My Favorite Duke (The Duke Hunters Club Book 2)

by Bianca Blythe

  Horatius gave her another strange look, and she told herself it was utterly fine that he now seemed to be in the habit of giving her strange looks.

  “Perhaps I could invite your family for a house party,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” she squeaked.

  “And your cousin Genevieve and her parents,” he said, gazing into the distance. “Perhaps I should wait until she returns from her flower observation.”

  “You needn’t do that,” she blurted.

  He furrowed his brows.

  “Genevieve is apt to take a long time pondering flowers. She finds them—er—quite fascinating.”

  “Ah, I had no idea she was even fond of them.”

  “Oh, everyone is fond of them,” Juliet said.

  “I am not fond of them.”

  “Well, perhaps you must cultivate affection for them.”

  “Perhaps.” Horatius gave her another assessing look. “Will you stay long in this barn?”

  Juliet’s cheeks pinkened. “Oh, no. I suppose I can go outside now to—er—wait for Genevieve.”

  “I truly can wait with you,” Horatius said.

  “Nonsense,” Juliet said quickly, and something that appeared curiously like hurt appeared on his face.

  Heavens. She didn’t want him to be unhappy. This was not going well.

  “After all, you have to write the invitations.” Juliet forced herself to smile brightly.

  Horatius’s shoulders relaxed. “Right. I’ll do that. Is—er—next week fine?”

  Next week.

  The man was serious.

  All the doubt that had rushed through her mind disappeared, and she nodded. “Next week will be perfect.”

  Horatius’s eyes gleamed. “Then I must tell my estate manager.”

  He bowed, then started striding away.

  “You needn’t make a fuss,” Juliet called after him.

  He turned around. “For you, my dear, anything.”

  Anything.

  Juliet’s heart tightened. Heavens, she’d been foolish.

  The door closed behind Horatius, then she rushed toward the haystack.

  “He’s gone,” she whispered to the pile of hay, then rustling sounded, and Lucas appeared.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Lucas said. His face was redder than before, and his hair, which already had the propensity to appear tousled, poked up in odd places.

  “I should go too,” Juliet said.

  He nodded. “My cottage is on the other side of this hill, near the lake. I’ll drive you back to your house.”

  She shook her head. “I should probably actually visit my cousin, since I told Horatius and my parents I would be there.”

  “That’s wise,” he said. “I can take you there.”

  “I’ll just walk,” Juliet said hastily.

  “Are you certain?”

  “It will take a few hours, but I’ve—er—become an expert at it.”

  He smiled. “You are an excellent walker, Lady Juliet.”

  The sudden formality sent an unexpected pang through her, but she nodded brightly. “I’ve been practicing, Your Grace.”

  She wavered.

  She should stride away, yet she hesitated. Lucas had developed some odd magnetism of his own, and she fought a strange urge to lean against his chest.

  The urge was ridiculous, no doubt a reaction to spending an extraordinary amount of time with him.

  Of course, Juliet spent an extraordinary amount of time with her stepmother and had still never felt the urge to hug her spontaneously, but no doubt, that was the exception that proved the rule.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The week passed rapidly. Horatius’s invitation arrived promptly, and Juliet’s father and stepmother soon joined her at Genevieve’s before they set off to Sherwood Castle. A maid helped Juliet and Genevieve dress.

  “You must be so excited to see him again,” Genevieve said.

  Juliet nodded, deciding not to tell Genevieve about her recent encounter. One would hardly want a servant to overhear that Juliet had been in the Duke of Sherwood’s barn. Besides, she was excited.

  “This is just what you hoped for,” Genevieve added, a broad smile on her face. Genevieve seemed more excited to visit the castle than Juliet did.

  “And to think, he just sent an invitation on his own.” Genevieve beamed. “He must have been longing for your company just as you’ve longed for his. He loves you so much.”

  Juliet stared at her cousin.

  Normally, she considered herself more prone to romantic tendencies than Genevieve. In fact, she’d found Genevieve to be practical. In Juliet’s experience, idealistic people weren’t in the habit of carrying pistols tucked into their silk embroidered reticules.

  And yet, now Genevieve seemed impossibly romantic, even though Juliet was certain she’d spoken with similar language earlier.

  Perhaps she’d been so surprised to see Horatius that she had not had time to muse over the man’s handsome features. Who could think about perfectly coiffed blonde hair when one had just been discovered in a pile of hay? Besides, Juliet’s heart had seemed to beat more quickly when she’d spoken with him. Juliet had thought it had beat more quickly because she had been discovered in such an inappropriate place, but perhaps her reaction had also stemmed from true love’s force.

  The idea pleased her, and Juliet smiled at her cousin. “Yes, I am very excited.”

  “Brilliant.” Genevieve clapped her hands, and Juliet made certain to keep a pleased expression on her face.

  She was happy.

  Very, very happy.

  And she would not give any more consideration to a certain Duke of Ainsworth.

  “I’m delighted,” Juliet said. She nodded brightly, and Genevieve returned her gaze.

  And yet...

  Something didn’t feel right.

  Still, it seemed odd to worry that joy didn’t crescendo in quite the same manner as in some Loretta van Lochen books. It was normal to feel nervous after not seeing one’s betrothed. Dwelling on another man was perhaps less normal. Unfortunately, she was thinking of Lucas.

  Her encounter with the Duke of Ainsworth had been forbidden, one best relegated away, like she did with dreams after she woke every morning. It hadn’t mattered that he’d made her smile and laugh: the Duke of Sherwood was bound to do that too, eventually.

  Juliet smoothed her dress and ascertained her coiffure was perfect, before following her cousin from the room.

  “Ah, you look pretty, my dear,” her father said jovially.

  Her stepmother frowned. “For a redhead.”

  Her father nodded. “Ah, yes.”

  Juliet forced herself to smile.

  Genevieve’s parents appeared, and they were soon bustled into a coach. The coach wound its way up the lane.

  “I hope we don’t encounter highwaymen,” Genevieve said.

  “They wouldn’t dare to be in this region,” Papa said.

  Juliet tensed, but thankfully Genevieve chose not to regale Juliet’s father with tales to the contrary.

  Soon they arrived, undisturbed by anyone.

  Timothy opened the door, and Juliet and Genevieve stepped out.

  “My, oh my,” Papa said happily. “This place is grand.”

  Juliet’s stepmother frowned, and for a moment, Juliet thought there was even a look of jealousy on her face. The thought didn’t give Juliet as much joy as she would have anticipated.

  “I prefer your manor house,” Juliet’s stepmother told Papa. He beamed and swept into a bow. He kissed Juliet’s stepmother’s hand, and Juliet’s stepmother giggled.

  Juliet averted her eyes. The door opened and rescued her.

  “Enter,” a man in a black suit said regally.

  Juliet shivered.

  Genevieve grabbed her arm and giggled. “To think this will be your new home! You must be so happy.”

  “Oh, yes,” Juliet squeaked, even though fear would have been the word that most accurately described he
r emotions.

  And yet, the place emanated elegance and magnificence. That was obvious when they stood at the entrance to the castle, and it was more obvious as they entered. Dark wood paneling covered the walls, imbuing it with warmth. Red oriental carpets dotted the floor, displaying beautifully geometric arrangements of florals.

  Everything was proper. Everything exceeded her imaginations. There was nothing cold or imposing or frightening here. Gilt-framed pictures of flower-heavy landscapes hung from the walls, not weapons.

  Lucas had been wrong to suggest anything negative about the Duke of Sherwood. This was the home everyone dreamed about. This was the home she had dreamed about.

  “My dear.” The Duke of Sherwood entered the corridor. Had he been waiting for her family to remove their frock coats and boots?

  No doubt. The man was proper and appropriate.

  The Duke of Sherwood swept down into an elegant bow, then kissed her hand. “How lovely to see you again.”

  “Er—yes,” she squeaked, worried that he might mention that he’d seen her in his barn.

  Instead, he flashed his perfect smile, showing his perfect, gleaming teeth. “It has been many months, has it not?”

  She nodded, relieved. “Yes, many months.”

  “There are drinks in the drawing-room,” Sherwood said. “Follow me.”

  “You have a beautiful place,” Juliet’s father said.

  The Duke of Sherwood gave a humble shrug. “It’s centuries old. One must work with what one has.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  “I have plans for a more modern extension in the back. I’m afraid even my ancestors, with all their vast wisdom, did not grasp the importance of large windows.”

  “They weren’t able to change the course of architecture?” Genevieve asked.

  “No.” Horatius gave a sad smile. “We all have our trials.”

  “Very true, very true,” Juliet’s father said. “My late wife...” He exhaled. “She was a trial.”

  Juliet stiffened.

  “So, tell me about your architectural plans,” Genevieve said quickly.

  Juliet shot a grateful look to her cousin. Shyness had never been one of Genevieve’s traits.

  “I have plans to build three additional reception rooms in the back to face the gardens,” Sherwood said. “What is the point of my gardeners toiling away if their work is not properly appreciated?”

  “Quite, quite,” Juliet’s father said with a knowledgeable air. “I’ve been—er—considering installing an addition.” He glanced at Juliet’s stepmother. “Isn’t that right, my dear?”

  “Of course,” Juliet’s stepmother said quickly, even though Juliet suspected the only thing that had inspired Juliet’s father to talk of an extension had been a desire not to appear daunted by the Duke of Sherwood’s immense wealth.

  Genevieve’s mother glanced nervously at Genevieve’s father. “I would imagine that would be expensive.”

  The Duke of Sherwood gave a patient smile. “Money is no concern for me.”

  Genevieve’s mother’s cheeks pinkened.

  Juliet followed the Duke of Sherwood through an open door. Brawny footmen stood behind a table adorned with vibrantly colored punch bowls and gold emblazed glasses.

  “I wasn’t certain whether you ladies preferred ratafia, raspberry shrug or negus, so I arranged for all three,” the Duke of Sherwood said modestly.

  “You are a wonderful host,” Juliet’s father said. “Absolutely wonderful.”

  The Duke of Sherwood beamed. “I just hope I can be a wonderful husband to your daughter.”

  Juliet widened her eyes. Everything Horatius said was perfect. She felt guilty for expressing the slightest doubt. Clearly, Mr. Bradley and all those other people who made her question the Duke of Sherwood’s habits were acting out of self-interest and not after careful empirical observation.

  Her instincts to pursue him had been correct.

  For some odd reason, this indisputable fact did not fill her with joy. It did not even fill her with smugness.

  She gazed about the room, noting the tasteful green silk paper that lined the room that highlighted the equally tasteful white marble statues perching from glossy tabletops.

  Bookcases lined the walls, and Juliet fought to resist the temptation to scan the titles.

  No, everything about this place was decidedly perfect, and she forced herself to smile at Horatius. She shouldn’t have compared him negatively to Lucas, even in her mind, and she ignored a slight dull ache in her heart.

  “ARE YOU CERTAIN I SHOULD be visiting the Duke of Sherwood tonight?” Sebastian asked for the fifteenth time.

  “Yes,” Lucas said.

  “But we’re supposed to be hunting down the criminal.”

  “You can have one night not doing that.”

  Sebastian looked at him skeptically. “I pride myself on being an efficient man.”

  “Well,” Lucas said. “Perhaps the Duke of Sherwood is involved.”

  Sebastian exhaled sharply. “You’ve told me that blasted theory before. It’s not less ridiculous than it was then.”

  “Sherwood has the space to run a counterfeit operation in his castle.”

  “Perhaps. But just how much space does a person need to do that? What one needs is motive, and Sherwood does not have that. We looked into his finances—they’re impeccable.”

  “But Sherwood is not of impeccable character.”

  Sebastian sighed. “Would you feel that way if he hadn’t been Honoria’s brother?”

  Lucas looked down, and heat rolled over his skin, as if a cannon were being dragged.

  “I thought so,” Sebastian said.

  Lucas waited for Sebastian to say something about how emotions shouldn’t get in the way of someone’s work, but Sebastian was silent. His eyes were tender, even though tenderness wasn’t an emotion for which Sebastian was known.

  Lucas looked down. Even his friend was sorry for him, and he wrapped his arms together.

  “Honoria isn’t coming back,” Sebastian said. “The past is the past.”

  Lucas nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His heart thudded oddly in his chest, as if it had realized that it didn’t quite fit. Yet how could it? Every time he thought of Honoria, his heart swelled.

  She wasn’t coming back. She wasn’t ever coming back.

  Nothing would ever change that. Even all the forces of His Majesty’s Army, even if Bonaparte’s Armee des Paysans pitched in—nothing could bring Honoria back.

  Her lovely wide smile, her spontaneous laugh... All of that existed only in Lucas’s memory now—and Horatius’s.

  “He should have invited you too,” Sebastian said. “It’s quite rude that he didn’t do that.”

  “No,” Lucas said. “He shouldn’t have.”

  If Horatius wanted to punish Lucas by inviting his guest to his dinner party and not Lucas, Horatius could do that.

  Lucas deserved that.

  Lucas deserved much more than a dinner invitation snub.

  “Have a good time,” Lucas said.

  Sebastian frowned. “That is highly doubtful.” He exhaled. “Perhaps I’ll learn something from the other gentry. I’ve heard that Miss Genevieve Devon’s father might have money issues.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Lucas said.

  “I thought I would do some investigating while you were busy with Lady Juliet.”

  “Good,” Lucas said. “Though Miss Genevieve’s father just had a ball.”

  Sebastian shrugged. “Perhaps he wanted to impress his creditors. Or at least, not make them worry. You wouldn’t believe how people with poor finances can approach the management of their household budget and income.”

  Lucas nodded. “I wish I were going to this dinner party.”

  Sebastian turned to him sharply. “I thought you despised Sherwood.”

  “I do,” Lucas said.

  Sebastian sighed, then exited the library. Lucas followed him as Stanley helped Sebasti
an into a frock coat. They said their goodbyes. There was a brief gust of cold wind that pierced through Lucas’s non-frock coat clothed body, then the door closed, and Lucas was alone in the corridor with Stanley.

  “You’re not accompanying His Grace?” Stanley asked.

  “No,” Lucas said.

  Stanley nodded solemnly. For a man who had not yet acquired the white hair common in a butler, and a man who Lucas knew retained an athleticism not normally found in men whose chief occupation was inspiring fear in footmen, receiving letters, and opening and shutting doors, Stanley seemed to have the makings of an excellent butler.

  Lucas sighed. He just needed to be an excellent duke.

  “Would you like me to send for some tea for you to have in your study?”

  Lucas attempted not to wince. “I—er—might go out walking.”

  Stanley frowned. “This area can be dangerous.”

  Lucas wondered whether Stanley had thought the area dangerous before Lucas and Sebastian had posed as highwaymen and had caused Stanley and his footmen to attempt a rescue operation.

  He had heard none of the staff speak about that incident. Evidently, Stanley had successfully convinced his footmen to exercise discretion.

  “I’ll brave the outdoors,” Lucas said.

  “Very well, Your Grace.” Stanley fetched Lucas’s greatcoat, and Lucas was soon striding outside.

  It was summer, and despite the late hour, the area was not yet dark. Sunset played along the trees, casting everything in a shimmery rose and lilac light. Lucas longed to share the beauty with someone else.

  Lady Juliet.

  The name came unbidden in his mind.

  Damnation.

  Honoria was dead, and Lady Juliet was betrothed to the man Lucas most despised, the man who despised Lucas most of all men.

  Sebastian was correct though.

  Sherwood didn’t have any motive to run a counterfeit operation. Perhaps Sherwood had reacted with anger when he’d caught Honoria with Lucas, but that had hardly been an unreasonable reaction.

  No doubt, Honoria’s complaints about Sherwood had been simple sibling strife, something which Lucas knew nothing about, but which everyone spoke about with knowing nods. Personally, Lucas didn’t understand, but Lucas did not know everything.