Читать книгу The Duke's Unexpected Bride - Lara Temple, Lara Temple - Страница 13

Chapter Six

Max climbed into his phaeton and took the reins from his groom who jumped up on his perch behind. He had promised to take Lady Melissa for a ride in the park, but at the moment he would have happily just headed west until he was clear of the town and all its inhabitants. His plans of identifying, courting and securing a wife, which had seemed so straightforward a month ago when he had commandeered Hetty for the campaign, were becoming mired in the mud of his flagging resolution.

He was just about to set his team of matched bays in motion when he saw Lord Wivenhoe coming leisurely down the stairs of Huntley House, his ebony cane swinging in his hand. Wivenhoe caught sight of Max and nodded, his eyes gleaming.

‘Well met, Harcourt. Are these your famous bays? Beautiful beasts. I forgot you are neighbours with the wealthy Lady Huntley. And by extension with Miss Trevelyan.’

‘What are you doing here, Wivenhoe?’

Wivenhoe raised one chestnut brow at Max’s curt tones.

‘How very dog-in-the-manger of you. Is it my visit to the fair Trevelyan that excites your formidable frown or is that just your habitual greeting to yours truly? I didn’t think country misses were in your line, no matter how original. And she is, isn’t she? Quite refreshing. Not a classic beauty, but such an expressive countenance! She does not even need to speak to be heard, if you understand me. I had a delightful chat with Lady Minnie, quite twenty minutes of the most salacious reminiscences—on the lady’s part, I assure you—and merely for the pleasure of watching its effect on Miss Trevelyan’s enchanting visage. I don’t believe I have yet come across such expressive eyes. Better than any performance by Kean. I might even consider painting her if she is willing...’

Max reined in on his temper. He knew Wivenhoe was baiting him, but he was uncharacteristically finding it hard to ignore his taunts.

‘You must be very desperate to have to resort to teasing country misses for entertainment. Perhaps if you were more generous with your mistresses, as Miss Trevelyan suggested, you wouldn’t have to stoop so low,’ he said contemptuously and Wivenhoe’s pale cheeks flushed a mottled red.

He didn’t wait for Wivenhoe’s response, just gave his bays their head and the phaeton moved forward. As he pulled out of the square he reminded himself of his resolution to have nothing more to do with the irrepressible Miss Trevelyan and that meant to stay out of her business. It was not his role to warn her about the likes of Wivenhoe. And to be fair, she might be a country miss, but she was no fool. She could take care of herself.

‘Your Grace?’ his groom asked hesitantly behind him and Max checked his horses, realising he had been about to drive past the Arkwright residence.

‘Keep them moving, Greggs,’ Max said and strode up to the front door. Another day, another battle.

* * *

Less than two hours later Max left the phaeton at the stables and headed up South Audley Street towards home, feeling tired and disheartened, though he knew he had no reason to be. Lady Melissa had given a masterly performance, proving precisely how suited she was to be his Duchess. She clearly understood the rules of the game and had, in all but words, assured him she didn’t expect him to profess any emotions he didn’t possess and that she would be a tolerant wife if he was a discreet husband. As long as she was allowed to play her role in society to the hilt, she would evidently give him the space he needed. In fact, she was fulfilling every requirement 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.