A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Certainly, but I can’t afford to play for high stakes.’

  ‘I didn’t have monetary rewards in mind,’ he replied, his voice a silky caress.

  Harriet felt flushed and short of breath. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Something very different.’

  He turned her in the direction of a nearby escritoire, picked up a quill, and scribbled one line on a sheet of paper, which he folded neatly in four and placed in his pocket.

  ‘Your turn.’ He handed her the pen. ‘Write what you would like to receive by way of reward if you should happen to win.’

  He made the possibility sound so remote as to be hardly worth consideration, vexing her with his quite disgusting air of self-assurance. Rising to the challenge, she took the pen from him and, biting her lower lip to prevent herself from smiling, boldly wrote out her own desire. Following his example she folded the paper, then wondered what to do with it. Eyes still locked upon her husband’s face, she casually pushed the paper into the top of the bodice. His sharp inhalation sounded like a hiss as he watched her.

  ‘There, it is done.’

  ‘We shall be in for an interesting game.’

  His unguarded expression as his gaze locked with hers caused her breath to catch in her throat. She might not know much about the game they were playing, but the message in his eyes suggested that passion had overcome his habitual caution.

  ‘I believe the others are waiting for us,’ she said, turning away to hide a satisfied smile.

  Without saying a word, he took her arm and guided her to the card table.

  Marc was too preoccupied by his wife’s extraordinary behaviour to concentrate properly. He discovered she was a proficient card player, albeit somewhat reckless. She teased Giles constantly, laughing and sympathising in turn if they lost a trick. His friend was every bit as lively this evening, smiling at their minor successes, frequently complimenting Harriet on her daring play.

  Harriet had an unfair advantage, of course. The gown she was wearing was enough to distract a monk. He was surprised she felt comfortable with such a daring neckline, which only served to remind him how little he actually understood her character. Damn it all, he had thought to marry a compliant girl, one who wouldn’t give him a moment’s trouble! He grimaced. Harriet was likely to prove anything but compliant.

  Determined to remain in control, he resolved to look at her no more than politeness dictated. He failed miserably and his eyes were drawn to her with increasing frequency. It was all the fault of that damned gown—that and her quite wanton display of provocativeness which had no place in his drawing room. Her constant chatter and mildly flirtatious exchanges with Giles were equally unsettling. He would have wagered half his fortune she had no notion how to flirt. His lip curled as he watched her continuing to prove him wrong. She was just like the rest of her species after all: shallow, vain and self-centred. He repeated the mantra-like phrase inside his head until he actually started to believe it.

  Marc was annoyed to have made the stupid wager with his wife. It implied a depth of interest in her it would be unwise to encourage. If he had taken the time to consider the consequences of his action, he would never have gone through with it. Decisions made with anything other than a lucid brain were almost always regretted, but this decision had been made and he could hardly renege on it. Resigned, he found his thoughts returning to the words he had written, almost smiling as he anticipated claiming his prize. It would remind Harriet, most forcibly, who was in charge of their union. His wandering attention returned to the game and the final hand, played with Harriet’s laughter and Giles’s good-natured extortions ringing in his ears as his partnership with Lady Calder emerged victorious.

  As Harriet and Giles grumbled in defeat, Marc’s eyes rested upon his wife’s profile. Presumably sensing it, she turned towards him, her eyes alight with laughter. When his gaze didn’t waiver, her animated expression became more cautious and he was sorry to see the laughter fade from her eyes. He enjoyed seeing his wife smile, even if those smiles were being shared with another man. Perhaps she had recalled their wager. Well, she only had herself to blame for what she would soon be required to surrender. He felt himself stirring at the prospect. He ignored his discomfort and continued to hold her gaze, conscious of the piece of paper nestled between her breasts, curious to know what words she had written.

  Harriet and Lady Calder bade the gentlemen goodnight as soon as the card party broke up. The two men stood for the ladies as they made their exit, then Marc picked up the brandy decanter and raised an eyebrow towards Giles, who nodded. He poured them both healthy measures and the two of them took opposite armchairs at the fireplace.

  ‘Your wife was in excellent form this evening, Marc.’

  ‘She is doubtless looking forward to returning to her precious cider tomorrow.’

  ‘Is that what made her look so animated?’

  ‘What else could it possibly be?’ Marc wasn’t comfortable discussing Harriet with his friend. Giles knew him too well, and probably saw the way Harriet had him mooning after her like a raw youth. He would get over his temporary fixation, adjust to married life and things would then jog along in the manner he had always intended them to. ‘I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you about my interview with Davidson this morning. As you know, he was engaged when we called upon him but he returned my call later.’

  ‘The local magistrate?’

  ‘He tells me Binstead arrived with impeccable references supplied by the magistrate in Whitechapel, who is an acquaintance of Davidson’s. He recommended Binstead when he learned there was a vacancy for a beadle in this parish. And by all accounts he has given perfect satisfaction since taking up his position here.’

  ‘So your fears are unfounded?’

  ‘Possibly, but I am still uneasy about the man.’ Marc paused, trying to articulate fears that had no foundation in fact. ‘He takes too much interest in Matlock House.’

  ‘His interest in Mrs. Aston isn’t to be wondered at. She’s still a handsome woman and her vulnerability is bound to bring out the protective instincts in a certain type of man.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I am not convinced he’s all he appears to be.’ Marc stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. ‘Apparently, he’s created quite a stir in the neighbourhood with his looks and outgoing personality. He has turned the heads of half the local ladies and also made quite a success out of the parish school.’

  Giles spread his hands. ‘Well then, perhaps you are worrying unnecessarily.’

  ‘Possibly, but Harri tells me Binstead and her father had a serious disagreement not long before her father died. I’d give a lot to know what that was all about. Anyway, to set my mind at rest, I shall consult with the magistrate in Whitechapel when next in town and gain his opinion of the man first-hand.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit, Marc? I know you are worried about your wife being at Matlock House when you’re not there to protect her. But Binstead did come here with glowing references and seems to discharge his duties efficiently.’

  ‘I like to be thorough, Giles.’ He put his empty glass aside, stood up and stretched. ‘Right, I am for my bed. I’ll wish you a good night.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harriet was driven to Matlock House the following morning by Marc’s coachman, with Freddie slumped across her lap. Martha had been unable to understand why she shouldn’t accompany her mistress and unnecessary time had been wasted placating the girl.

  ‘But how will you manage without me, Your Grace?’ she asked in bewilderment as she helped Harriet into the practical walking gown she wore for the short journey. ‘Who will dress your hair?’

  Harriet smiled, aware her hair would require nothing more complex than a ribbon to hold it back. She could hardly explain that to Martha, who would probably be shocked enough to give notice if she saw her mistress dressed in her workaday breeches.

  Harriet was tired and dispirited. Lady Calde
r had been quite wrong to suggest her husband had feelings for her. She knew that for a certainty now. Morosely she flicked a non-existent speck of dust from her skirts, drumming her fingers impatiently on her knee as she dwelt upon the injustices of life. Just for the briefest moment last night she had allowed herself to believe she might succeed in penetrating Marc’s reserve. There had been something about the way his eyes rested upon her just a little too long, and a softening in his austere expression when he thought her attention to be otherwise engaged, that had given her false hope.

  She had taken little persuasion to participate in a game of piquet with a difference—Marc’s prize for winning their wager. Surrendering an item of clothing for each losing hand indeed! She blushed at the recollection, even if she had found it exciting and stimulating. Too inexperienced to hide her true feelings, was it any wonder he had again left her bed as soon as he’d had his way with her? She had been sure he approved of her abandoned behaviour, otherwise why suggest she participate in the game? Being married to a man she neither knew nor understood was proving to be exceedingly hard work.

  Harriet’s thoughts were interrupted by their arrival at Matlock House, where the coachman assisted her from the carriage. Thanking him before sending him back to Endersby, Harriet rounded the house intending to enter it through the side door that would, by now, have been unlocked for the day. It was too early for her family to be about, and so her mind was free to dwell upon her difficulties with Marc. Every one of her senses rebelled against the prospect of living beside a man who didn’t care for her, but what other choice did she have? She had made her bed—in every respect—and must make the best of things. But that would never be enough for her.

  There had to be another way.

  Calling a greeting to the servants, Harriet climbed the stairs at a rapid pace and changed into her breeches. Tying her hair back, she left the house as swiftly as she had entered it and headed for the cider mill. She was anxious to acquaint herself first with the activities there, convinced everything must have come to a standstill during the course of her two-day absence.

  ‘Good morning, Ben.’ She waved a greeting to her foreman. ‘Have there been any difficulties during my absence?’

  ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ Ben removed his cap and half-bowed—something he had never done before—another indication of just how much her life had changed in such a short space of time. ‘Nothing of consequence to report.’

  ‘The scratting?’

  ‘Proceeding without mishap. We’ve started pressing the first lot.’

  ‘Make sure the straw between the layers is the sweetest available. We can’t afford any mishaps now.’

  Ben gave her an aggrieved look. ‘I know how to do my job, Your Grace.’

  ‘Of course you do, Ben, I meant no criticism.’ He had never previously taken exception to anything she had said to him. ‘Now then, let’s examine the first of the cheeses together.’

  Ben fell into step beside her and the morning’s work got underway.

  ‘Did you know Binstead was here on the day of your marriage, Your Grace?’

  Harriet bridled. ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He seemed surprised anyone was here. He’d heard we all had the day off to make merry.’

  ‘You did, so why were you here, Ben?’

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Just catching up on a few outstanding matters.’

  Harriet touched his arm. ‘What would I do without you, my loyal friend? Did Binstead state his business?’

  ‘He said your mother had asked him to oversee matters during her absence.’

  ‘So he lied,’ she responded speculatively. ‘Why would he do that? Besides, the duke warned him off the property. He doesn’t like him anymore than I do.’

  Ben grunted. ‘Then we’re all of the same mind.’

  Harriet lost herself in the business she loved, pausing occasionally to reprimand or cuddle Freddie as he chased the scent of rats or tried to tear open the bales of straw. Her family drifted into the mill at varying points during the morning. James, predictably, was the first, arriving not fifteen minutes after Harriet. Charlotte was a much later arrival, full of questions about Harriet’s new life and, more specifically, Lord Merrow’s proposed activities while in the district.

  Harriet didn’t see her mother until luncheon. She could see changes in her demeanour now that she had a companion—someone to share her responsibilities, such as they were. Harriet ran Matlock House and would continue to do so. There had never been much for her mother to do.

  ‘You haven’t told us a thing of interest about life at Endersby, Harri,’ complained Charlotte, her voice an aggrieved whine. ‘Or about married life either, for that matter.’

  ‘You ask too much, Charlotte,’ Mrs. Forbes remonstrated in a mild tone. ‘That is no one’s business except Her Grace’s and is hardly something you should ask her to speak about.’

  Harriet bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling. It seemed Mrs. Forbes and Charlotte were on a collision course. Not yet knowing the lady well, Harriet’s money was still on Mrs. Forbes to come out on the winning side. She possessed just the right mixture of manners, good breeding, tact, and firmness to curb Charlotte’s wilder traits. Mrs. Forbes was exactly the right person to keep on top of things at Matlock House when Harriet wasn’t there. The thought gave her a great deal of comfort.

  Exhausted by the end of the day, Harriet retired early but was up again with the dawn. She supervised the pressing of the apples, sharing with Ben her increasing certainty that they had, at last, hit upon the perfect blend to ensure their cider would meet with wide approval.

  ‘Your father would have been that proud.’ Ben looked unusually emotional as he tasted the latest brew. ‘Begging your pardon for my impertinence, Your Grace.’

  Harriet didn’t know how to respond, but a small part of her despaired. Ben had been used to saying anything he liked to her, and she looked upon him as a surrogate uncle. Now that she had married Marc he was treating her completely differently, just as everyone apart from her direct family appeared to be doing. She had expected it but hadn’t been prepared for just how isolated and lonely it would make her feel. If Marc would only…but no, she wouldn’t make her mood worse by dwelling upon his complete disinterest in her as a woman.

  After luncheon, Harriet heard footsteps echoing across the cobbles, heading at a rapid pace in the direction of the mill.

  ‘Who could that be?’ she speculated to no one in particular.

  Sensing a presence, she turned to see her husband standing directly behind her, riding crop tapping gently against his booted leg. She tried to suppress a surge of excitement. He had come to see her for no particular reason other than he wanted to, or so she chose to tell herself.

  ‘Marc, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Is it so unnatural for me to visit my wife?’

  ‘I can’t think of any reason for it.’ Her heart sang with pleasure but she would prefer it if he did not guess as much. She still had some pride to protect.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Tasting the new brew.’ She handed him a ladle full of cider. ‘Do you think it’s sufficiently matured?’

  Marc savoured it slowly, seemingly unaware of Harriet’s anxiety as she awaited his verdict. It was ridiculously important to her that he approve of her efforts and took pride in her achievement.

  ‘Well done!’ He looked to be on the verge of smiling but checked himself. ‘You have the blend exactly right.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She released the breath she’d been unaware she was holding. ‘I think so, too.’

  ‘I’m glad to see everything proceeding smoothly here.’

  ‘Mrs. Forbes is taking good care of Mama and Charlotte, and Mr. Swift is getting to grips with the boys’ lessons. The only thing out of the ordinary to occur while I was away was a visit from Binstead on the day of our wedding.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘Goodness knows why he would want to be here when he knew none
of us would be at home. I’ve always thought Mama was the attraction. However, Ben was here. He challenged him and Binstead made up some ridiculous story about Mama having asked him to supervise the estate during her absence.’

  Marc frowned also. ‘Would she have done that?’

  Harriet shrugged. ‘Almost certainly not, but you know how she can be sometimes.’

  ‘Leave the matter of Binstead to me. Hello, Freddie.’ He bent to scratch the unusually subdued puppy’s ears, and then frowned again. ‘He doesn’t look quite right.’

  Harriet crouched down and scooped the puppy into her arms. ‘You are right. He looks cross-eyed.’

  Marc took a closer look at him and then barked a brief laugh.

  ‘I’m glad you find it amusing. He looks like he’s dying. We need to do something.’

  ‘He’s not dying. I think it more likely that he’s intoxicated.’

  Harriet clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘How could he be?’

  ‘He’s probably been drinking from the slops bucket?’

  ‘It is not funny!’ She stroked the puppy’s silky ears.

  ‘He’ll be fine once he’s slept it off. Give him here and I’ll take him back to the house.’

  ‘His basket’s in my chamber.’ She walked along beside Marc, still fretting over the puppy. ‘I shall take better care in future and make sure he can’t get into the fermenting barn.’

  ‘Unlike humans, dogs tend to learn from their mistakes. He won’t touch the slops again.’

  ‘Why have you really come, Marc?’ she asked after a brief pause.

  ‘I wanted to let you know that I leave for London first thing in the morning. I have business that can’t wait but, if you have need of me, you can send word to my rooms.’

  ‘I am sure I won’t need you.’ And I’m equally sure you could have sent a note to tell me this. You didn’t need to come in person.