JULIET CLUTCHED THE reins of her horse, and only after she’d driven for ten minutes, did she remember she’d been planning to stay at the public house.
Fiddlesticks.
She couldn’t show up at the duke’s house in the middle of the night. Perhaps she should turn around.
But there were bound to be other public houses... wouldn’t there be? Men seemed to have such a fondness for drink.
She continued on her journey, and when her horse adopted a slower pace, perhaps equally flummoxed by the unfamiliar terrain and sudden darkness, she did not urge it to hasten. Her heart ached.
She knew she was being foolish. She knew she could simply turn around.
And yet...
She also needed to see Horatius. She needed to ascertain she was doing the correct thing in marrying him. Not the correct thing for her father’s reputation and the prompt arrival of symmetrically faced children, but the correct thing for her.
She couldn’t repeat her mother’s mistakes. She couldn’t witness her mother’s life, then not learn anything from it.
Crisp wind wafted through the air, squealing as it raced between the tree branches. An owl hooted, its battle cry before jumping on its prey. Animals scurried over the ground, crunching against any fallen twigs or wildflowers that might lie in its path.
Of all the miserable luck she’d had. She had to run into a duke. At an inn. Weren’t dukes supposed to be so fancy they left posting inns to plebeians? That they simply traveled from manor house to manor house?
Juliet pursed her lips together. The man might be a duke, but he didn’t know everything.
The sensible thing might be to turn around and pretend all of this had never happened. No one need ever know Juliet had decided to go mad and dress in men’s clothes.
But she couldn’t do that.
If she never visited Horatius, she would never know if the gossip about her betrothed was correct.
The noise of the carriage wheels sounded loud. They roared over each pebble and puddle as if tempting the local foxes and badgers to tell her to be quiet.
Horses’ hooves thudded behind her, and Juliet shivered.
Someone was following her.
Juliet’s heartbeat quickened, and she rode her horse more quickly. Her fingers shook as she urged it on.
She told herself no one was following her, that the sound of horse hooves was one of those scientific anomalies governesses talked about. Something someone had noticed before discovering some law of physics all children in the country had to study.
And yet, she couldn’t think of a reason why horse’s hooves seemed to sound behind her. Echoes, she was certain, weren’t supposed to work in this manner. They came alive in tunnels and on narrow mountain peaks. They shouldn’t be here when she was riding on a flat road.
She regretted not staying at one of the public houses close to the Duke of Sherwood’s castle. At the time, it had seemed important to put as much distance between the Duke of Sherwood and herself, as if his mere existence in a nearby radius might cause her body to become unwell.
She should have thought more.
She shouldn’t have been so impulsive.
Just as she shouldn’t have been so eager to accept the Duke of Sherwood’s proposal. She’d thought it important to be involved in picking her own husband, lest she find herself shipped off to the Isle of Wight or some other remote place.
But perhaps she could have attended the Season before becoming engaged. Perhaps she should have seen then if there was someone who was drawn to her, someone she was drawn to.
A vision of the Duke of Ainsworth popped into her head, and she shook it.
She didn’t mean to think of him.
Not now.
Not ever.
She was not thinking of a man with a habit of wearing clashing clothes and who did not seem to have had the purpose of a comb explained to him.
And yet...
Her mind still thought of him. She raised her chin. If her mind thought of him, it was because he was the last man with whom she’d spoken.
She certainly was not pondering blue eyes, no matter how little marred they were by any other colors. She refused to muse on sculpted features and sturdy noses and powerful jaws.
Not at all.
Perhaps the horse sensed her confusion, for it slowed.
“No, no,” she murmured. “Keep on going.”
Night had long ago fallen, and her heart sank. This wasn’t the time to make her horse gallop.
She turned onto another road, hoping the rider would halt, but the person continued to follow her. She came to another lane and turned onto it, just as the rider did.
Juliet’s heart pounded.
She turned, then she saw the horse rider and a flash of chiseled features.
Her mouth dried.
The Duke of Ainsworth was riding the horse. The Duke of Ainsworth, the man who’d seen her at her most impulsive, had followed her here.
She groaned. “Go away!”
“I’m protecting you. These roads are dangerous.”
“You weren’t supposed to follow me,” she said.
“I’m happy I found you.”
She raised her chin. “I can take care of myself.”
“That, my dear, has never been in question.” The Duke of Ainsworth narrowed the distance between them.
Her heart careened oddly.
My dear.
It was a term of affection, though one given freely by shopkeepers and those addressing adorable kittens and puppies and ducklings.
It didn’t have to mean anything.
And yet, her mind lingered on the word, mulling over it, turning it over as if he’d given her a pleasing peony or sparkling sapphire.
“You can’t be here,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”
“You followed me here on purpose,” she exclaimed. “This is not a coincidence. I understand now.”
“To be kind,” the duke said irritably, over the sound of the horses.
Her horses swerved dangerously, clearly baffled by the presence of a rider so near them, and Juliet fought to control them.
A CRACK SOUNDED, AND the chaise stopped abruptly. Lucas’s horse reared up and threw him from it, and he landed on some shrubs.
For a moment, he simply lay there, conscious of a profound ache in his rear.
Neighing sounded, and in the next moment, his horse galloped away, joined by the sound of another horse joining it.
Great Olympus.
Lucas scrambled up, ignoring the sudden stiffness of his body. His thoughts were on Lady Juliet. Was she hurt?
“Lady Juliet?” He gazed around, wishing the stars and moon would be of greater help.
“I’m here!” Lady Juliet exclaimed.
“Right.” Lucas rushed toward the sound. “Are you injured?”
“No,” Lady Juliet said grudgingly, as if she would have liked another reason to be upset with Lucas.
“The horses galloped away,” Lady Juliet said.
“Perhaps they’ll return,” Lucas said.
“No doubt they’re occupied being frightened.”
There were some rumbling sounds, then Lady Juliet marched toward him. “You want me to push the chaise?”
“Er—yes.”
“Very well,” Lady Juliet said in a peeved tone. She strode toward the back of the coach. “Are you going to join me?”
“Yes.” Lucas headed toward her. He tried not to be distracted by her presence, and he pushed against the chaise.
Nothing happened.
“Perhaps I’ll check if something is impeding one of the wheels.” Lucas moved toward one wheel, then the other. He moved his hands over the other wheel, then his heart sank. He turned toward Lady Juliet.
“Well?” she asked.
“It seems a wheel broke,” Lucas said reluctantly.
“It seems?”
“It’s in two.”
Lucas was grateful it was dark. He didn’t want to see her
expression. No doubt, she was frowning.
“Can you fix it?” Juliet asked.
“Not tonight,” Lucas said miserably.
Juliet sighed. “So, we have no horses and no chaise?”
“Precisely,” Lucas said.
Lady Juliet exhaled. “Then, I suppose I should be thankful this has a roof.”
“Er—yes.”
“I’ll sleep outside.” Lucas lay on the ground, settling amongst the grass and wildflowers. He closed his eyes, and the night sky vanished, but nothing could make this situation disappear.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mist rolled over the grounds, playing with the wildflowers and settling into every nook in the hills. For a wild moment, Juliet thought she might have fallen into one of the elegant paintings that graced the walls of her father’s manor house.
Then Juliet woke fully.
Worse, she discovered her companion. Six feet of living, breathing human male lay on the ground below her. Six feet of someone she should be nowhere near: the Duke of Ainsworth.
Fiddle-faddle.
Juliet raised her torso and scrambled into a sitting position.
She was in a chaise, and the Duke of Ainsworth lay on the ground beside her, even though no one should be beside her, much less a strange man. She rather thought being introduced to him would hardly suffice as an excuse.
“Good morning, Lady Juliet,” he drawled.
Heavens.
The only thing worse than a sleeping man in the wilderness beside her was an awake man in the wilderness beside her.
“Where are we?” The duke stretched, and his shirt tightened about his chest in an interesting manner.
“I’m of the opinion that the person who chases one to a destination should possess that information.”
“Then you don’t know either.”
Juliet stiffened. She surveyed her surroundings. She’d rather do that than observe him, even if the man possessed a frustrating magnetic quality.
“It would help if we had a map,” the duke mused.
“Then let’s drive to London and break into the Royal Geographical Society,” Juliet said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Or were you hoping for a better way?”
“Yes,” the duke said. “I was.” He peered around him. “This would be easier if I recognized those hills.”
“This would be easier if this had never happened.”
“I have to agree,” the duke said.
“So what do we do now?”
“We wait for some farmer to come to give us a lift.” He shrugged. “And before that, you can tell me about yourself.”
“Oh.” She looked down.
“So why are you engaged to the Duke of Sherwood?” Lucas asked.
“Because he is perfect.”
“Doubtful. Though perhaps you can elaborate.”
“It will take very long to explain all the reasons.”
The duke gestured toward the road. “We have time.”
“Right.” Juliet inhaled. “Well, to begin with, he always looks immaculate.” She gave a sharp look at Lucas. “Never rumpled.”
“Somehow, I feel that is an insult,” the duke said stiffly, moving his hand toward his cravat. “That might be more praise for his valet.”
Juliet eyed him. “I doubt his valet is responsible.”
“Ah, there’s a lot that can go wrong in a man’s appearance upon exiting his house,” the duke said with a knowledgeable air.
“Moreover,” Juliet said, “the Duke of Sherwood is an excellent dancer.”
“You are fond of dancing?”
Juliet frowned. In truth, she was not particularly fond of dancing. The chief advantage of balls was being able to see her friends and converse with them. Dancing was similar to any other exercise, though unlike other physical pursuits, this one also demanded one retain a pleasant expression on one’s face. Not dancing suited Juliet fine, but she raised her chin. “I am reasonably fond of dancing.”
He scrutinized her, and she averted her gaze. She turned her mind to the Duke of Sherwood. She contemplated the man’s blond hair and waited for her heart to pitter-patter. Her heart remained resolutely calm, and she turned her mind to the Duke of Sherwood’s symmetrical features.
It occurred to her that the Duke of Ainsworth’s features could hardly be described as irregular. Both cheekbones perched at an equally high height on his face, and his oval face wouldn’t have looked out of place on a statue.
Of course, everything else would have looked jarring. Statues rarely moved.
Suddenly, the chaise felt too confined, and she scooted toward the edge. The duke jumped up.
“Please let me assist you.” His hands grazed against the arch of her back, and she inhaled sharply. He lifted her up, as if he were dealing with goose-feather pillows, and not a woman. For three delicious seconds, she soared through the air, conscious of a strange heat that surged through her. His hands felt warm, even though the frigid air hardly substantiated that theory, and even though the layers of garments should not make her notice anything at all.
But her heart reeled.
Perhaps no temperature records were being set. Perhaps Lucas himself simply filled her body with warmth.
She swallowed hard as her feet touched the ground.
Lucas’s eyes filled with concern. “Are you well?”
“Er—fine.” Her voice croaked, and she coughed.
The duke lifted his eyebrows. For a horrible moment, she thought he might laugh.
She raised her chin. She refused to let him think his touch affected her. Not at all.
After all, she was engaged to a different duke.
A better duke.
A duke so wonderful, people had created dreadful rumors about him. No one created horrible rumors about the Duke of Ainsworth. It was definite proof of the Duke of Sherwood’s superiority.
She hoped.
Obviously, her body had had some unnatural reaction. No doubt, it spoke more to a potential lack of sleep on her part than anything on his part.
“You appear pale.” Concern filled his tenor voice, and Juliet’s throat dried.
Juliet should not be contemplating his voice, even if the notes were appealing, nor should she be marveling on his eye color, even if the color resembled Lake Windermere on a perfect day, and even if she kept those thoughts to herself.
He moved closer to her. “Perhaps you should sit down. Carriage journeys can be unpleasant.”
“I’ve experienced carriage journeys before,” she said, before it occurred to her that demurring would not cause him to scrutinize her with such intensity.
A delicious masculine scent of cotton and cedar wafted toward her, and she fought the instinct to inhale. She’d never experienced a longing to fall into a man’s arms before, but something about the broadness of his chest seemed appealing. It didn’t even matter if he still wore that same horrible waistcoat, nor did it even matter that his spectacles had a habit of being smudged and that this day was no different.
“I-I should go,” she blurted.
“Where?” His blue eyes widened further, and she averted her gaze.
Where indeed?
They were outside, far from convenient chaises and armchairs in which one might tumble when one’s legs had decided to quiver.
The grass glistened in a beckoning manner, though Juliet suspected the additional sparkle came from dew, not Juliet’s imagination.
“Follow me,” she said.
The point was to not stand before him awkwardly, as if she were some colt, still not familiar with the process of standing.
She marched on the lane, and when muddy puddles appeared with too much frequency, she shifted to the grass. Her feet sank into the soft green strands.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JULIET GAZED INTO THE middle distance. Mountains and a long sliver of lake dominated her view, but the only important glimpse—of a strolling farmer or an advancing carriage—was absent.
&nbs
p; “There are bound to be farmers coming,” the duke said, but doubt sounded in his voice.
She followed his gaze to the road. It was narrow, evidently more used for farmers’ vehicles than chaises and barouches. No curricle would rush over here.
“I haven’t heard anyone,” Juliet said.
“No.”
“I imagine everyone is already at work.”
“Quite,” the duke agreed, glancing at the sun. Warm sunbeams cascaded from the heavens. The duke pulled at his cravat. “It’s hot.”
Juliet laughed. The man appeared ridiculous, and despite herself, her shoulders eased. It was difficult to be too formal with a man when one was clothed in his attire.
“Perhaps no one will come.” Juliet glanced at her breeches and other masculine attire. “Not that anyone should see me. I might be less convincing in the daylight.”
The duke snorted. “I’ll go see if there’s someone around.”
“Very well,” she said, conscious there was something she could do if he left, something she absolutely could not do in the duke’s presence.
After a few minutes had passed and the duke’s mighty form had grown smaller as he strode further away until finally, it had disappeared around a corner, Juliet acted.
She removed the small satchel she’d taken with her on this journey. Her reticule with some money was in the satchel, but there was something more important: her attire.
Juliet felt ridiculous speaking to the duke while clothed in his apparel, and she was eager to wear something more feminine.
Or rather, she didn’t want to remind the duke of her act of utter indiscretion. Obviously, she didn’t want to change because blazers and waistcoats, no matter their cost, were less flattering than her plainest dress. That would be absurd.
Not that Juliet had taken her plainest dress. She’d been conscious she might see Horatius, and she’d wanted him to see her in something lovely, something that enhanced the colors on her cheeks and not merely her freckles, making each unsightly dot stand out in an unattractive matter.
The chaise was open, but no one was around. Juliet would have to act quickly, but that should be easy. After all, her lady’s maid dressed and undressed her each night with ease.
My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2) Page 8