A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘So I am.’ His lips twitched, and Harriet realised she had never once seen him smile. What sort of man never smiled? ‘You slipped on the wooden bridge, hit your head and fell into the water.’

  Slowly her wits returned to her and she remembered everything. She should have gone with her instincts and refused to tour the estate at such a late hour. Not that the time had anything to do with her accident, but still…. She tried to sit up again, determined to return to the house in spite of the weather, but the slightest movement caused her head to swim. She sank back onto what felt like a pillow of soft silk that smelled of the duke until the dizziness abated.

  ‘Be careful! You’ve been unconscious for a while. Give yourself a moment.’

  ‘What time is it? We need to get back.’

  He consulted his watch. ‘A little after six o’clock.’

  ‘At night!’ Alarmed, she struggled to sit up again, but a pair of strong hands preventing her from moving. ‘We must get back to the house immediately. My mother will be beside herself with worry.’

  ‘We can’t. The rain is torrential, it’s almost dark and we will never find our way. Besides, you are in no condition to walk.’

  ‘But we can’t stay here!’ she wailed.

  ‘We have no choice in the matter. Your mother will realise we have been caught in the rain and conclude we took shelter for the night.’

  ‘For the night! Have you gone completely mad? We can’t stay here all night.’

  ‘Then what would you suggest?’ he asked mildly.

  A gasp escaped Harriet. ‘What happened to my clothes?’

  ‘You were soaked to the skin. I removed them to prevent you from catching your death.’

  Harriet gulped; too embarrassed to look at him. ‘You did what?’

  ‘There’s no need to thank me. Anyone would have done as much.’ She swivelled her head in order to narrow her eyes at him. He appeared to find her reaction amusing. ‘I averted my eyes.’ She treated him to her best scowl but by the time she had done so the fleeting smile she thought she had seen cross his lips was replaced by the sardonic expression she was more accustomed to seeing. ‘Don’t create such a farrago. Would you have preferred to retain your dignity and die from exposure?’

  ‘Thank you for helping me, Your Grace,’ she said, sounding as ungracious and confused as she felt.

  ‘You are perfectly welcome. Now, let me examine that wound.’

  Without giving her the time to object, he removed whatever he had bound her head with—his neckcloth she thought it might be—which was now soaked in blood, and quite ruined. There was a handkerchief beneath it, also spoiled.

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Sorry, but it is good that the blood has congealed.’ Standing, he opened the door to the hut and held out the hand containing his handkerchief. It was soaked with clean rainwater in no time. Wringing it out, he closed the door, re-entered the hut and washed the dried blood from a gash half an inch above her ear. ‘The wound is smaller than the amount of blood made me suppose it would be. You had me quite worried there for a while.’

  ‘Yes, I feel sure it must have done. I don’t suppose it would look too good if one of your tenants died while in your company.’

  ‘Precisely.’ Again his lips twitched. ‘You will have a nasty bruise but no scar. The wound is within the hairline anyway.’

  ‘You are mistaking me for my sister, Your Grace. My appearance is of no consequence to me.’

  ‘I managed to collect some rainwater earlier.’ He supported her head with his arm and held a tin vessel to her lips. ‘I don’t know what purpose this container serves. I found it in the corner of the hut and it appears to be clean. Here, drink.’

  She drank, her dizziness abating as the cool water worked its way through her body. ‘Thank you, I feel a little better now.’

  ‘We have water but will have to go without supper this evening. There’s no food available, other than apples, of course.’ He reached his hand into a nearby case and extracted one. Her warning cry came too late to prevent him from taking a healthy bite into it. He spat out the fruit, pulling an injured face that made her smile.

  ‘These are the bittersweet apples. I can tell by the colour of their skin.’

  ‘Well then, we must survive without even apples to sustain us. Do you feel tired?’

  ‘Not really.’ She looked up at him, embarrassed about their situation and yet strangely at her ease. He watched her with an unnerving stillness that made her want to say something amusing to break the brittle silence and actually make him laugh. The tension unnerved her but the expression in his dark eyes sent warmth pulsating through her veins. ‘I should thank you for saving me. I have put you to a vast amount of trouble.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘I am not usually so clumsy.’

  Wonderful! Now I sound as though I want to impress him, which I do not.

  ‘I didn’t imagine you were.’

  ‘I appear also to have appropriated your coat. Perhaps if you were to pass me some of the canvas covers from the apples and were good enough to turn your back, I could arrange them to keep me warm until my clothing is dry. You could then have your coat back.’

  ‘Keep it. I am perfectly comfortable.’

  Harriet contemplated him in silence. He might well be at his ease, but she most certainly was not. This situation was highly improper. Being forced to look at that muscular torso, those broad shoulders and that disturbingly expansive chest covered with a thatch of curling black hair was strangely transfixing. Unable to look away, she observed the muscles working in his arms as he settled himself more comfortably, and what she saw was having the most peculiar effect upon her. She had never seen a half-naked man before and found much to admire in this one’s physical appearance. She could only assume the light-headedness she felt whenever she looked in his direction was attributable to the after-effects of her accident.

  ‘What happened to Rufus?’

  ‘The dog?’ She nodded. ‘He ran off in the direction of the house when the rain started.’

  ‘I do hope he will be all right. He was my father’s faithful companion for years but attaches himself to me now. He’s quite old and set in his ways, and he hates rain.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Dogs have an inbuilt instinct for survival.’

  She sighed. ‘Your Grace, this is ridiculous! We simply cannot stay here all night. I am feeling stronger now and once the rain eases I can guide us back to the house. I know the estate backwards, and if we can get onto the tracks between the orchards it will be straightforward enough.’

  ‘Out of the question!’

  She bridled at his arbitrary tone. ‘You may spend the night here if you wish, but I most decidedly do not.’

  ‘Don’t get into a taking.’ His lips definitely quirked this time. ‘No one died from a little discomfort.’

  ‘You imagine it’s the lack of creature comforts that so disturbs me?’

  His eyes brimmed with mirth but his lips remained straight. ‘No such notion entered my head.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Forget our situation for now, and let us use the opportunity to discuss the workings of the cider mill.’

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘Tell me more about my steward’s calls upon you.’

  ‘He called on three occasions after your uncle’s passing. During the course of that first call he encountered Charlotte for the first time.’

  Harriet noticed the duke sit a little straighter at the mention of her sister and wondered if he, too, had fallen victim to her charms. ‘What does Charlotte have to do with the matter?’

  ‘Everything. He called to discuss the workings of the cider press and I took the opportunity to pass him a letter I had already written for your attention. Mr. Sanderson took a very high-handed attitude about the business, inferring I was incapable of running matters profitably and was to blame for the failure of last year’s crop.’ Harriet harrumphed. ‘I was putting him right on that score when Charlotte wandered i
nto the mill. He took one look at her and his entire attitude changed. And so, for once, my sister was of service to me, since his attention was then all for her.’ Harriet propped herself up on one elbow, then recalled her state of undress and hastily returned to a supine position. ‘He returned two weeks later and proposed marriage to Charlotte.’

  ‘The devil he did!’

  ‘Were you not aware?’

  ‘Indeed, I was not. Presumably Charlotte refused him?’

  ‘Oh yes. Charlotte intends to marry much better than that. She has lofty notions of saving the entire family from the workhouse, which is where we shall undoubtedly finish up when you evict us from Matlock House.’

  ‘You don’t appear to set much stock by her ambition.’

  ‘It’s a reasonable gaol for one as beautiful as she is—one that has been successfully executed by others before her. But many considerations could prevent her from achieving her ambition, not the least of which is her lack of money, and so I must take precautions to secure my family’s future by more practical means.’

  ‘The cider, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, and I am almost there now, I just know it.’

  ‘Tell me, Miss Aston,’ the duke said, his expression thoughtful. ‘How did Sanderson take your sister’s rejection?’

  ‘Badly.’ Harriet tossed her head. ‘He thinks well of himself. Obviously, he considers he’s a good catch and expected Charlotte to accept him with gratitude.’ She shuddered. ‘Odious man! I know he is your steward and you probably think highly of him, but—’

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘He left. But not before I committed a second letter to his hand, since I had not received a reply to the first.’

  ‘Sanderson called again?’

  ‘Yes, and it was terribly embarrassing, since we had not expected to see him again and certainly not just two weeks after the unfortunate business with Charlotte. My mother, as you will have observed for yourself this afternoon, can be rather vague at times. She has never been a practical person. She feels the loss of my father most keenly and has not recovered from it. Charlotte and I must look to her welfare the whole time—or people take advantage of her,’ she added, thinking of Mr. Binstead. ‘But that is by the way. When Mr. Sanderson arrived the third time, she appeared to have it in her head that Charlotte had accepted him. She made a great fuss of him and showed him into the best parlour—the one you saw today but one which we seldom use. Mr. Sanderson assumed, and I suppose one cannot altogether blame him, that the nature of my mother’s greeting demonstrated a change of heart on Charlotte’s part. When my sister learned of it she wouldn’t show herself, so I was obliged to set the man straight.’

  ‘And pass yet another letter to him for my attention?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Mr. Sanderson’s language, when I pointed out the misunderstanding, was most inappropriate. I was never more shocked and asked him to leave immediately. He did so, swearing to be avenged upon us all.’

  ‘Perhaps that explains why he didn’t pass on any of your letters, and only gave me the third one when I asked him if he had heard anything from you. He claimed it was the only one he had received.’

  She bridled. ‘But you believe I wrote you three?’

  Marc inclined his head. ‘I believe you wrote me three.’

  ‘You didn’t appear to think so when we met in London.’

  ‘I was unconvinced.’

  ‘Nonsense! You thought very ill of me.’

  ‘Sanderson obviously destroyed the first two letters in a fit of pique after your sister refused him, hoping to make trouble for you all,’ he responded thoughtfully. ‘He must not have had time to destroy the third, or else he passed it on to me in order to demonstrate the extent of your difficulties. He hoped I would respond to it, and to his highly coloured account of matters, by evicting you. It clearly didn’t occur to him you would refer to your previous two missives in that third letter.’

  ‘I should have known better than to assume you would accept my word for it,’ she muttered, almost to herself.

  ‘Sanderson would have it you stole the silver mermaid that sits on the mantelpiece in your parlour,’ he said, meeting her gaze levelly.

  ‘What!’ She sat bolt upright, mindless of her half-naked state and the pounding behind her temple. ‘That is the most outrageous slur! Your uncle gave it to me as a gift the last time I saw him. He said it was his favourite piece and he wanted me to have it to remember him by.’

  ‘Calm yourself, Miss Aston, I didn’t say I shared Sanderson’s view.’

  ‘Ah, so you don’t consider me to be a thief as well as an incompetent, then,’ she said, her eyes shooting daggers at him.

  ‘Not at all,’ he replied calmly.

  ‘I would be a sorry excuse for a thief if I displayed my ill-gotten gains in plain view. However, since you don’t think I am dishonest, it follows that Mr. Sanderson must be. In which case you should dismiss him.’

  ‘I fully intend to, but not quite yet.’

  ‘Why not? If you thought I was a thief, you would have wasted little time in evicting my family. Why should it be different for Mr. Sanderson just because he’s a man?’

  ‘Because he intends to make mischief for all of you at Matlock House, and not just because your sister spurned his advances, I think. It will be easier for me to detect his true purpose if I am able to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Well, I am pleased you can see the horrible man for what he really is. I never did understand why Uncle Frederick set such stock by him.’ She cast him a scornful glance. ‘Anyway, doubtless you will require affirmation that your uncle really did mean me to have the mermaid, in which case you need only apply to his coachman, who wrapped the statue up on his orders and transported it back with me to Matlock House.’

  ‘I did not for one moment doubt your honesty, Miss Aston.’ Marc stood and prowled restlessly around the hut, pulling canvas covers from the apple barrels and piling them onto the floor. ‘I think I must have tired you with all this talk. Lie down, if you please. You ought to sleep.’ He covered her with several layers of canvas, tucking them tightly about her person. ‘And stop protesting.’

  ‘What of you?’ she asked, accepting it really would be impossible to return to the house since it was still pouring with rain. ‘You will be cold.’

  ‘I shall be perfectly all right.’ He pulled a canvas cover around his bare shoulders, using it as a cloak, looking disgruntled as he edged his back against the wall of the hut, remaining in a sitting position. ‘Go to sleep, Miss Aston.’

  ‘How can you sleep like that?’

  ‘I shall watch over you until you fall asleep, just in case you have need of me. Now, no more talk. Good night.’

  ‘I have seldom seen a less becoming guardian angel,’ she grumbled, closing her eyes and, within minutes, falling into an exhausted sleep disturbed by images of a curmudgeonly duke with dark, flashing eyes and a softer side she suspected few people got to see.

  Chapter Seven

  Marc was glad that the circumstances leading to Miss Aston’s current situation didn’t prevent her from sleeping, as they did him. Clearly the bang to her head had affected her more than she realised, since the wider ramifications of their enforced tenure in this hut didn’t seem to have occurred to her. Marc, on the other hand, found them glaringly obvious. The question was, why had he allowed the situation to reach this stage? Once he knew her life was in no immediate danger, he could have found his way back to the house and summoned help for Miss Aston. Getting soaked to the skin would have had less drastic repercussions than those he now faced.

  And yet he had chosen not to act sensibly. Perhaps Miss Aston’s less than deferential attitude had influenced him without him being aware. He found it refreshing, and he had enjoyed exchanging barbs with her. She appeared unimpressed by his elevated social standing, offered her opinion freely and without artifice, and didn’t seem to appreciate the fact that tenants weren’t supposed to tell dukes how to conduct
their affairs.

  She had obviously been a great favourite of his uncle’s. Marc wished he knew why. He would respect his uncle’s wishes with regard to her family. Of course he would. But it was difficult to do so when he had no idea what they actually were. He stifled a derisive snort when he recalled her firm assertion that he should dismiss Sanderson. That, at least, was one point upon which they could agree, even if they were still at odds about the manner in which he should go about it.

  Marc was in a contemplative frame of mind as he continued to watch Miss Aston sleep, his thoughts still on his hapless steward. Had Sanderson made it his business to bring Miss Aston’s difficulties at Matlock House to his aunt’s indirect attention simply to salve his wounded pride at being rejected by the fair Charlotte? How did he know the dowager would support his view, and why was that lady so adamantly opposed to the Astons remaining at Matlock House?

  Marc shifted his backside, trying and failing to find a more comfortable position. Ignoring the cold and his cramped limbs, he returned to his cogitations. It all came back to the unusual tenancy arrangements made by his uncle—arrangements which Lady Calder appeared to have been a party to. The next step would be to persuade her to take him into her confidence.

  Thus resolved, he again considered the awkwardness of his current situation, still wondering what had possessed him to remain here with Miss Aston. It could only end one way, of course, and that would cause a terrible ruckus. He was almost tempted to smile when he considered the dowager’s reaction. That alone made the sacrifice worth it, but for the fact that doing the right thing by Miss Aston didn’t feel like such a huge sacrifice. He thought of her spirited character, compared it to the dull misses he had recently danced with in London, and realised he wanted Miss Aston as his duchess very badly indeed.

  Marc dozed fitfully, waking frequently to check on his future wife. She mumbled in her sleep—sounding as though she was conducting both sides of an argument simultaneously—and thrashed about a lot. He was anxious that she might have contracted a fever, but her regular pulse and a brow that remained cool to his touch reassured him on that score.