The Duke's Unexpected Bride. Lara Temple
on his list.
It was natural he would be having second thoughts about giving up his freedom, irrespective of his promise to his father, his commitment to his duties and no matter even how perfect the bride. As soon as he was married he would grow accustomed to the new order of things. He had spent five years in the worst possible conditions during the war and, despite these past five years of luxury and indulgence, he was still adaptable. It was just a matter of resolution.
He was just approaching the stairs to his home when he saw Sophie entering the garden with the lumpish pug in tow. He hesitated. Perhaps he should warn her about Wivenhoe after all. He waited for a ponderous coach to pass and headed towards the garden. She was seated once again beneath the chestnut tree, and, as usual, talking to the panting dog with all apparent expectation of being understood.
‘I am sorry there are no more birds to chase, but what do you expect? You have frightened them all out of their little bird wits and I really cannot command their presence, you know. You will have to learn to lower expectations, Duke.’
‘That would be a pity. Perhaps you should bring some crusts,’ Max observed.
‘Crusts?’ She glanced up swiftly, but there was none of the usual mix of curiosity and expectant amusement in her expression. She seemed to be looking at him from a distance, considering him. He was already on edge, but he went instinctively on alert, though he answered her casually.
‘That way you can lure back the birds for another round of exercise.’
‘How very Machiavellian. I think I would feel too guilty baiting them only to have Marmaduke chase them away. Your Grace,’ she added somewhat ironically and he remembered Wivenhoe had enlightened her about his title. He felt guilty, as if he had hidden it on purpose.
‘I understand Lord Wivenhoe paid you a visit,’ he said abruptly.
‘Yes,’ she replied in the same uncharacteristically cool voice. ‘Aunt Minnie was shocked when he sent up his card. No one has dared breach the portals of Huntley House other than us pawns, but apparently she has some very...fond memories of his father. Frankly I could have done without having to hear the details of some of them, but she seemed to enjoy herself, which is in my favour, I suppose. They had a wonderful gossip and she invited him to visit again which is nothing short of miraculous.’
‘I don’t think you should encourage him to do so.’
Her expression did not change, but the same cautionary hauteur he had seen her display towards Wivenhoe at Somerset House entered her eyes.
‘I told you there is no need to lecture me, Your Grace. I am well aware he is quite scandalous. He also seems to dislike you thoroughly, even beyond the normal degree of antagonism you might naturally excite. He was very amused by the fact that I had reduced you from a duke to a mere commoner and warned Aunt Minerva against the wisdom of allowing me to develop expectations in the direction of the Duke of Harcourt. To make his point he and Aunt Minnie then enjoyed several minutes’ gossip, debating which of the various high-born young women you targeted is likely to win the Duchy. From there they went on to discuss someone called Hellgate whose exploits I would have expected to land him gaol had he not mercifully died young. And aside from securing Aunt Minnie’s invitation to come visit again soon, that was that. Your Grace.’
‘For heaven’s sake, stop calling me that!’ Max said, annoyed and tense on so many levels he couldn’t untangle them. Contrarily his obvious discomfort brought some of her irrepressible humour to her eyes, softening them.
‘What should I call you then? Duke? Would you mind sharing the moniker with Marmaduke?’
‘As long as you don’t call me to heel again,’ he replied and she laughed, her shoulders relaxing, and some of the tension seeped out of his body. He felt ridiculous at how tense her unusual show of temper had made him.
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