There, across the old arced bridge, a conveyance came from Hartfordshire’s direction. Either Grandpapa or the young groom. No one else knew how to tool a vehicle. She’d asked to learn but had been denied the privilege.
“Someone’s coming.” She turned, waving her arms up and down in the unlikely event the driver didn’t see her.
One arm around Jackson’s waist and the other holding the servant’s arm across Max’s broad shoulders, the men labored up the incline. The carriage lamps sent an eerie glow over the road as the landau drew to an uneven stop.
“Gabriella girl, is that you?” Grandpapa squinted into the night. “Where are the coach and team?”
“Yes, Grandpapa, it’s me. I’m afraid the coach lost a wheel, and Jackson’s hurt.” Best not to tell him the condition of the coach or that his team had been stolen just yet. As an afterthought she added, “The Duke of Pennington is here as well. He came to our aid.”
She sensed as much as saw her grandfather go rigid and defensive.
“We don’t need or accept help from a Woolbright or any Duke of Pennington,” Grandpapa all but growled in a gravelly tone she’d never heard from him before.
The air fairly crackled with enmity, and her jaw hung slack. Never before had she witnessed such hostility from her gentle, eccentric grandfather. Was it possible he was already aware of the duke’s plans to try to force them from their home? That certainly would warrant well-earned antagonism. God knew it had caused hers.
To Pennington’s credit, he didn’t respond in kind but continued to assist the injured coachman to the waiting carriage. That raised him a notch in her estimation—to worm rather than maggot.
“Can you step into the conveyance?” Pennington asked Jackson, covered with muck and grass streaks. “I’ll bear your weight and balance you.”
She’d never known a peer to expend effort for a commoner, let alone soil his fancy—expensive—clothing or muddy his fine—very expensive—boots.
“Aye, Your Grace.” Muttering a muffled oath, Jackson braced his arms on the open door then giving a tremendous heave, levered himself onto the cushion. With a low groan, he collapsed into the corner, and even in the half-light, Gabriella recognized the strain creasing his pale face.
“Gabriella, take a seat at once,” Grandpapa all but snapped, including her in his curmudgeon’s glare. “Your grandmother and sister are beside themselves with worry, and I must retrieve the team as soon as I’ve seen you home.”
Oh no. How can I tell Grandpapa?
She raised what surely must be stricken eyes to the duke’s. Why she’d look to him for help or reassurance she couldn’t begin to speculate. Simply put, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to do.
Something akin to compassion transformed the granite-like angled planes of Pennington’s face. His strong mouth softened and tipped up at the corners. “Breckensole, I regret your team’s been stolen and your coach has a broken axel.” Sympathy rather than gloating tempered Pennington’s somber tone. “I came upon the wreckage and found your granddaughter huddled in the woods, terrified for her life.”
Eyelids sliding closed, Gabriella gave a whimpering groan. Bother and blast. She believed she’d been so stoic and brave—had hidden her fear so well.
“What…? What say you?” Grandpapa brought his aghast gaze up to swing between her and Pennington. He whispered brokenly, “My…my team stolen? My coach destroyed?” His stooped shoulders slumped, and he hung his head.
Gabriella tried to reach up to pat his arm. “I’m so sorry, Grandpapa. Maybe if I’d stayed in the coach…”
She’d have been despoiled, for certain.
“No, Miss Breckensole. You were wise to hide.” In an instant, flint-like censure turned Pennington’s speech ruthless and unforgiving. “I should think you’d be more concerned with your granddaughter’s wellbeing, Breckensole. A coach and team are replaceable. Something as precious as her cannot ever be.”
An odd inflection roughened his last words.
She caught his eye and gave a small shake of her head. He’d only make things worse, pointing out the obvious truth to her grandfather. She was still trying to come to terms with the loss herself. It was easier for a man as wealthy as the duke to consider acquiring a new matched pair and commissioning another coach a minor inconvenience. Not as true for her family.
Her grandfather’s head snapped up, and she almost gasped at the loathing contorting his lined face. “How dare you imply I don’t care for my granddaughter?”
What had happened to cause such visceral enmity between him and the Dukes of Pennington? He’d been remarkably closed-mouthed about it all these years, whatever it was. He’d known the twins encountered the duke at social events and never hinted they were to avoid him.
Had something occurred of late to change that?
But what?
A growing suspicion niggled, and though she couldn’t put her finger on just what made her uneasy, Gabriella was convinced Grandpapa kept something significant from her, Grandmama, and Ophelia.
“Just like an arrogant Pennington, passing judgment on others.” Grandpapa’s mouth twisted into a contemptuous sneer. “Always thinking you’re superior to everyone else, whilst forgetting the plank in your own eyes.”
“At least we’re honest and forthright in our business and other dealings.” Gone was the tender duke who’d cradled her in his preposterously strong arms as they sat atop his horse. This man glaring daggers at her feeble grandfather she could very well believe would put them from their home without a qualm.
“Just exactly what are you implying, Pennington?” Grandpapa asked slowly, his rancor palpable in the set of his shoulders and the muscle flexing in his jaw. He raised his crop threateningly, and for a blink, Gabriella feared he meant to strike Pennington.
She rushed to intervene. Striking a peer, let alone a duke, would have harsh consequences. “Grandpapa, after the axel broke, ruffians came along. They stole the team and the mazurine velvet cloak I commissioned for Ophelia’s birthday present.” His tobacco too, but she’d spare him that triviality. “They also stomped upon Grandmama’s medicines and destroyed our new chemises.”
“Why?” Sorrow and disbelief riddled the clipped word. “I’ve made no enemies.”
Save the Penningtons, it would seem. Neither had he made friends, and that knowledge saddened her.
The night had grown brisk, and a frigid shudder stole down her spine. Shivering, she rubbed her arms in a vain attempt to warm herself. “I don’t know why,” she admitted in a hushed tone.
He swung an accusing gaze at the duke. “I’ll be bound it was no mere coincidence. No, by God, this smacks of Pennington deviousness.”
“Grandpapa!” Pennington might mean to reclaim his familial home, but until today, there’d not been a single instance of nefarious behavior. Nothing suspicious directed at the Breckensoles. “If the duke hadn’t come upon Jackson and me and lent us his assistance, we’d both be stranded right now.”
Well, she wouldn’t have been, because she’d have walked home.
Her defense of the duke earned her a furious glare from her grandfather and an enigmatic half-smile from the man himself. Unexpected pleasure burgeoned behind her ribs. The duke was pleased she’d defended him. How absurd, and how unlike her. Still, she wasn’t so churlish as to refuse to give credit where it was due. They did owe him a debt of gratitude.
“I’ll ride to Colechester to fetch the doctor,” Pennington offered after handing Gabriella into the carriage.
His touch burned through her gloves, and continued to heat her palm after she’d claimed a spot on the seat.
Pale and drawn, his injured leg thrust out before him, Jackson rested his head upon the squab.
Grandpapa gave the duke a dark scowl. “I already told you, we don’t need help from the likes of you.”
Pennington closed the door and dipped his head. He’d unfastened his coat and lost his hat. A shock of raven hair hung boyishly over his br
ow. She’d never seen him other than immaculately groomed and found his partial dishabille rather appealing. It made him less intimidating. More her equal. Which, of course, he was not.
There was a lot about the Duke of Pennington she found appealing—or had found appealing before she discovered the fine trappings and impeccable manners hid a completely different man. An unethical sod bent on her family’s destruction. That knowledge filled her with an aching sadness, caused by more than disappointment.
There was no denying the secret thrill that had zipped from her hips to shoulders as his solid muscled thighs bunched against her bum or the welcoming hard-planed wall of his chest she’d sagged into as she rode before him. What woman wouldn’t find such blatant maleness tempting?
Dangerous musings I’d best put an end to at once.
Any benevolent thoughts toward the Duke of Pennington were misplaced. He meant to put them out of their home. Don’t forget that, no matter how solicitous and pleasant he might be at this moment.
Besides, something dark, intense, and secret simmered between him and her grandfather. And it was powerful and eerie enough to make her nape tingle. It also stirred her curiosity, and she meant to find out what it was. Instinct told her it had something to do with the duke’s plan to claim Hartfordshire Court.
With a concerned glance toward Jackson, Gabriella said, “Grandpapa, please be reasonable. We do need Pennington’s help. None of us is capable of driving into town tonight, and if Jackson’s leg is truly broken, he cannot wait until tomorrow to have it set.” She scooted to the edge of the seat mindful of her grandfather’s mulish silence. “Your Grace, we’d be most grateful for your assistance.”
“Always a pleasure, Miss Breckensole.” From his genial low-timbred tone, she could almost believe he meant it.
One hand on the vehicle’s side, she said softly, “Thank you…for everything.”
Giving his head the merest inclination, his mouth slid upward a jot, but it was a far cry from a sincere smile. “You never answered my question,” he murmured for her ears alone, giving the tips of her fingers a little squeeze.
What have I done to offend you?
His probing, confused gaze made the inquiry again, and if she didn’t know better, if the shadows weren’t playing with her senses, she might’ve detected the merest thread of hurt. Surely, he didn’t expect her to answer now? Especially here? Particularly when Grandpapa looked as if he’d like to take the crop to him, duke or not?
Her movement barely discernable, she shifted her head and eyes to indicate she wouldn’t answer. She hadn’t a doubt he’d ask her again, and she was sorely tempted to tell him the truth of it just to see what he’d say.
Would he lie, deny it, or make an excuse? Or would he own his words and explain himself? She so wanted it to be the latter, no matter how irrational. Disgust at her traitorous inclinations brought her up short, retangling the confused knot in her empty belly.
Maxwell, the frustratingly attractive and enigmatic Duke of Pennington was the enemy. Was her enemy. She’d be an utter fool to believe any of the smooth words he put forth. Wasn’t that what the serpent in the Garden of Eden had done? Used his whiles to trick and deceive Eve?
But… would a man bent on causing harm to her family have been so helpful? Or, what if his assistance had all been a guise to win them over? To put her off the scent? Her musings circled around and around like a dog chasing its tail.
Bah. She was too tired, cold, and hungry to cobble more than two coherent thoughts together. Besides, Pennington wasn’t aware she was onto his game. That gave her an advantage, albeit only a slight one, but one she meant full well to use.
With another polite angling of his dark head and a ghost of a bow, the duke presented his back, and a moment later, leapt into the saddle and rode away.
As improbable, illogical, and yes, utterly ridiculous as it was, an odd bereftness encompassed Gabriella. Fool. Ninny. Goose cap. She loathed the man. Despised him for what he intended to do to Grandpapa. To all of the Breckensoles.
But she’d spent time in his arms, and it hadn’t been awful at all. In fact, if she were completely honest with herself—and she always strived to be so—the experience had been wickedly wonderful, and she’d enjoyed it. Enjoyed it far too much. Enjoyed it so much, she wouldn’t mind experiencing more of that particular wickedness.
Another wave of self-loathing battered her. How could she even entertain such treacherous thoughts?
After a sleepless night of tossing, turning, and the erotic reliving of Gabriella’s lush bum pressed to his loins, Max arose with a cockstand to rival Eros’s and Pothos’s. Deciding an early morning ride before breaking his fast would clear his head and hopefully reduce his state of arousal, he wasted no time in dressing, quite putting Filby out that he’d dared to do so without the valet’s assistance.
Thirty minutes later, he slowed Balor, and patting the horse’s withers, breathed in the fresh, crisp air. Song birds trilled cheerfully, and a slight breeze rustled the leaves and sent the tall grass to dancing. This was his preferred time of day, when everything was fresh and new, before his responsibilities and duties consumed his hours and thoughts.
As he had last night and continued to do today, he pondered Gabriella’s reaction to him. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect she was as attracted to him as he was to her and fought the magnetism just as vehemently. He dared to consider what there could have been between them if the ugly truth of her grandfather’s blackmail hadn’t caused a permanent wedge.
He turned the stallion toward a favorite copse of oaks growing along the river where he often saw deer early in the morning. There the embankment narrowed to a few feet. As he approached, he canted his head. Someone was singing. More accurately, a female with a lovely alto voice sang Lavender’s Blue.
He grinned at his good fortune.
Gabriella.
There she sat on the opposite side of the waterway, beyond where the fencing began. Bright as sunshine in a lovely yellow morning gown, her hair tied back with a jonquil ribbon and her straw bonnet beside her. She rested a sketch pad on her knees as she trilled away.
“You must love me diddle diddle,
’Cause I love you…”
She was the most relaxed and unselfconscious he’d ever seen her. And utterly enchanting. With a cluck of his tongue, he urged Balor faster, and the steed soared over the river, landing on the other side.
Unaware of him as yet, with adorable flourish, she swept her pencil across the paper, and neck bent, continued to sing beneath her breath. “Diddle, diddle.”
He’d like to diddle diddle something. Someone.
“Good morning, Gabriella.”
She started, dropped her pencil, and jerked her gaze upward, her mouth forming a delightful little “O” of surprise as she glanced past him. “I didn’t hear you approach.”
The river and the breeze rustling through the trees could be blamed for that.
He slid to the ground then looped Balor’s reins over the pummel. The horse wouldn’t wander far. Without waiting for an invitation, Max sank beside her and retrieved her pencil.
“May I see?” He indicated the sketch pad as he handed the pencil to her.
With a little shrug, she passed it over. She’d drawn her grandfather’s cattle milling about the meadow, including three newborn calves resting beneath the trees. A robin red breast stood atop a fence post, its head raised in song.
“You have talent,” he said returning the pad to her. He wasn’t surprised. “You’ve a lovely singing voice too.”
She angled her head at his compliment. “I find drawing relaxes me and is a welcome distraction from things weighing on my mind.”
“Like the exchange between your grandfather and me last night?” He gathered her hand in his, fully expecting her to yank it away and renounce him for a bounder and an opportunistic rake.
Instead, she stared at their entwined fingers, hers charcoal-stained. “Yes, that and other things.
” She slanted her head, contemplatively. “Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if you’d been born a different person?”
Such a serious conversation for so early in the morning. She’d probably fretted all night as well.
“I do on occasion. I’d have much more freedom. There are obligations required of a duke that I don’t always relish.” Like restoring stolen lands to the duchy and ruining pretty young women’s lives in the process. He released her hand before removing his hat and setting it beside his thigh then leaned back on one elbow.
She turned that expressive hazel gaze on him, searching his face. Wistfulness and yearning shone there, and he recognized a kindred spirit. He’d sensed that about her from their initial meeting. Neither would hesitate to do anything for their family. The difference was, his family was dead, whilst her grandparents and her sister lived.
“Honestly, I’ve never considered there are aspects to being a duke that are difficult or that you disliked.” She skewed her mouth in the manner he’d come to recognize meant she was in deep thought. “I’ve always only thought of the privileges and opportunities your position brings.” Gabriella took up her pencil again, but didn’t put it to the paper. She seemed lost in ruminations once more.
Today, there was a melancholy air about her, and he yearned to take her in his arms and promise everything would be all right. But he couldn’t, because he was going to make her life hell, and part of him wished he’d never found that damned journal.
“I wish that I had been born someone else at times.” She pushed a stray tendril of almond-brown hair off her face, leaving a charcoal smudge on her cheek. “Not because I’ve been unhappy, though I do wish my parents had lived and I’d have known them. But because I’d like to have traveled and seen something of the world. Instead, I expect I’ll take care of my grandparents until they pass, and then…?”
“And then?” he probed when she didn’t finish.
She hitched a dainty shoulder again, indicating she didn’t know what the future would bring.
Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 4-6: A Regency Romance Page 6