“Not at all,” the man sounded sincere. “In fact, my fellows and I were just talking about how you were the best bet to tame Lady Disdain.”
Anger laced through the Duke’s chest and his fist curled at his side, “Are you still on that tripe? I told you, I will not try to seduce her.”
“Discipline her then,” Wyndrake smirked. “I happen to know a nifty club where—”
“Enough!” Aaron almost roared. “I will not descend to the level of shamelessness you men clearly live in. Are you that intimidated by a woman who rules her own mind? Or do you feed your blighted egos on women who delight in ignorance? Extend my sympathies to your wife if that is the attitude you have toward women.”
His words evoked a ringing silence and Aaron felt more than one pair of eyes on him. Wyndrake stood up and leaned in menacingly, “You will regret those words, Oberton.”
“I will regret nothing,” Aaron said stonily.
“Not now,” Wyndrake said ominously. “But you will. A word of advice Oberton, it would do you well to mind your words when you are speaking to gentlemen who can destroy you.”
“You are no gentleman,” Aaron said mirthlessly. Wyndrake had pushed too far and Aaron unleashed the first bullet in his gun. “What do you say about the sudden disappearance of the St. Giles scandal?”
Instead of going pale, Wyndrake’s jaw went stiff, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Seeing that he had unsettled the man, Aaron snorted, “Walls have ears and men talk, Wyndrake. Your secrets are not as secret as you might think. Now, if you will excuse me, I have more important matters to contemplate.”
Walking away with that victory in his pocket, Aaron moved to a shadowed table that was flush against a corner. The waiter reappeared and deposited his glass of scotch before him. Nodding his thanks, Aaron faintly noted the hesitant resurge of conversation in the room while he nursed the drink. His mind was pondering the various ways he could approach Lady Eleanor again.
“If you don’t mind me saying,” a man said as he slipped into the other half of the booth. “That was incredibly foolish of you, but it was something all of us have been egging to say.”
“Julius Wilcox as I live and breathe,” Aaron smiled over the rim of his glass at his old Eton schoolmate. The son of a minor baron, Julius Wilcox had broken out of the expectancy of going into business and had gone on to be an officer with the River Thames Police. His rise in the ranks had been meteoric and now he was almost the Superintendent of Ship Constables at the young age of seven-and-twenty.
“My God, I thought they had sent you to spy on illicit trade by the Scots,” Aaron said.
“Eh,” Julius shrugged. “They had, but they soon realized they had a room full of bacon brains at the headquarters and needed some sense back at the base.”
“And you have that in spades,” Aaron smiled. “How is Lady Darcy?”
“My betrothed is beautiful and as patient as ever with me trying to get out of the fray and into the office so our children will not have only a widowed mother as a parent,” he grinned. “So, what is this about the Lady of Brisdane…or should I say Disdain?”
Of course, he would ask me that.
“A continuation of some mockery,” Aaron’s voice was tight. “At Lord Greyson’s affair, Wyndrake offered me five-thousand pounds to subdue the lady, who has more common sense on her little finger than the lot of them, and ‘reel her in.’”
Julius’ brown eyes widened, “The hell you say? Is she a filly?”
“I said the same thing,” Aaron groused while finishing off his scotch. “The hell is that I know Lady Eleanor, our families are acquaintances.”
“So?” Julius prodded. “What is the problem?”
“She hates the air I breathe…” and I cannot say I am any different, Aaron admitted sourly. “Our first meet went south when I told her she was a tomboy and then, years later, I told her she was spoiled.”
The constable’s lips twitched, “That would irk a lass.”
“And then,” Aaron griped. “I must have lost my mind because at the same ball, I sent her a dancing card with my name on every slot and I still cannot understand why I did it, and that was after we had a scathing argument on the terrace. She annoys me, Wilcox.”
A stifled laugh came from his friend that earned Aaron’s narrow glare, “Ahem, sorry…Oberton, what exactly is your connection with this lady?”
“I told you,” Aaron said. “A connection forged with the three twines of loathing, anger, and resentment.”
“But if you had mirrored her loathing, anger, and resentment you would have never defended her that way,” Julius pointed out. “That speech was nearly heroic, and I had begun to think you were infatuated with the lass.”
Beckoning another waiter over Aaron’s words were dry, “Infatuation is a stretch.”
“Intrigue then,” Julius said after ordering some whiskey. “I know you Oberton, you don’t suffer fools or pretentious people. You are drawn to intelligence and if this lady has it in spades, perhaps you’re not as thrown off by her as you think.”
“I am.”
“Do you truly hate her?” Julius asked.
“Yes.” Maybe it is an annoyance and not pure hatred.
“Do you?” the constable asked.
“Possibly.”
“Are you sure?” Julius pressed.
“No,” Aaron huffed in annoyance. “I may not hate her but I do not like her either.”
“Then try to apologize to her, that usually calms their ire,” Julius said. “Take the higher road, Oberton.”
* * *
Eleanor did not know how much more of her father’s dark ranting she could take. Dinner had finished hours ago, and they had sent Lord Greenville off in good temperament but then, with him gone, the lecture began.
“The nerve of Oberton,” the older man grated. “How can he just show up and demand to see you?”
“Father, he did n—”
“And to think that he believed that he could usurp your attention from Lord Greenville?” he ranted. “I cannot believe his impertinence.”
“Father—”
“Greenville is not your future husband but at least I know that you have the attention of the men around you,” Fenton fumed. “At least—”
“Father!” Eleanor snapped.
His dark blue eyes flew over to her and his face darkened with her interruption. “Eleanor? Did you interrupt me?”
“I am tired, Father,” Eleanor’s voice dropped to show her fatigue. “I understand that the Duke of Oberton’s arrival was not ideal, but we cannot change what happened. I am tired. Can we discuss this tomorrow?”
His lips flattened, “I will not be here, Eleanor. I must return to Brisdane early on the morrow.”
Even better.
“I’m sorry to hear that…” Not really. “But I really need to rest, Father.”
“Very well,” he huffed. “But Eleanor, what was Oberton going to apologize for?”
She stilled as her mind ran over like carriage wheels, “I reminded him of the day we met, how he insulted me and he glossed over it. I suppose he came to apologize for that.”
It was the nearest thing to the truth that she could conjure. Her father snorted, “You cannot let go of an old grudge, can you? The boy was a greenhorn and did not know how to address you. Go off to bed, Eleanor, we’ll see what we can do about Greenville in the days to come.”
Thankful that she had evaded her father’s question, Eleanor went off to her bedroom. She did not need help undressing and she disrobed efficiently. While brushing her hair out she wondered which transgression Oberton had come to apologize for.
Pinning her auburn tresses back, she slipped on her silk cap and pulled back the sheets. A soft warmth radiated from under it and she realized that Maria had slid a warming pan inside.
Such a thoughtful child.
Tugging the sheets over her, she tried to not worry about what Oberton had come for but went
to sleep with it in the forefront of her mind anyway.
* * *
Julius, I hope to God you’re right.
Aaron approached the Stanley House with faint hope he would get to speak to Lady Eleanor this time. It was three days after his first aborted attempt. He was not sure what he would do if he got turned away again. Perhaps he would mark it as a lost cause and move on, but then again, would his conscience allow him to do so?
The foyer with the twin stairs that seemed to float up to the ceiling never failed to impress him. The butler bowed, “Good evening, Your Grace. Welcome to the Stanley home.”
Tugging his coat off, Aaron’s astute ears caught the faint sound of music. “Mr. Ambrose is it? Is His Grace home?”
“No, Your Grace,” the butler replied while taking the coat. “It is just Lady Eleanor, Miss Malcolm, and a few other servants here today.”
“Hm,” Aaron said while tilting his head and listening keenly, and as he did a smile tugged at his face. He knew that song, it was The Tempest from the master Ludwig van Beethoven and its tragic power was used as the background music of Shakespeare’s play of the same name. He knew who had to be playing that concerto.
“That is the infamous Der Sturm, the Tempest…and is Lady Eleanor playing it?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler’s eyebrows were raised. “An astute perception, if I may say so myself.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
“The drawing room, Your Grace,” the butler added. “May I escort you there?”
Aaron’s first impulse was to tell the man to not bother and that he could follow his ears and find the way, but he was not going to disrespect the man and walk through it unattended.
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“This way, Your Grace.”
Down a runner-covered floor and a golden wood-paneled hallway, Aaron was led to a doorway and there he stopped. The butler was about to announce him, but he shook his head quietly.
“I will summon her chaperone,” he said while turning away.
Aaron stood there and allowed the music to wrap itself around him. Lady Eleanor sat at the pianoforte with her head canted away from him while her fingers ran effortlessly over the keys.
The light from the window gave her dark red hair a burnished gold sheen. The flawless ivory of her skin offset the dark brown wall behind her. Her face—what he could see of it—was placid but the line of her shoulders told him otherwise.
She began a crescendo and the fluidity of her fingers over the keys sent shockwaves through him. The music was so powerful and commanding and opened his eyes to see another layer to Lady Eleanor.
“She’s remarkable, isn’t she?”
Aaron’s eyes shifted to Miss Malcolm who was standing by his side and not choosing to answer the question—it was probably a rhetorical question anyway—continued to look on.
“I know you’re both there,” Lady Eleanor said drolly while not moving her hands from the keys. “Will you please come in?”
Amusement lit Aaron’s chest. “Miss Malcolm, please.”
The chaperone stepped inside and curtseyed even though Eleanor’s eyes were on her keys. “Welcome to my home, but I must ask, why are you here, Your Grace?”
“Like I said the other day,” Aaron replied. “I must apologize.”
A soft riff ran through the room, “I accept.”
“But you do not know what I am apologizing for,” Aaron asked as he neared the musical instrument.
“Does it matter?”
Leaning a hip on the side of the instrument he replied, “Yes, it does to me.”
She kept playing but the notes stalled and then eventually died. “Miss Malcolm, can you get us some refreshments, please?”
“My Lady—”
“I know Miss Malcolm, we can send a maid,” Lady Eleanor said while closing the lid of the instrument. “But I’d like a moment with His Grace. Never fear, he will not do anything untoward to me. He has much more honor than that. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”
“She is right,” Aaron agreed wryly while carefully watching Lady Eleanor’s movements. “I just need a moment.”
The chaperone’s expression was deeply troubled, but she could not refuse an order, indirect as it was. As she stepped out with a worried look thrown over her shoulder, Lady Eleanor spoke, “I hope I did not break tradition and precedent by sending my chaperone away for a paltry reason.”
Why is she so guarded?
“I apologize for unthinkingly calling you a tomboy,” Aaron said. “And then compounding it by calling you a spoiled tomboy.”
Her fingers closed over her skirt, a deep verdant dress, “Why did you call me a tomboy at the beginning?”
“There was a certain look in your eye that day,” Aaron said honestly. “I spotted a crafty intelligence in your look that I had not seen in any lady before. You were not old enough to be termed a bluestocking, so I resorted to the first thing that came to my mind. I was proven right when, after my second insult of calling you spoiled, your immediate repartee was calling me a misogynist.”
“And…”
“And what?”
“Your last transgression,” Lady Eleanor said while standing. Aaron admired the smooth and fluent movement of her fingers as he stepped away. “The card?”
“That too,” he replied.
“The reason?”
His eyes narrowed a little, “Can’t the apology stand by itself?”
“To be clear, you did not explicitly apologize for the dance card,” Lady Eleanor said stiffly. “And you still have not told me the reason you did it.”
“I told you that I don’t have one,” Aaron replied as he neared her. “Must you dig into everything?”
“Must you complicate everything?” she shot back while stepping to him herself.
“Can you just accept my apology without demanding the reason?” Aaron demanded as his temper started to rise. The flash of ice in her eyes drew him like a moth to a beacon.
“No,” she glared even harder. “Not when it comes from you.”
“You are insufferable,” Aaron sighed. “I’m here extending the olive branch and you must snap the twigs.”
“And you are unendurable,” Lady Eleanor visibly bristled.
Footsteps announced the arrival of Miss Malcolm, “My Lady, I have the refreshments.”
Lady Eleanor’s eyes with lit with fire, blazing but entrancing at the same time. Her mouth thinned, “Not necessary, Miss Malcolm, His Grace was just leaving.”
Infernal woman, Aaron cursed.
“Right, Your Grace?”
“Right…I am” Aaron replied coolly. “Thank you and farewell, My Lady and Miss Malcolm.”
Turning away, Aaron strode out without looking back. His stomach was tight in anger, but his face was blank. He got to the foyer just as the butler was coming around the corner. His eyebrows went up.
“Leaving already, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Aaron said curtly.
“Your Grace,” he replied while opening the coat cupboard and retrieving Aaron’s items after directing the footman at the door to summon Aaron’s carriage. “I assume your visit went well.”
“Not as well as it could have,” Aaron replied while donning his coat. “But thank you, Mr. Ambrose.”
The look on the butler's face was knowing and his voice dipped, “Your Grace, if I may give you some advice without surpassing my station. Lady Eleanor is a complex creature and what you see now is only the surface. If you dig deeper, you will find so many layers to her you will be astounded.”
“That sounds like it takes time,” Aaron replied dryly. “Time I do not have or better yet, time she will not afford me. As I see it, it is best to part ways and let the tiresome connection we have between us die.”
Ambrose was about to say something but wisely, he did not. “As you see fit, Your Grace.”
The carriage came and Aaron dipped his head in farewell. Entering the carriage, he mused over the m
an’s words. It was evident that Eleanor was a puzzle, an intricate puzzle with more than a thousand pieces to fit together. But was it worth it? Was it worth the time and effort to get to know her when the odds were that she was just not interested?
But when have I been afraid of a challenge?
Want to know how the story ends? Tap on the link below to read the rest of the story.
https://amzn.to/2F1U05b
Thank you very much!
Also by Emma Linfield
Thank you for reading A Duke Under Her Spell!
I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean very much to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to read!
Some other stories of mine:
Her Duke in Shining Armour
Unchaining the Heart of the Marquess
The Sullen Seamstress of Horenwall Manor
The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
The Extraordinary Tale of the Rebellious Governess
The Perilous Quest of the Rejected Duchess
* * *
Also, if you liked this book, you can also check out my full Amazon Book Catalogue HERE.
Thank you for allowing me to keep doing what I love!
Emma Linfield
About the Author
Emma Linfield has always been passionate about historical romances. Ever fascinated with the world of Regency England and being utmost inspired by Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer’s work, she decided she wanted to write her own stories. Stories of love and tradition being mixed in the most appealing way for every hopeless romantic, much like herself.
Born and raised in Southern California, Emma Linfield has a degree in Creative Writing and English Literature, and she has been working as a freelance writer for the past 10 years. When she isn’t writing, Emma loves spending her time with her own prince charming and two beautiful children, all the while enjoying the famous Californian sun and ocean.
A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 31