Of Dukes and Deceptions

by Wendy Soliman

  “Then perhaps I can engage you in conversation on the subject at a more appropriate juncture. We are, after all, both early risers.”

  “Do you consider that I’ll be so easily won over?” She offered him a haughty smile. “I believe you’ve mistaken me for my cousin, Your Grace.”

  “This is too important to worry about the proprieties. I know there’s little you wouldn’t do in order to protect your father’s life’s work. Am I right?”

  “You’re beginning to sound rather desperate. Even an inexperienced provincial such as I can see through your obvious ruse to get me alone.” Alicia smiled, convinced that for the first time in their sparring she’d gained the upper hand.

  “You’re quite wrong. I feel no desperation whatsoever regarding our previous conversation.” He spoke his next words is a husky undertone. “You want me, and the sooner you admit it, the sooner we’ll be able to do something about it.”

  Alicia stifled an outraged protest and made do with glaring at him. She was discouraged by his unruffled expression. Her hectoring words didn’t appear to have made the slightest impression upon him.

  “I merely require clarification of your uncle’s objectives in order to decide how to respond to his overtures.”

  “I don’t know what involvement is required of you, so I can hardly advise you. If you’re so unsure about the venture that you require the opinion of a mere female who’s no longer trusted to play an active part in the operation, then my advice would be to turn my uncle’s offer down.” She lifted her chin, aware that she’d allowed her hurt feelings on the subject of the stud to be apparent. She was usually careful to keep them under closer guard. “I feel sure you must be anxious to be on your way.”

  They’d reached the dining table and the duke pulled out a chair for her. She glanced at his face as she arranged her skirts and was gratified to observe his mystified expression. She’d spoken inappropriately and ought to beg his pardon. But she didn’t. If he required flummery and an audience that hung on his every word, then he ought to have escorted Maria to the table.

  He quickly appeared to recover his equilibrium and devoted himself to her entertainment for the duration of the meal. She intended to remain aloof but his charm was compelling and gradually she was drawn in by it. That an aristocrat of his elevated status would take the trouble to notice her was gratifying. Even though she knew he had a hidden agenda, she wouldn’t repay him with sullenness. He was a skilled raconteur, and her spontaneous laughter frequently drew the disapproving attention of the rest of the table.

  The meal flew past and Alicia was actually sorry when her aunt led the ladies from the room. As soon as the gentlemen rejoined them, Maria pounced upon the duke, asking him to turn the pages whilst she played the pianoforte. Frederick glued himself to Alicia’s side and she wasn’t able to evade him for the rest of the evening. She was aware of the duke’s expressive glance resting upon her on more than one occasion but had no further opportunities to exchange a private word with him.

  Alicia managed to slip from the drawing room, intent upon making one of her unobtrusive escapes. She’d almost reached her chamber when a hand came to rest on her arm, almost scaring her out of her wits. She turned and found her cousin standing close behind her.

  “Frederick, what do you mean by creeping up on me like that? You frightened me half to death!”

  “Sorry, coz, but I wanted to talk to you before you retire.”

  “We’ve been talking all evening,” she said, wariness in her tone.

  “Yes, but…look, can’t we go somewhere else? We can’t talk about this in the passageway.”

  “Talk about what, Frederick?”

  “About us.” He steered her into a nearby salon. “Alicia, you’ve had time to reflect upon our conversation of yesterday by now. Dare I hope that you’ve undergone a change of heart?”

  In the dim light of the room Frederick’s forlorn expression tore at her heartstrings. He was so used to getting his own way that her refusal had totally flummoxed him. She had no wish to hurt his feelings, but it wouldn’t do to encourage him either.

  “I’m sorry, Frederick,” she said gently, “but I won’t change my mind.”

  “Do you need more time to think about it?”

  “No, all the time in the world won’t change my decision.”

  “Nevertheless, I refuse to be downhearted. I will give you more time to consider the advantages of the match and speak to you again in a few days.” He grabbed her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I’ve surprised you. Now I’m rushing you. But when you’ve had the opportunity to reflect, I feel persuaded that you’ll view the matter in a more favourable light.”

  Early in the morning Nick went in search of Alicia. They’d not actually agreed to meet but he was sure she’d be jumping her stallion. He keenly anticipated snatching a few words with her in private. He could scarce hide his disappointment when he learned from Will that she’d already exercised Fabian and would be departing for the village school within the hour. She must have arisen before daybreak in order to avoid an encounter with him.

  At a loose end, Nick was aware of Maria Woodley lying in wait for him. She appeared more determined than ever to entrap him. He was equally determined to keep out of her path.

  “Saddle two of the carriage horses, Gibson. I feel the need for some exercise.”

  “Glad to hear it. This place is starting to close in on me.”

  Half an hour later Nick and Gibson were cantering through the park, heading for the same back road they’d used when arriving. They’d just passed the spot where Matilda had blocked their path when Alicia’s dog came hurtling out of the bushes, barking to gain their attention.

  Nick reined in.

  “Hello, Jasper. Is your mistress rescuing more animals in distress?”

  Jasper barked furiously and headed back toward the bushes.

  “I think he wants us to follow him,” Gibson said.

  “So it seems, although I suspect Miss Woodley won’t take kindly to our intrusion.” Nick dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby tree, a strange sense of foreboding creeping through his body. “If Alicia’s here, then where’s Matilda?”

  Jasper continued barking and looking back every few moments to make sure they were following him. Nick’s apprehension grew with every step he took. They were moving away from the river, toward a cart track Nick hadn’t noticed before.

  “Reckon that track’s a shortcut to the village,” Gibson said.

  They rounded a bend and saw the smoke from the village chimneys in the distance, lending proof to Gibson’s theory. They also discovered the gig on its side in the centre of the path. Matilda had been felled as well, still harnessed to the vehicle. Gibson, with soothing words and gentle hands, persuaded the cob back to her feet. As she stood, the light gig righted itself and didn’t appear to be badly damaged. Matilda seemed none the worse for the experience either and set about cropping a patch of grass.

  Satisfied that Gibson had the situation under control, Nick shielded his eyes with his hand and scanned the area. A splash of something red in a nearby gully caught his attention. He headed toward it, preceded by Jasper, and found Alicia spread-eagled on the ground. She was unconscious, and a pool of blood was seeping into the fabric of her gown. It had already spread beneath her left arm and discoloured the muddy ground.

  Nick’s heart plummeted. She was so pale, so completely lifeless, that he feared the worst. He knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. To his surprise and considerable relief he found one, strong and regular. The fall from the gig must have knocked her unconscious and caused her injury.

  Unable to do anything to help her regain her senses, he instead turned his attention to the source of the blood. He tore the fabric of her gown away from her arm, looking for the site of her wound. He stemmed the flow of blood with his handkerchief until it slowed to a trickle and the damage became visible.

  Just for a moment Nick thought he was seeing th
ings. But he’d observed many similar wounds during his days in the military and couldn’t delude himself for long. He drew a sharp intake of breath, shocked to discover that her tumble from the gig was not the cause of her injury.

  Alicia Woodley had been shot.

  Chapter Seven

  Nick tied his handkerchief tightly round the wound. From his brief inspection it seemed the bullet had grazed the fleshy part of her arm, which would account for the amount of blood. A shiver of apprehension passed through him. Had her attacker been a better shot, had he aimed a fraction more to the right, the damage would have been terminal.

  Had she been deliberately attacked or was it just a horrible accident? It must be the former. He couldn’t think why anyone would wish to harm her, but if it had been an honest mistake, then surely the perpetrator would have rushed to her aid.

  “What’s happened to her?”

  Nick started violently. He’d not heard Gibson approaching. “She’s been shot.”

  Always reliable in a crisis, Gibson didn’t waste precious time expressing his shock. “Is she alive?” he asked, his expression grim.

  “Yes. Fortunately it’s a flesh wound. Her pulse is strong.”

  Gibson scowled. “Who’s got it in for her then? A disgruntled poacher, fed up with her interfering with his traps?”

  “I hardly think a lowly poacher would resort to murder.”

  “No, I suppose not. The last thing they’d want is to bring the authorities down on their backs.” Gibson examined her for himself. “Why do you think she’s unconscious then?”

  “She would have hit her head when she fell from the gig, I imagine. I’m concerned about that more than the wound itself.”

  “A gun being discharged at close quarters would frighten even a sturdy nag like Matilda. She’d have bolted and Miss Woodley, being injured, would’ve lost control.”

  “Very likely.” Nick shuddered, well aware how fortunate she’d been to escape with her life. “Thank God her dog had the sense to seek help.”

  Gibson nodded. “We’d never have found her on this path otherwise. It’s not visible from the road and ain’t one I’ve come across since being here.”

  “Yes, this place is a rabbit warren of paths and tracks.”

  Nick stripped off his coat, lifted Alicia and wrapped her in it. As gently as he could, he carried her over the rough ground. When he reached the gig he passed her to Gibson, climbed onto the driving seat and reached down with both arms to reclaim her. He was then faced with the problem of making her comfortable enough to avoid opening her wound again. The drive back to Ravenswing Manor was comparatively short, but the track was rutted so he wouldn’t be able to avoid some jolting. After a moment’s thought he removed his waistcoat and balled it into a pillow. He placed it in his lap and laid Alicia across the seat with her head resting on the makeshift cushion situated in his groin. He didn’t spare a thought for the unconventional arrangement. He was more concerned with saving her life.

  He encouraged Matilda to move forward with a firm slap of the reins on her quarters. She turned to stare at him for a moment, as though weighing up his request. Eventually she deigned to take a slow plodding step forward.

  “Go ahead with our two mounts, Gibson. Warn the family that Alicia’s injured. The doctor should be sent for immediately.”

  Nick was actually grateful for Matilda’s steady plod. She obviously knew this track well and picked her way over the rutted ground with a delicacy that belied her size. In the end he stopped trying to guide her and left her to choose the best path for herself. Jasper jogged beside the gig, casting frequent anxious glances upward.

  “Don’t worry, old chap.” Nick gently stroked a stray strand of hair away from Alicia’s deathly pale face, unsure whether he was reassuring Jasper or himself. “She’ll be right enough once she opens her eyes.”

  The whole family was standing on the front steps when Nick reached the Manor. He merely glanced in their direction as he lifted Alicia’s head from his lap and passed her to the waiting Gibson. Then he climbed to the ground and reclaimed his burden. In the periphery of his vision he was aware of Maria Woodley’s face rendered ugly by features pinched tight with jealousy. Nick didn’t need to be told it was the sight of Alicia wrapped in his coat and being cradled in his arms that so discomfited her.

  “Thank the good Lord that you happened to come upon her.” Woodley scampered to keep up with Nick as he followed him into the house.

  “Save your thanks for her dog,” he said, taking the stairs two at a time. “It was he who guided us to her.”

  “Then he’ll be rewarded.” Woodley looked at the dog, hobbling up the stairs at Nick’s heels, still glancing anxiously at Alicia, seeming to sense that on this occasion his presence in the house would be tolerated. “I don’t care to consider the consequences if she’d been left alone out there for any longer.”

  “Doubtless she was interfering with the poachers’ traps again,” Frederick said. “One of them must have fired at her.”

  Nick didn’t respond, saving his breath to carry Alicia. He laid her carefully on her bed, retrieved his coat and reluctantly surrendered her to her maid’s care.

  “Her wound isn’t serious,” he told Janet. “It’s her concussion that concerns me.”

  “Leave her to me, Your Grace. The doctor’s been sent for and I’ll make her comfortable until he arrives.”

  Satisfied that Alicia was in good hands Nick left the room, deep in thought. In his experience poachers who targeted small game were too poor to possess shotguns. And even if any of them did, would they really discharge them on Woodley’s land in broad daylight and risk drawing their presence to the attention of the estate’s gamekeepers? Somehow he doubted it. Besides, he understood there were no deer in that section of the park, so poachers would have no occasion to be there with guns.

  No, Alicia hadn’t been shot by a poacher. She’d been callously attacked by someone who knew her habits and wanted the blame to be placed on the poachers. Her injury was no accident. Someone had deliberately tried to kill her.

  And they’d come within a hairsbreadth of succeeding.

  Alicia opened her eyes, dazed and disorientated. Her head was thumping and a vicious pain was pulling at her arm. Janet’s careworn features loomed into her line of vision and she immediately felt reassured.

  “Where am I?” Her throat was dry and her words came out in a raspy whisper. She attempted to lift her head but the effort made her dizzy and she sank back onto her pillows.

  “Thank the good Lord you’re restored to us! You gave us all a right fright.” Janet held a glass to her lips and supported the back of her head with a gentle hand. “Here, lamb, drink this.”

  Alicia took a few sips of the cool water. It tasted as sweet as champagne as it trickled slowly down her throat.

  “What happened to me?”

  “Poachers discharged a gun and caught your arm.”

  “Ah.” Alicia touched the injury and winced. “I vaguely remember a bang but nothing after that. Is Matilda all right?”

  “She’s as right as a ram’s horn, don’t you fret about her. It’d take more than a gunshot to upset that old nag.”

  She frowned and immediately regretted it. The gesture set her head pounding again. She reached up and touched a dressing on her temple. “I must have been thrown.” She paused, her brain slow to function. “But, just a moment, I was on the cart track. No one else uses it. How was I found?”

  “Thank that mutt of yours.”

  On cue, Jasper uncurled himself from in front of the fire and trotted across to her. He wagged his stumpy tail and licked the hand she reached out to him.

  “What’s he doing in here? I’m mighty glad to see him, of course, but my uncle doesn’t like him in the house.”

  “It’s his reward for fetching help.” Janet dabbed at her eyes with a large handkerchief. “If he hadn’t done so, I dread to—”

  “I keep telling everyone how clever he is. Now per
haps they’ll believe me. Did he come all the way back to the house to fetch my uncle?”

  “No, love. He found His Grace and Mr. Gibson riding along the road above you and brought them to your aid.”

  “His Grace rescued me?” She fondled Jasper’s ear almost aggressively as she digested this alarming information.

  “Yes, he attended to your wound, drove you back in the gig and carried you up here himself. He wouldn’t let anyone else do it.” Janet paused. “If he hadn’t and you’d lain out there unconscious, bleeding and all, I dread to think what would have become of you.”

  Alicia blushed. “I must thank him.”

  “Time enough for that when you’re feeling better. But first, all the family’s anxious about you. Are you up to seeing any of them? Mr. Frederick keeps sending a maid to ask after you.”

  The last person Alicia wished to see was Frederick. “No, I don’t think I can—”

  Janet, the most tenacious of gatekeepers, immediately took control of the situation. “Don’t worry, lamb, I’ll keep you clear of them. Just leave it to me and get some rest.”

  She was as good as her word and didn’t allow anyone to cross the threshold until the following morning.

  A night’s repose had done much to restore Alicia’s wits. Naturally, in the morning her first anxiety was for her animals. Even though Janet assured her that Will had everything under control, she wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d double-checked and insisted upon getting out of bed. She sat beside the fire, clad in a warm morning gown with long sleeves that covered her injury. Before she could summon the energy to make her way to her barn, her aunt bustled into the room.

  “I can’t cancel this evening’s entertainment because of your indisposition, Alicia,” she said, after making the most cursory of enquiries about her niece’s health, “so there’s no point your thinking I shall. Arrangements are too far ahead. Your absence will make the numbers at table uneven but there’s no help for that.” She glowered, as though she suspected Alicia of contriving her accident simply to make a nuisance of herself.