‘Remind me to dismiss you for impertinence as soon as we return to Wickham Hall.’
‘She’s too young to be trusted with such a deadly secret,’ Godfrey insisted as Ezra plunged his face into the hot water, vigorously washing the smell of horses from his skin. ‘No good will come of it, you just mark my words. Personally, I reckon you’ve had a rush of blood to the head. Can’t think of any other reason why you would have taken the young lady into your confidence.’ When Ezra emerged, his hair dripping with water, and looked to his man for a towel, there was a broad grin gracing Godfrey’s face as he handed it to him. ‘Or there again, she’s a prime minx, as unconventional as she is spirited, so perhaps I can.’
‘She is not a horse!’ Ezra grabbed the towel and grunted. ‘You have a lively imagination and apparent disinterest in remaining gainfully employed.’
‘Well, what’s done is done, and we’ll just have to hope that the young lady realises how vital it is that she respects your confidence.’ Godfrey handed Ezra a clean shirt and he pulled it over his head. ‘The word below stairs is that she’s on the point of accepting Salford’s offer so she’ll have more important matters to occupy her mind.’
Ezra frowned. ‘For once, the servants’ hall has it wrong. She has as little time for the man as I do.’
‘Useful cover for an assassin though, don’t you think? Have the world think you’ve come a-courting and no one will give a passing thought to a more sinister motive.’
Ezra paused in the process of tying his neckcloth. ‘Indeed. I thought his telling Lady Fletcher that Miss Benton was expecting his declaration was a little brazen, even for him, but it had the desired effect and the lady is delighted to be playing Cupid.’
‘Word is that she issued an invitation to him, agreeing to keep it a secret because Salford wanted to surprise Miss Benton.’
‘Right, and I would suspect him, but for the fact that we know where he was when my brother and father died.’
‘Which means that whoever wants you dead so badly is going to a lot of time, effort and expense to cover his tracks, and is particularly ruthless.’ Godfrey shook his head, watching Ezra as he buttoned his waistcoat. ‘Have a care, your grace. You ain’t quite as invincible as you appear to think.’
‘I bleed like any other.’ Ezra gave a grim nod. ‘I am well aware of that. Did you find out anything to help narrow down the field of suspects this morning?’
Godfrey grunted. ‘Only that your cousin has been complaining about everything and running the servants ragged. There are draughts in his room, even though it’s the height of summer, and he’s afraid of catching a chill. His bed isn’t aired properly and he is convinced that will result in the dreaded chill if the draughts do not, and so forth. Lady Fletcher’s butler has lost all patience and given instructions that his bell should be ignored.’
‘I do wonder if his making a nuisance of himself is somehow significant,’ Ezra mused, absently tugging at one of Merlin’s ears. ‘He is complaining about insignificant matters that make him appear weak and ineffectual.’ Ezra shared a dark look with his man. ‘You and I know differently.’
‘Hmm. I’d agree, but for the fact that he would be clearing a path for Brennan.’
‘Who might well have given him certain assurances.’
‘True enough.’ Godfrey nodded thoughtfully. ‘As things stand, Silas is entirely dependent upon your largesse, but if your mother tired of him then he knows he would have to find his own way. Perhaps he prefers the prospect of a settled future in which he can be lord of his own manor and complain about the draughts to his heart’s content.’
‘True enough. Keep a weather eye on him, Godfrey. Him and Salford. Use Arkwright to help you,’ Ezra said, referring to his groom. ‘He’s dependable and discreet. I want to know everything that Silas and Salford get up to this afternoon.’
‘Seems to me that if Salford has Miss Benton in his sights, then you’ll be watching him for yourself.’
‘You may depend upon it, but I might get waylaid.’
‘That’s something I can definitely depend upon.’ Ezra followed his man’s gaze and groaned when he noticed a bevy of young ladies gathered together on the lawns immediately below his window. One or two of them glanced up and he abruptly stepped back, but not before Lady Cora sent him a coquettish smile and waggled her fingers at him.
‘Right, well I suppose I’d better hurl myself to the she-wolves,’ he said, whistling to Merlin, who rose from a deep slumber and trotted happily along in Ezra’s wake. ‘Bite any of them who get too familiar,’ he instructed his dog.
He stepped onto the terrace, where he was greeted by a group of gentlemen, Salford amongst them. Thinking there was safety in numbers, Ezra joined them and listened with half an ear to their conversation, which centred around an early evening visit to the local tavern, prior to changing for dinner.
‘How about you, Wickham?’ someone asked. ‘Will you join us?’
It was an invitation that Ezra would ordinarily seize with gratitude, a common ploy at events of this nature that permitted the eligible gentlemen a brief respite from the machinations of ambitious mothers.
‘What, the locals not good enough company for you, Wickham?’ Salford chided when Ezra hesitated.
‘On the contrary, I shall of course be there.’
The conversation turned to horses and a proposed race later in the week. Ezra would participate in the race but had little to add to the current conversation and allowed both his mind and his gaze to wander, which is when he became conscious of someone watching him from the house. He glanced up and his gaze clashed with Clio’s. No one was taking much notice of him, other than Salford, who followed the direction of Ezra’s gaze and appeared surprised that it was Clio who held his attention.
Ezra inclined his head in an irreverent and proprietary manner, curious to see how Salford would respond. As he had supposed would be the case, Salford looked away and struck up a conversation with someone else. Salford wouldn’t deliberately draw the attention of the company to Ezra’s interest in the chit when he himself was supposed to have engaged her affections.
‘Let the sport commence,’ Ezra muttered beneath his breath.
‘We are about to play pell-mell. I am sure you are familiar with the French game, your grace,’ Lady Fletcher said, bustling up to join the gentlemen. ‘Indeed, I believe it is often called croquet nowadays for some reason. I cannot keep track of all these new-fangled names. Anyway, gentlemen, please select your partners. The ladies would benefit from instruction, I have no doubt.’
‘What a charming prospect,’ someone remarked sotto voce, to a chorus of muted laughter.
Henry led the exodus and bowed before Adele Fletcher. Ezra permitted himself a half smile, thinking that his enthusiasm would please Clio, who had yet to present herself. Ezra felt half-inclined to hide himself away and wait for her arrival but as guest of honour he was obliged to play his part.
He enjoyed being contrary and so bowed in front of the least attractive female present, asking her to do him the honour of partnering him. The other females looked on in open-mouthed astonishment, shaking their heads in bewilderment.
‘I don’t think you are supposed to ask me,’ the lady, Miss Devonshire he thought her name was, remarked with wry amusement.
‘One of the benefits of being a duke, Miss Devonshire, is that one can please oneself, and it would please me very much to partner you.’
‘Fortunately for you, your grace, I understand that you have a reason for being civil and so shall not read more into your gesture than was intended by it. It must be terribly trying to be in your situation.’ She smiled good-naturedly up at him. ‘Now, how does one play this wretched game?’
Mark Salford hung back, watching with wry amusement as the duke disappointed his bevy of admirers by offering to partner the plainest girl in attendance. There was only one person whom Mark had the slightest intention of partnering and she had not yet come down. Where the devil was she? He
had seen her watching from her chamber window a few moments ago, as had the duke. Mark had raised a hand in greeting but if she had seen him, she hadn’t acknowledged the gesture. He did not at all like her independent state of mind; she was far too young to have become such a deep thinker. Not that the fairer sex were capable of particularly deep thought, but that was beside the point.
He tapped his foot, aware that several ladies still wanted for partners and were casting encouraging glances in his direction. Just when good manners were on the point of forcing him to select one of them, Clio emerged from a side door, looking fresh and vibrant in a becoming gown of pale blue sprigged muslin, a parasol tipped at a jaunty angle over one shoulder. She really had become quite attractive in an unconventional manner, he thought. Perhaps marriage to her wouldn’t be such drudgery after all.
‘Clio, there you are.’ He smiled at her and raised his hat, fully expecting his greeting to be warmly reciprocated now that she’d had an opportunity to become accustomed to his presence and appreciate being noticed by him.
‘Should you not be playing?’ she asked, walking straight past him.
‘I was waiting for you to partner me.’ Perdition, how dare she be so dismissive of his attentions! Didn’t she realise just how fortunate she was? Seemingly not, but Mark never backed away from a challenge and was damned if she’d get the better of him. He would have her yearning for a kind word, a look, a touch, before he was done with the impertinent miss, and long before they exchanged vows.
‘There are enough players. I don’t intend to join in.’
‘Excellent! We shall walk instead.’
She seemed annoyed to have made life easy for him, but she fell into step beside him, ignoring his proffered arm, as he moved away from the croquet lawn. She tilted her head so that she was looking slightly away from him, acknowledged one or two of the ladies as they passed them by but made no effort to instigate a conversation.
‘You have grown up since we last met,’ he remarked, wincing at the banality of the comment. He ought, he belatedly realised, to have prepared better and come up with a compliment, but he had been so sure that she would have come to her senses…
‘Why are you really here?’ she asked. ‘And please don’t pretend that you are madly in love with me and asked my father’s permission to address me, since I shall not believe you.’
‘Even if it is true.’
‘It is not, Captain Salford. You just now remarked that I have grown up, implying that I was still a child when we last met.’ She sent him a mocking sideways glance. ‘Have you developed a taste for children, Captain?’
Mark bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, thereby preventing himself from issuing the cutting retort that sprang to mind. If she had been a man, he would have struck her down for her insolence. But then again, if she had been a man, they would not have been conducting this conversation.
‘You underestimate your charms, my dear, and your father’s plans for you. He wanted to be sure that you would be secure after his death.’
‘Nonsense!’ She tossed her head. ‘My father barely acknowledged my existence.’
‘He was very proud of your achievements and often spoke of them. Ask any of the officers who served beneath him if you doubt my word. He intended to talk to you about his desire to see us united, and I am anxious to comply with the wishes of a man whom I respected enormously.’
‘Ah, I see.’ She sent him a withering look. ‘And there was I attempting to persuade myself that I had got it all wrong and that you actually are in the throes of undying love.’
They strolled through a pretty orchard at the side of the house where there were any number of secluded spots in which Mark could launch his charm campaign, free from interruption and prying eyes. But he knew better than to try it. First, he needed to win her confidence; a task that was likely to be harder than he had at first envisaged. The kitten had most definitely developed claws. Mark could no longer pretend otherwise.
‘Perhaps, at first, I was motivated by my desire to fulfil your father’s wishes, but since meeting you here I have come to admire you enormously. Passionate love is the stuff of fiction, Clio, but be assured that if you will have me, I will be a devoted and attentive husband who will ensure that you want for nothing.’
‘Thank you, Captain, but I want for nothing now so where is the advantage in surrendering my independence?’
‘Foolish child! You will become an object of sympathy, an inconvenience to your relatives and an embarrassment to them if you do not marry. Old maids are always looked upon in such a manner.’
‘Are they indeed? Even the wealthy ones who can afford to employ companions if they grow weary of their own company?’ Mark inwardly fumed as she taunted him with suggestions about her wealth. ‘Besides, I don’t believe I mentioned an aversion to matrimony per se, Captain, but merely to marriage with you.’
‘Ouch! I say.’
‘If I was impolite then I make no apology.’ She absently snatched at a blade of grass with the hand not holding her parasol. ‘Had you not come here under false pretences, duping Lady Fletcher into believing that there was an understanding between us when no such thing existed, then I would have heard your proposal with politeness. Perhaps I would even have accepted it. Who can say? But I cannot abide underhandedness. I do not love you and anyway, I do not think that we would suit.’
‘Clio, please, I beg you…’ He grasped her upper arm but she sent his fingers an imperious look.
‘Let go of me!’ She didn’t raise her voice but spoke with enough venom to ensure that he complied. Manhandling her wouldn’t have the desired effect. He would have to think of something else. ‘I have given you my answer, and shall not change my mind. If you are half the gentleman you claim to be, then you will accept my decision and graciously withdraw your attentions. There are plenty of ladies here who appear to enjoy your society, some of whom even have healthy dowries,’ she added helpfully. ‘I will be happy to introduce you to any who find favour.’
‘I am no pauper, if that is what you presume.’
‘And yet you made no mention of the comfortable life you could offer me if I were to accept you.’ She sent him a curious look. ‘Is that not the done thing, or did you suppose that I don’t care for creature comforts?’
Ye gods she was a tigress, and against all the odds, Mark found himself even more determined to have her. The little madam was serious in her mocking rejection, though! He could scarce believe it. He had never proposed before, it was true, but no female whom he had favoured with his attentions had ever rebuffed them. And yet this prime piece, barely out of the schoolroom, was looking down at him with haughty disdain, tinged with a modicum of ridicule.
It defied belief.
And it could not be left there. Mark had no intention of withdrawing, gracefully or otherwise. There had to be a way to change her mind and there were six more days of this party to go in order for him to find that way, as well as discharging his other duties. The real reason for his visit.
The sound of laughter and of mallets striking balls greeted them as they turned a corner and saw the croquet lawn in the far distance. A dog came bounding up to them, that scrawny creature of Wickham’s, and Clio bent to make a big fuss of it. Salford felt a moment’s panic, worried that Wickham might not be far behind, then berated himself for his fears. Mark had merely been walking with the lady, there was absolutely nothing untoward about his behaviour.
Not on this occasion.
‘I hope we can still be friends,’ he forced himself to say, bowing in front of Clio when they reached the terrace and then forcing himself to walk away.
Chapter Nine
The interlude with Captain Salford had shaken Clio badly, so instead of returning to the party she retreated to the orchard in search of solitude. Alone, she paced up and down, mulling the situation over. His simmering anger when she declined his presumptuous advances had been extreme.
And highly disturbing.
�
�There is nothing he can do to force my hand,’ she said aloud, in an effort to convince herself that she was worrying unnecessarily. What was wrong with her? She had told Ezra that she would try and discover if Salford had come here with the intention of killing him. Instead, she was in danger of crumbling at the first hurdle because the man had scowled at her. ‘Where’s your backbone?’ she demanded.
‘Are you all right?’
She swung around, furious because Salford must have followed her. Her mistake registered when she was confronted by the duke’s concerned expression.
‘I thought you were playing games,’ she said, more sharply than had been her intention. She absolutely didn’t want him to see her looking so flustered. He would never permit her to help him with his enquiry if she appeared so feeble, but she very much wanted to make herself useful, perhaps because she wanted to prove something to herself. What that elusive something might be, she had yet to decide.
‘The game you refer to is finished.’ He smiled at her. ‘I saw you with Salford.’
‘And thought I needed rescuing?’
‘It’s clear that he has overset you. That much was obvious from the language I just overheard when you were talking to yourself.’ He flashed another engaging smile. ‘Eavesdropping becomes remarkably addictive, I find.’
Clio sighed. ‘I thought I was ready for him, but there is something threatening about him when he doesn’t get his way that is highly disconcerting. He is not a man who enjoys being crossed, but I don’t suppose I am telling you anything you were not already aware of. Anyway, I have made my position plain, rejected his proposal and asked him not to bother me again. I hope he will accept my decision.’
‘Let me have a word.’
‘Absolutely not!’ Clio bent to stroke Merlin’s head when he bounded up to them, his tail wagging. ‘How would that look?’
Ezra took her arm and led her behind a row of apple trees when a couple of other guests briefly stepped into the orchard. ‘I feel responsible.’
Fit for a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Page 11