffe, perchance?” Bryans carried on with a few last swipes of his brush, pretending earnestness despite the knowing grin on his face. The servants knew everything. Or thought they did.

“No.”

“As I suspected. I shall speak to the housekeeper at once and see what sort of supplies she has on hand. The old lawn shirt might do in a pinch. I’m glad I thought to bring it. And a bath along with a change of clothes will be necessary.”

His valet walked away, mumbling to himself and making what appeared to be a mental list.

Stonebridge watched and listened. He could just make out the words: medical, herbs, bandages. When he could take no more, he asked, “Bryans, what on earth are you on about?”

“It never hurts to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?”

“An encounter with Miss Radclyffe.”

“And what does seeing Miss Radclyffe have to do with my old lawn shirt?”

“One never knows. The housekeeper might be low on supplies. As such, it would make for fine bandages in a squeeze. Just in case, mind.”

“Bryans, amusing you are not. Don’t resign your duties for the stage.” And he left with haste, directly for the back gardens.

Clearly, he was a glutton for punishment. He just needed to explore why: why he thought of her night and day. Why he physically reacted to her presence. Why he wanted to throw away his future just to embrace her. Why she affected him so profoundly.

* * * *

“Shhhh…” warned Beatryce. “You don’t want Grace to hear us and spoil our plans, do you?”

Beatryce and Middlebury squatted indelicately behind a large rose bush as they watched Grace make her way along a garden path. Beatryce tried desperately to keep her morning gown away from the thorny branches while remaining out of sight.

She hated getting up this early, really, but she was desperate. Yesterday, it had become clear additional tactics were necessary to turn Stonebridge’s wandering gaze away from her cousin. Fortunately, Beatryce was clever, daring, and willing to do anything to get what she wanted. She had no choice.

“Just what am I doing out here in the garden at such an ungodly hour of the morning? I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, you know,” replied Middlebury, with a mischievous grin.

“Shhhh,” warned Beatryce again. She raised her head above the shrubs to mark Grace’s progress then ducked down again. As soon as Grace made it to the first bend headed into the copse of trees, she and Middlebury would move on and follow at a discreet distance.

Beatryce’s knees creaked as she adjusted her position. She was uncomfortable and cold. Her back, thighs and neck ached from squatting down for so long. The dew dampened her gloves as she used the ground for balance.

Grace, thankfully, was wearing her blue cloak this morning. It wasn’t a surprise, for it was the only cloak she owned. Beatryce had one exactly like it, but with a hood, which played perfectly into her plans.

Several guests were taking a tour about the gardens, and Stonebridge always did. Beatryce knew he was an outdoor lover, so it was just a matter of luck. And she was prepared for the opportune moment to present itself.

“How do you know Stonebridge will follow?”

“You must be joking? Have you seen how he looks at her whenever she’s around? He wants her, and I know how easily men are led by their…impulses…if not guided properly by their women. If I thought it would do any good, even I'd suggest he bed her and get her out of his system, but Stonebridge is too moral. He’s just as likely to think he has to marry her, and that just won’t do. So, no, I have no doubt he will follow if the opportunity presents. We just need to set the stage to our advantage. Believe me; if he thinks she’s ‘free’ with her favors to just anyone—no offense, dear—he’ll lose interest.”

“None taken, darling. No need to say more; this, I can handle, but it’s a good thing he doesn’t know…”

Oomph.

Middlebury winced when she elbowed him in the gut.

“For your own health, and since I am still in need of your help, I am going to forget what you intended to say.”

“Say what? Besides, you would miss me terribly if I weren’t around to keep things interesting,” replied Richard with a devilish grin.