The Dangerous Duke (7 page)

“Well, not the thing for a man, you know. Man’s supposed to do manly things, y’know, like boxing, shooting and hunting—”Freddie paled a little. “I never could turn my hand to such stuff. Can’t bear blowing small creatures’ heads off. I suppose because my sisters always had rabbits and little furry pets. I can’t see the point of killing things, anyhow.”

Fenella was surprised to find that the odious Duke’s closest associate was a sensitive creature.

“Horses!” he confided.

“What?” Fenella asked.

“I bet you’re wondering what a Corinthian like Devlin and a numbskull like me have in common.” Freddie gave her a knowing wink.

“Not at all,” Fenella protested weakly.

“No, no, no! Often wondered about it myself. He’s the epitome of everything a man should be. Quite the Nonesuch. A lot of people think I’m completely shatter-brained.”

Fenella replied that he should not be so self-deprecating, but privately thought she could see why.

“Anyway, as children we would always sneak off to the stables and learn about horses from the grooms. Horses were just about the only things I wasn’t afraid of.” He gave a wistful smile. “Dev’s a real champion, you know. But I’m not too shabby myself in the saddle.”

They reached the garden seat and the Dowager expressed a wish to rest. “My dear Fenella, I’ve known this young man since he and Devlin were both in leading strings; I’m also his godmother and yet you, almost a stranger to him, have found out more in five minutes than I have in twenty years.”

Fenella spent a few minutes arranging the Dowager’s shawl around her shoulders.

“Why don’t you take Freddie down to the maze, Fenella?” the Dowager suggested. “I think the gardeners have put in a new section.”

“I’m an expert on mazes,” Freddie declared boldly, holding out his arm. “Allow me,
Mademoiselle
.”

Fenella lifted a questioning eyebrow at the Dowager, who waved them away.

“We do not affect Town manners with chaperones here, my dear. Quite acceptable. Freddie is part of the family and I have every confidence he is the perfect partner for a maze expedition.”

* * * *

The Dowager sat smiling after them as Freddie and Fenella wandered toward the maze. It was true; she had every confidence in Freddie as an admirable escort for any young woman. His impeccable background, amiable personality and utter ingenuousness made him the companion of choice of which even the fiercest of Mamas would approve. Growing up with three older sisters had made Freddie sensitive to the moods and whims of young women; he also truly enjoyed accompanying them shopping, to dances, to the library and places most men would eschew. He could discuss at length styles of bonnets, shades of fabrics and other details so very necessary to a young woman of fashion’s appearance. Thus, he was greatly in demand as an escort.

By his own admission, Freddie, at twenty-nine, was not keen to settle down yet. He was content to squire a bevy of young women from one end of London to the other. Women liked him because they felt safe and comfortable with him; men liked him because he was a pleasant young man and not considered anything of a threat. However, despite his low opinion of his own strengths, there was nothing namby-pamby about the Honourable Frederick Perivale. Although hopeless at cards, terrified of guns and with a self-confessed weak head for liquor, he was an exceptional equestrian and handled the reins of his curricle with considerable daring and skill. He was also Devlin’s oldest friend.

The Dowager looked up to see Devlin walking across the lawn toward her. He had a severe expression on his face.

“May I join you, Mama?”

“Yes, of course you may.”

“So, where are Freddie and…your companion?”

“Exploring the maze.” The Dowager smiled as she heard the sound of happy laughter floating on the gentle morning breeze.

“Do you think it is fitting?” Devlin’s handsome features twisted into a scowl as he kicked a few pebbles with the tip of his polished boot.

The Dowager turned to him, utter astonishment written on her face.

“Devlin, what on earth is the matter with you? Miss Preston has a name, not that you ever address her with any kind of civility; and Freddie is practically your younger brother and has been part of your life since you were both in leading strings.” Her gaze sharpened. “Why are you so agitated?”

“I am not all agitated!” the Duke snapped. He rose from the bench and began pacing back and forth. “I just don’t think it is good form for a servant to be consorting in a familiar manner with a member of Society who is easily her superior.”

“I am sorry you have become such an unutterable snob, Devlin. I thought your Papa and I had managed to bring you up to respect all people, no matter what their station in life. Obviously, your London circle has caused your manners as well as your morals to fall into a decline. Moreover, as far as superiority is concerned, it is as plain as a pikestaff that Miss Preston is easily Freddie’s superior, if not by birth, then by sheer breeding and education. You surprise me, Devlin.” The Dowager looked away from him. “You have quite spoiled this morning’s pleasure.”

“Mama!”

“In fact if I did not know any better,” the Dowager continued in the same frigid tone, “I would have said that
you
are half in love with Fenella yourself and are jealous because Freddie has the good manners and sense to be polite to her. As a result, he is enjoying her delightful company while you are lounging about here, acting like the scorned lover in some melodramatic theatrical.”

“You are mistaken, Mama.” Devlin said. “I apologise for my churlish behaviour and will leave you immediately. I shall send Harbottle to attend to you.”

“Yes, do that,” the Dowager said absently, not glancing in his direction.

Fenella and Freddie emerged from the maze, panting and flushed. They hallooed and waved to her from a distance. She nodded and waved back.

* * * *

Fenella spent a pleasant afternoon with the Dowager and Freddie in the library, reading aloud to them from one of the French volumes. Occasionally a shadow fell across the doorway. She knew immediately it was Devlin. Her voice faltered as she felt his presence, but she did not look up. Her heart seemed to turn over; nevertheless, she repressed any emotions and acted as if she had not noticed his being there. At last, the Dowager declared that she was worn out with all the social activity and elected to spend an hour or two resting before dinner. Freddie rushed off to the stables while Fenella busied herself in her room with darning a torn flounce.

An hour had passed and so far, she had managed only several stitches. She thought about Freddie with a fond smile. Aunt Preston would be happy she had at last “met someone,” although she was in no way attracted to his boyish charm and brotherly manners. In fact, because she was not attracted to him, she found it effortless to talk to him. A sudden thought crossed her mind.

Had she told him too much about herself? He had seemed surprised and impressed by the extent of her knowledge of horses and it had somehow just slipped out that she spoke Spanish as well.

I shall have to be more careful
.

It would never do if her true history came out. She was grateful to the Dowager for being so accepting of her, despite her past. Others would not be so generous.

That evening, she put on the exquisite green dress from Madame Celeste. It was only because the Dowager had begged her in such an engaging way that Fenella agreed to wear it. Fenella would never have given the Duke the satisfaction of seeing her in the gown—not after the insulting letter that had accompanied it.

She looked glamorous and extremely chic. She clasped a small string of pearls around her neck as her only adornment. It had been her father’s gift to her on her sixteenth birthday. As Fenella glided down the stairs to the drawing room, she reflected that perhaps it would come as a shock to the Duke to see just how stylish she could be. She was gratified when Freddie rose to meet her as she entered the room. His eyes were wide with unconcealed admiration.

“’
Pon my word, Miss Preston. You should come up to London. You would set the salons ablaze.”

The Dowager was already in the drawing room, elegantly dressed in lavender
crepe de chine
and her favourite sapphire set. “Yes, Fenella looks captivating. I am sure she would break many hearts in London.” The Dowager took a delicate sip of her sherry. “Perhaps we will go up to London soon.”

“What?” Devlin stepped out of the shadows of the curtains. Fenella caught her breath at how handsome he looked. However, the expression on his face indicated a darker mood. He frowned at his mother. “London? I’m sure it’s out of the question, Mama?”

“And why is that?” the Dowager asked.

“Mama, your health.” Devlin appeared uncomfortable.

His mother laughed. “My health is perfect, thanks to Fenella.” She rose and Devlin stepped forward to take her arm. “Thank you, my dear. Freddie, if you would be so kind as to escort Fenella in to dinner?”

“Delighted!” Freddie beamed, leaping at Fenella with all the excitement of a puppy faced with the prospect of a run in the park.

Fenella enjoyed herself that evening. Freddie’s sparkling wit and vast fund of amusing anecdotes had her and the Dowager in fits of laughter. Out the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Devlin gloomily chasing his food round his plate. His black mood had not lifted, but it was easy to avoid looking at him since Freddie was so diverting.

After dinner, the group retired to the drawing room and the Dowager rang for the tea tray. Fenella declared she could not play the pianoforte. Freddie confessed that his grandmother had spotted his musical talents early in his youth and that he was an accomplished pianist—he was, however, too embarrassed to tell anyone. Devlin raised a quizzical eyebrow, but said nothing.

The Dowager exclaimed, “Since you are among family, dearest Freddie, you must play or you shan’t be invited here ever again.”

The time passed in a delightful manner. Fenella shot occasional discreet glances at Devlin and found, to her surprise, that her emotions were now quite under control. Yes, she could admire his handsome face and sculpted physique, but as if he was a statue in a gallery.

Perhaps I was suffering some kind of brain fever
.
Was it all just a strange erotic dream, being with him in the library
?

She remembered the feel of his lips against hers, but seeing him so distant now made her question her own memory.

“Miss Preston,” Freddie begged, “allow me the pleasure of escorting you onto the terrace. I do believe there is a marvellous moon, worthy of our admiration.”

It was a perfect evening and Fenella, knowing Freddie’s intentions were above reproach, allowed him to steer her outside to admire the moon. Fenella was amazed it could be so easy to converse with a member of the opposite sex. Whenever she had to speak to Devlin, it felt as if lead weights had attached themselves to her lips. The words that tumbled forth were also so stupid that she sounded like a complete half-wit.

In the middle of regaling Fenella with another hilarious anecdote of some awkward gaffe at a London
soirée
, Freddie happened to mention Lady Penelope Vane. Fenella froze. She must be important for Freddie to mention her by name.

“Oh, she’s Dev’s piece of mus—” His voice faltered and his eyes grew round with embarrassment. Fenella knew he had been about to say “piece of muslin.” Years of camp life had left little to the imagination and she had been aware of soldiers’ needs and the purposes of the women, the camp followers clustered behind in the army’s wake.

The sudden ache in Fenella’s heart was so intense, so extreme that she felt as if she had perhaps suffered a kind of seizure. It was so piercing that for a minute she could not speak. As Freddie warbled on, Fenella felt the tight band in her chest easing. She looked back into the drawing room where Devlin, finally smiling and laughing, was sitting with his mother.

“Miss Preston?”

Freddie’s anxious voice penetrated the fog in her mind. She dragged her thoughts and gaze back to him.

“Mr. Perivale, do forgive me. I was wool gathering. Quite unforgivable of me.”

“I didn’t upset you, did I?” he faltered. “I mean, it was most indiscreet of me to mention…unforgivable!”

“Mr. Perivale,” Fenella dimpled, marvelling at how with such a tearing pain in her heart she could affect light-hearted gaiety. “You must not think me entirely a green girl. I may have had a sheltered background, but I am aware that gentlemen have their ways.”

“I do run on so,” he admitted. “Can’t help myself. Idiot.”

“Not at all,” Fenella said, gazing at the moonlit sky. The huge orb hung like a glowing pearl, surrounded by a web of pinprick stars. If Devlin had a mistress, a lady of quality as well, how could he even approach her? What kind of man was he to keep one woman on a string and attempt to dabble with another?

It was clear he had no respect for her, her position in the house and her good name. She was glad of the concealing darkness to hide her reddened cheeks. Freddie chattered on, leaning against the balustrade, oblivious to her distress. Fenella murmured mechanical responses of admiration and surprise, all the while longing to escape to the safety of her bedroom.

Finally, to her intense relief, the Dowager summoned Freddie. He bowed to Fenella and went back into the drawing room.

Now I can make my escape
.

She was too late. A shadowy figure loomed behind her. She was rooted to the spot. Her throat closed up and she could not utter a sound.

“Miss Preston?”

She turned, and almost fainted from sheer nervousness. He was standing right behind her. She was now jammed between the balustrade and his chest. The rough stone edging dug into her back, but Fenella would not take a tiny step forward to relieve the discomfort. Just one small movement would bring her almost into his arms.

“I must speak with you.” His voice sounded urgent, pleading.

Her courage flowed back and strength rose in her heart.

“No, you must not. I beg of you never to speak to me or come near me again.”