"Good morning, your Grace," she sang brightly, ushering him inside. "'Tis another beautiful sunny day, is it not?"
"It is," Ruan tried not to sound too impatient; he was not there to discuss the weather. He followed Polly into the drawing room that he had stormed into blind with rage the night before. Today, in the late morning sunshine, he saw that the room was elegantly appointed with fine furnishings and dozens of framed paintings lining the walls. Polly gestured for him to sit and turned to leave to fetch Olive, but stopped when the Duke addressed her.
"I take it the Duchess holds no ill will against you for your deception?"
"Only a small bit, your Grace," Polly bit her lip nervously, "And I hope that you hold no ill will against me for the way that I asked you to leave?"
"You're not the first person to point a loaded pistol at me," Ruan replied with a short laugh, "And I dare say you won't be the last --but Polly?"
Polly glanced at him nervously.
"Don't do it again."
Ruan hid a smile as the young woman bobbed her head and positively fled the room. He truly was not annoyed with Polly, he had known that she would not actually shoot him, and she had merely been doing the job he had instructed her to do -- protect his wife. Ruan stood and began to pace the drawing room as he waited for Olive to arrive. He felt like a complete and utter dolt; his heart was racing, his palms were sweaty and he was as jumpy as young blood about to attend his first ball. Honestly, he shook his head in annoyance, it was ridiculous to feel this nervous -- he was a Duke for goodness sake!
The self-affirmation fled his head however, when Olive slipped into the room and gave a discreet cough to let him know she was there. Ruan whirled around, and instantly his mouth went dry. She was dressed in a simple day dress, with her red curls piled atop her head, and the vision she created was mesmerising. His eyes strayed to her plump lips, which were slightly open as though she wanted to speak but could not find the words.
"I brought you these."
He crossed the room in two long strides and thrust the rather sorry looking bunch of posies toward his wife.
"I'm sorry they're not more grand," he continued, feeling slightly abashed as he glanced at the flowers, which were now visibly wilting in Olive's hand. "But Deveraux does not have a hot-house, and his gardener was reluctant to allow me to take anything else from the flower beds."
"You picked them yourself?"
Ruan flushed slightly as Olive perfectly arched an eyebrow in question, she had succeeded in making him feel two inches tall with just one movement. "Well yes, I was rather going for the 'it's the thought that counts' approach to flower giving, and ordering one of the servants to fetch them for me seemed to be missing the mark somewhat."
"They're lovely, thank you," she finally replied, walking over to the sideboard and carefully arranging the posies into a vase. "And thank you for the thought, it was most kind."
She turned then to look at him, and she appeared to him like an angel, bathed in soft morning light. Her green eyes were inquisitive, and she unconsciously bit her lips nervously, rendering Ruan speechless with desire as he observed her. Oh what he wouldn't give to bite down on that lip.
"Why are you here?" she finally asked, turning to the sideboard to fiddle with a small ornament.
"I had rather hoped that we could start again, from the beginning." Ruan cleared his throat, wishing he could make his request sound more like he was asking, and less like he was demanding. Ducal habits were hard to shed, and he knew that he sounded a tad commanding, but he continued on none the less. "It is customary for a gentleman to call on a lady he desires the morning after they have met at a ball. I was hoping, that perhaps, you might deign to pretend that it is the morning after we first met at Lady Jersey's, and allow me to court you properly, as I should have done from the off."
"How intriguing," Ruan tried not to scowl as Olive's eyes danced with amusement while she spoke. "There is only one problem your Grace, I'm not sure that after your abominable behaviour at Lady Jersey's if I would have been at home to you, had you decided to call..."
"So you are suggesting that we must go even further back, and pretend we have never met at all?"
Ruan had the definite feeling that Olive was making fun of him. She seemed to be fighting back a smile and turned her gaze away from his, as she pondered his suggestion.
"Oh yes," she said very seriously, so seriously that Ruan knew she was definitely making fun of him. "They say one only gets a single chance to make a first impression, and I rather fear that the one you made that night was most alarming. Perhaps if we could orchestrate a faux formal introduction, we could start again. Though how we could manage that when there is no one here to introduce us is beyond me..."
"Are you mocking me?"
To Ruan's surprise Olive gave a giddy laugh, and nodded her head. She covered her mouth, to hide her wide smile, as she glanced at him almost affectionately.
"Oh, I am, your Grace," she laughed, "And I pray you forgive me, but your face is a picture. I dare say not many people ever tease you."
"They don't," Ruan grumbled, but inwardly he felt a jolt of pleasure. It was true, few people had ever teased him, bar the ribald comments that men often made to each other, yet Olive's light tone and dancing eyes made him wonder what he had been missing out on all this time.
"Would you like me to stop?"
His wife arched an eyebrow again, and she seemed to be holding her breath, as though his answer might make or break her.
"No," he shook his head slowly and held her gaze, "Though I'd rather you take your unique brand of humour outside with me for a ride. I have a Tilbury outside that I borrowed from Deveraux, as well as a picnic basket filled with cold meats and the like."
"A Tilbury?"
She was teasing him again, and this time Ruan felt genuine embarrassment. He had not driven a Gig since he was a young lad, but Deveraux and Payne had taken the much more fashionable Phaeton off to Truro for a spin.
"It's not my usual mode of transport," he muttered, "Though it will get us safely to the cliffs, which are a magnificent spot for taking lunch."
"As long as you promise not to push me off them," Olive said, apparently in agreement with his plan, for she made for the door. She paused as she reached the door, her face awash with horror at her faux pas; "Not that I think you would, of course. That wasn't what I meant."
"I didn't kill Catherine," he replied simply, and much to his surprise she gave him a compassionate look and whispered; "I know."
His heart skipped a beat at her words.
The Duke of Everleigh was quiet for most of their short journey along the cliff road, only breaking his silence to point out places of interest. The ruined watch-tower from centuries ago, an area along the cliffs where there had been a large rock-slide a few years before, the place where Ruan had learnt how to gallop a horse for the first time. This last image gave Olive cause to smile; she could not imagine the large, intimidating man beside her as a small boy. His masculinity was so overwhelming that it was hard to picture him embodying any other form than the imposing, muscular one he now possessed. Which of course was ridiculous, Olive scolded herself, he had not entered the world at six foot four.
"What was it like?" she asked, as the Gig rounded a corner and a breathtaking view of the sea was revealed, stretching for miles, as far as the eye could see. "Growing up here? It must have been idyllic."
"It was," Ruan nodded, "In many ways it was perfect. My father sent me here most summers, and winter was spent at the Ducal seat in Avon. Everleigh Hall is much larger than Pemberton and far less homely, so I preferred Cornwall and the freedom it offered me."
"Did he send you alone?" Olive tried to keep the distaste from her voice; her own childhood memories of summer were filled with family-- her mother, her cousins, even her wretched father who had not been so bad in those days.
"Yes," Ruan looked at her with surprise, having caught the censure of her tone. "After my mother left,
my father could barely stand to look at me. He had his heir, he cared little for raising me and left that to my governess."
"That's awful."
Ruan caught her tone of pity and gave her an amused smile.
"My father was not a very nice man," he shrugged, "So leaving me with the governess was a mutually beneficial arrangement. She was a wonderful woman, I lacked for nothing. And I had great friends here, in St. Jarvis, to keep me company."
"Oh, yes," Liv smiled, "I have heard that you, Somerset and Deveraux were considered the three musketeers of the area."
The Duke snorted; "I doubt we ever did anything as remarkable or heroic as The Musketeers, bar frighten a fisherman or two, but the three of us were inseparable --and Catherine, of course."
"Was Catherine your Constance?" Liv ventured, thinking that like the heroine from Dumas's novel both had met tragic ends.
"Actually," Ruan's voice was low and filled with nostalgia, "Catherine was always closer with Lavelle than I. Deveraux and I had wagers placed on when they would wed, but once Somerset came of age and left for London, he forgot about her almost completely. Which sounds hard-hearted, but London offers a veritable buffet of delights for a young, well-heeled man, and in one's first few years in town it is easy to be led astray."
"You weren't led astray though," Olive countered, thinking of what Polly had told her. Ruan too had gone to London, but had returned when Catherine had summoned him to rescue her.
"It might surprise you," Ruan said with a laugh, as he pulled the horse in at a bend in the road. "But I tend to be sentimental when it comes to the people I love. I find it hard to forget them, even when I try."
Was he speaking of Catherine? Olive watched him closely as he disembarked the Gig and held his hand out to help her down. There was an ease to his movements, a lightness to his step, and yet his eyes were sad and thoughtful.
"This is one of my favourite places in the whole world," he said conversationally, as he untied the horse from the gig and tethered her to a nearby fence post. "We'll follow the path down the cliffs, to where the castle ruins are. There's a small cove which is utterly beautiful, you'll see it when we get there."
He lifted a basket, which appeared weighed down with foodstuff, out of the gig and gestured for her to follow him. Olive scrambled after her husband, along the stony path, which ran down the side of the cliffs. The climb was steep, but not arduous, and when they reached the castle ruins, Olive could see why Ruan loved the place so. The old, crumbling walls of the castle were built along the jagged rocks of the headland. Some walls were still half standing, and as they passed by Olive caught glimpses of the sea through the Baluster windows that still remianed. She followed Ruan across what must have once been a courtyard, and down stone steps which had been built into the cliff wall centuries before.
Beneath them there was a small cove, with a white, sandy beach, and turquoise water lapping against the shore.
"Oh," she gasped, as she took in the beauty, "This must be what Italy is like!"
"Italy has nothing on Castle Cove," Ruan said dismissively. He took her hand as she negated the last of the stone steps, which were slippery with seaweed, and Olive felt a shiver of desire as his skin made contact with hers. When he dropped her hand to set the basket down on the soft, white sand, she felt almost bereft. How had her feelings toward him changed so drastically overnight? True, she had desired him even when she detested him, but now that she knew more about his past, her longing for him felt less conflicted and she did not try to fight it.
"Jane kindly arranged all this," Ruan said cheerfully as he unpacked a blanket and spread it out for them to sit on. Liv sank down and folded her hands primly on her lap as she watched the Duke unpack plates and pile them high with strawberries, cheeses and cold-meats. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves so that his tanned, muscular forearms were on display. As he handed Liv her plate, she noted that his hands, while large, were elegant and that he wore the ring that she had stolen from him on his index finger.
"Your friend in the pawnshop sang like a canary," he said wryly, as he caught where her gaze was focused. There was no animosity in his voice for her having sold what was probably a precious family heirloom, but still she felt guilt at what she had done.
"I'm so sorry," she said, setting down her plate on the blanket, "I should not have taken it --and of course I will pay the money back to you--"
"Don't even try, or I will be very annoyed," Ruan interrupted, his eyes narrowed. "You owe me nothing, Olive."
The way that he spoke her name, so tenderly, filled Olive with warmth. She dropped her eyes to her lap and began fidgeting with her hands, as she tried to summon up the courage to ask him the question she had wanted to ask since the moment her father told her she was engaged to him.
"Why did you set about winning me in a card game?" she finally asked, raising her head so that she could look at his face. "Why did you not simply call on me and state your intentions?"
"I was afraid that you would say no."
The Duke delivered this statement in a very matter of fact way, but Olive could see that the tips of his ears had reddened with embarrassment.
"And then I had one of my business contacts find out what he could about your father, and it became clear that your situation was perilous," he continued, giving a shrug, "I could not simply leave you with him, and I was afraid that someone else might have the same idea as me, and use you as--as--"
"Leverage to pay his debts," Olive finished his sentence and gave a small snort of derision. "Thank you for the compliment your Grace, but I was never considered that much of a catch that any man would take me over the money my father owed. Money won out, every time."
"Then those men were fools," Ruan was vehement, "To not see what I saw."
Olive did not ask him what it was that he saw in her, for she could tell by his eyes which were hazy with lust and desire, just what it was that he wanted. Her own heart was pounding erratically in her chest, and a loaded silence fell between them, during which the only sound to be heard was the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore. He thought he was protecting me by stealing me away from my Father; Liv felt lightheaded at the realisation. No one, since her mother's death, had cared that much for her well-being. Though the way that he had gone about acquiring her hand still rankled.
"I wish that you had just asked me," she said morosely, popping a strawberry into her mouth to prevent herself from nibbling on her lip with anxiety.
"Is it too late to ask you now?"
His eyes held hers as she considered her response. One picnic did not make a great romance, she reasoned, but his idea to start over, from the beginning, showed that they might find a way. He was a good man, she knew this now, and he was so handsome it was sinful...but did she love him?
"It is too early yet, your Grace," she eventually replied, affecting a flippant air. "For you only called on me just this very morning, and a woman cannot accept a proposal of marriage from a man she has not even danced with."
Ruan's eyes narrowed speculatively and a flash of emotion crossed his face. "Then I must find a ball, my dear, and whisk you off your feet post-haste."
"A ball in St. Jarvis?" Liv raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "It cannot be done, your Grace."
"Anything is possible," Ruan replied, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. "When it's done in pursuit of a beautiful woman."
"A ball! What a spiffing idea, old chap."
Lord Payne was the only person who met Ruan's suggestion that the Deverauxs hold a ball, with any modicum of enthusiasm. Jane looked positively pained at the idea and her brother more than a little bewildered.
"But," Lord Deveraux frowned, "You hate balls. You hate society. You hate being polite to society. I just don't understand your reasons, Everleigh."
"If I am to return to Pemberton hall," Ruan said slowly, searching for a reason that wasn't as embarrassing as telling Deveraux he simply wished to dance with his wife. "I would
like to be publicly welcomed by society. I know it's a lot to ask of you, when you have already done so much..."
He trailed off and adopted what he hoped was a piteous look, rather than the irritation he felt. He was used to people agreeing with his ideas straight away, not questioning them. Jane was right, he thought, he was far too used to being an over-entitled Duke.
"What a good idea," Payne's boyish face lit up, as he swallowed Ruan's dreadful reasoning. "After all that ghastly business with the late Duchess it would be a good idea to test the waters before you returned permanently. I say, maybe there'll be a few eligible young ladies for me to peruse --I received another letter from my mother today, warning me that Father is making rumblings about marrying me off."
"I'm afraid my Lord, that I am the only single lady for miles, so I pray you lower your expectations for the night."
Lord Payne glanced at Jane in surprise, her droll tone having elicited a smile from Ruan.
"Well if you are the bar against which all the single ladies of Cornwall are to be compared, then it is set very high indeed, Lady Jane," the young, blonde man said gallantly. Jane flushed, and Ruan thought that she looked rather pleased, until her brother gave a disparaging snort at the notion. Honestly, when had Deveraux become such a boor?
"Then it's settled," Jane valiantly ignored her brother's bad manners, and turned to Ruan with a smile, "Now that Lord Payne knows not to expect a crush of beautiful debutants, we are in agreement. I shall notify the housekeeper to have the ballroom aired out, and I'll set about sending out the invitations."
"Jolly good," Payne smiled at the bespectacled young woman, "I shall help you write them,to save your hand from aching."
"Cornwall society is rather small, my Lord, it shan't take more than an hour. Though thank you for your offer."
Ruan got the impression that Jane was less than entranced by the idea of spending any time alone with Lord Payne, though the young buck seemed to miss the message in her words. "No I'd like to help Jane, and if it won't take long then you could, perhaps, help me to pen a letter to my mother. I need someone who has a good way with words, and I've rather a lot of explaining to do, what with the carriage accident and everything else..."
The Duke of Ruin: Reluctant Regency Brides Page 12