Damn and blast. “They are hellions, madam, and don’t be fooled by Lord Ralph’s quiet either. I’ll order them to stay away from you, not that children should be in adult company if it’s at all avoidable. Veramoor was insistent that the children be brought along, and his duchess likes children, if you can credit such a thing.”
He was babbling, and he stank, and Hardcastle was looking amused. Worse than all that, Miss Faraday’s smile had disappeared.
“I like children,” she said. “Like them better than most adults, and longed for siblings when I was growing up. I still wish I had a brother or a sister. Your sons are perfectly charming, and you should be proud to show them off.”
Charm. Why the devil did women set so much store by charm? “If you say so,” Sedgemere replied.
“He’ll be taking the boys for a romp in the garden in about an hour,” Hardcastle said, the wretch. “Perhaps you’d care to join them? This far north, the roses last a bit longer, and the light is lovely.”
That was not Latin. That was Hardcastle meddling, though thank goodness, his bumbling had restored Miss Faraday’s smile.
“A walk in the garden would be just the thing,” she said. “From my window, I can see a fountain in a knot garden. Shall I meet you and the children there in an hour?”
Gardens and Miss Faraday were a lovely combination. “I’m not sure if the children—”
Hardcastle coughed, sounding like Sedgemere’s own grandmama, then muttering something that sounded like ducal dumbus doltus.
“An hour,” Sedgemere said. “Give or take. The boys struggle with punctuality.” Also with manners, proper dress, deportment, French, Latin, sums—they were terrible with sums, the lot of them—and with anything resembling civility.
And yet, Sedgemere couldn’t bring himself to send Alasdair—Ryland—off to Eton. Not just yet.
“I’ll look forward to joining you.” Miss Faraday patted Sedgemere’s arm and bustled off, sending a whiff of lavender and loveliness though Sedgemere’s tired brain.
“Non admirentur,” Hardcastle said. “And particularly don’t gawk at the lady on the main staircase, when anybody might see you.”
Sedgemere took the remaining stairs two at a time. “I’m to meet her in the garden in one hour, Hardcastle. That leaves me only thirty minutes to bathe, shave, and change, and thirty minutes to lecture the boys. Ten minutes per boy is hardly sufficient for putting them on their manners.”
Hardcastle ascended the stairs at a maddeningly decorous pace. “The point of turning children loose in a huge garden is so they can for one quarter of an hour forget their manners. You certainly did.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Hardcastle marched right past Sedgemere, heading down the long corridor on the side of the house overlooking the stables.
“You heard me,” Hardcastle said. “At The Duke’s Arms. I thought to retrieve you from the garden because Miss Faraday’s coach was ready to leave the yard, and what do I find, but a peer of the realm accosting an innocent young lady in the shade. I withdrew quietly in deference to the lady’s sensibilities and my own.”
“She gave as good as she got, Hardcastle. You mustn’t be jealous.”
“I am not jealous,” Hardcastle said, counting doors as they strode along. “I am firmly in Miss Faraday’s camp, and shall do all in my power to further her interests. I am confident the boys can be won to that cause as well. If your intentions with respect to Miss Faraday are dishonorable, I shall kill you. This is my room. Yours is the one with the rose carved on the door.”
“You intrude on one kiss, and you’re ready to call me out?” Sedgemere said, oddly touched.
“I’ll shoot to kill. I’ll take good care of the boys,” Hardcastle replied. “You needn’t worry on that score. I might marry Miss Faraday too.”
Hardcastle was a bloody good shot, and he wasn’t smiling, but then, Hardcastle never smiled.
“One kiss does not a debauch make,” Sedgemere said. “I must away to my bath.”
“Elias, for God’s sake, be careful,” Hardcastle said, jamming a key into the lock on his door. “You married young, and thus were spared the dangerous waters of infatuation and flirtation. Miss Faraday is decent, and your kisses could ruin her. You don’t want the ruin of a young lady on your conscience, particularly not that young lady. Moreover, I do not want to raise your children.”
Hardcastle’s admonition was appropriate. A desire to kiss a woman wasn’t that unusual, but Sedgemere’s regard for this woman was something altogether more substantial.
“I won’t ruin her,” he said, fishing his own key from his pocket. “I like her, I like her father, and I have reason to hope she might like me. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”
Because tempus was fugit-ing, and a gentleman was punctual. Sedgemere had told the boys as much on hundreds of occasions.
“Be off with you,” Hardcastle said, pushing his door open. “Perhaps later I’ll explain to you the peculiar circumstances under which Lord Ralph asked me how to say ‘duck’ in Latin.”
“Ralph is a quiet fellow with two brothers, both of whom are quick with their fists,” Sedgemere said, fiddling the key in his lock. “Of course he needs to know how to duck in several languages.”
Hardcastle shook his head and disappeared into his room.
The key turned in Hardcastle’s lock, an appreciated reminder that cut through Sedgemere’s sense of urgency. House-party rules meant bedroom doors stayed locked at all times. He’d make sure Miss Faraday grasped that thoroughly the next time he had enough privacy with her to kiss her senseless.
* * * * *
Tea with the duchess had been forty-five minutes of stories about Anne’s mama, stories her own father hadn’t seen fit to pass along, or perhaps Papa didn’t know them.
Mama had apparently been an accomplished flirt, including foreign princes among her entourage, though she’d been the mere daughter of a baron. The idea that she could have married anybody, but had chosen Papa was… touching.
Anne had barely five minutes to stop by her room for a straw hat before finding her way to the knot garden, which was deserted. She forbade herself to check the time, and instead opened the first of the dispatches from Papa that had been waiting for her at Veramoor House.
The news was not good, but then, Papa was a worrier, taking the welfare of each client very much to heart, though he never, ever mentioned clients by name. Anne was mentally composing her reply when a shadow fell across the page.
“The Vandal horde will descend in less than five minutes. If that correspondence is valuable, you’d best tuck it away or they’ll use it to start a conflagration and tell you they’re re-enacting the burning of Moscow.”
Sedgemere stood glowering down at her, though Anne hadn’t heard his approach. She stashed Papa’s epistle in her reticule and rose.
“Your Grace, good afternoon.” Now what to say to him? Papa’s stack of letters was a reminder that two weeks in the country was as much time as Anne would ever have for a flirtation with any man, much less the duke. Papa needed her, and always would.
“Hardcastle threatened to call me out for kissing you,” he said, offering his arm. “I claim the same privilege. If he imposes his attentions on you contrary to your preferences, I will kill him.”
Sedgemere’s tone was colder than the Russian winter, and yet, Anne had the sense he spoke in jest. She accepted his escort and let him lead her away from the clipped symmetry of the knot garden.
“I can’t imagine His Grace of Hardcastle imposing his attentions on anybody,” Anne said. “He seems a shy fellow.”
Sedgemere’s hand rested over Anne’s, probably the courtesy of a man who’d been married for several years. She liked most married men, for they tended to strut less and laugh more genuinely.
“Hardcastle will call you out, madam, if you tell anybody else he’s shy, but he is. He inherited the title early, and natural circumspection became severe reticence as he matured. I wo
uld like to kiss you again, though, so tell me now if my attentions are unwelcome.”
Merciful days. Was this how the nobility went about their affairs? Anne was spared from a reply by shrieking from the direction of Veramoor House’s back terrace.
“Right on schedule,” Sedgemere said, tensing. “I apologize in advance for the noise, the dirt, the lack of manners, the—”
“Over here!” Anne called, tugging off her straw hat and waving it. “Gentlemen, you’ve found us!”
Three little boys came pelting across the garden, Hardcastle following at a more decorous pace.
“Papa! We said we’d find you, and we did,” the oldest called. “We found you in the first instant. Hello, Miss Anne!”
“Hello, Miss Anne!” Lord Richard chorused, elbowing Lord Ralph, who mumbled something.
“Apologize for your noise,” Sedgemere bit out. “If a single guest thought to nap after a long day’s travel, you’ve just woken them. You’ve probably spooked half the horses in His Grace’s stables and curdled tomorrow’s milk into the bargain. Ryland, I expect better of you.”
Three little faces fell, three stricken gazes went to the crushed shells of the walkway. Clearly, Sedgemere himself was in need of a nap.
“But you did find us,” Anne said. “And you’re exactly on time, and you’ve brought His Grace of Hardcastle with you, which was very gracious of you. Might I trouble one of you gentlemen to put my hat on that bench by the roses? The sun is lovely after I’ve been shut up in a stuffy coach for days.”
“I’ll do it!” Richard yelled.
“I’d be pleased to assist you, ma’am,” Ryland said, stepping in front of Richard.
“Perhaps Lord Ralph could tend to this errand for me,” Anne said. “While Lord Ryland can find me six perfect daises, and you, Lord Richard, can scout us a patch of clover. I feel the need for some lucky clovers today, and I know just the sharp-eyed boys who can help me find them.”
Three gallant little knights flung bows at her, then scampered off on their quests, while Hardcastle appropriated a bench some yards away.
“How did you do that?” Sedgemere asked. “You got them to bow, they’re not bellowing, and nobody started a fight.”
“We all like to feel useful, Your Grace.” In Papa’s household, Anne was endlessly useful, which was no comfort at all, weighed against the prospect of Sedgemere’s kisses.
“I loathe being useful,” Sedgemere said. “I’m useful from the moment I wake to the moment I close my eyes, tending to this estate, that committee, dodging the Regent’s subtle requests for money. Usefulness can be wearing.”
Out of the mouths of dukes…
“Little boys like to be useful, sir, and they were punctual, and they’re very dear,” Anne said, towing the duke past delphiniums the same shade of blue as his sons’ eyes.
“Are you perhaps late to an engagement, Miss Faraday? We’re required by propriety and common sense to remain within sight and sound of the boys. Their nursery maids, whom you will note are only now emerging onto the terrace, will be in a dazed stupor for the next three days. At least one of them will try to hand in her notice before facing the return journey.”
Anne slowed her steps, though she’d been hauling His Grace in the direction of some shade provided by a pergola laden with grape vines.
“The boys need to run and make noise, Your Grace, while I, having surrendered my hat, need the shade.”
“I am jealous of my offspring,” the duke muttered. “For they get to do as they please, while you’ve yet to give me permission to share further kisses with you.”
“You are very persistent,” Anne said as they reached the shade. The arbor offered a view of the flowering beds and of three small boys, all crawling around in the grass in search of Anne’s luck.
“I am very… interested in your kisses, Miss Faraday.”
If Sedgemere opened a discussion of money, of pretty gifts offered as a token of his interest, Anne would be sick all over the heartsease.
Though she would be tempted. Papa wouldn’t blame her, but the notion of becoming Sedgemere’s mistress was… wretchedly tempting. Two weeks abruptly became an interminable sentence to disappointment and awkwardness.
Anne set aside her reticule, which held three fat letters from Papa. “I did not guard my virtue from all the impecunious viscounts and foul-breathed barons so I could sell it to you, Sedgemere. One kiss, no matter how lovely, doesn’t earn you that much presumption, duke or no duke.”
She took a seat. He remained standing, hands behind his back. Anne expected him to stomp away, taking his consequence, his presumption, and his kisses with him. She had a handkerchief in her reticule, and the vines roofing the arbor meant she could cry here in peace.
“I have insulted you,” Sedgemere said. “That was not my intent.” Still, he remained by the bench, like the clouds of a summer tempest hung over a valley, hoarding rain while flashing fire in the sky and threatening thunder from a distance.
“Do not loom over me. I’m tired, and I have correspondence to tend to, and surely, we needn’t create drama so early in the gathering.” Anne had warned Papa a house party was nothing but a waste of time.
“I’m waiting for you to invite me to share that bench, madam, so that we might have a civil discussion regarding your egregious misconception.”
His tone said waiting was a significant imposition too.
“Do sit,” Anne said, waving a hand. She’d forgotten her gloves in her haste to meet Sedgemere in the knot garden. The house party wasn’t formal, so no great scandal would result from her oversight.
Sedgemere came down beside her like a hot air balloon drifted to earth, all slow, inexorable shadows, growing larger as he came closer. He chose to sit quite close to her.
“You have been propositioned by royalty,” he said. “My apologies for creating the impression that—hell. I meant you no insult, Miss Faraday. I’m out of the habit of being attracted to a woman, any woman, and your kiss took me by surprise.”
“As yours did me, Your Grace. Are you attracted to men?” Anne had two good male friends who escorted her regularly to the theater or the opera, though her primary function in their company was to quell gossip and enjoy the outing.
“You’re not even supposed to know of such goings-on,” Sedgemere said. “I will speak directly, because any minute, Ralph will bloody Richard’s nose, Ryland will pummel Ralph, or Richard will black Ryland’s eye.”
“If you proposition me, I will do worse than that to you, Your Grace.”
The look he gave Anne was appraising, or just possibly, approving. “I am forewarned. Please recall that Hardcastle must shoot me when you’re done thrashing me. Wooing you will be exciting.”
Chapter 4
* * *
“Wooing me?” Anne retorted. Pleasure, incredulity, and despair wafted on the fragrant breeze. “You barely know me, sir.”
She and his grace sat side by side, nearly touching, though in the next moment Anne realized that the warmth covering her knuckles was Sedgemere’s hand. Nobody would see him taking such a liberty, but Anne felt that touch everywhere.
“I like what I know of you so far,” he said, “which is unusual enough that I’m interested in getting to know you better. Notice, I am not propositioning you, for which you’d beat me, and I am not proposing, for which you’d laugh me to scorn. I am suggesting that we use the next two weeks to become better acquainted. I’ve never met such a violent woman. Your passionate nature attracts me, if you must know.”
Sedgemere’s fingertips traced along the back of Anne’s hand, the opposite of violence, his touch warm in contrast to his cool tone of voice.
“I’ve never been accused of having a passionate nature,” Anne said. “Quite the contrary, until I met you.” Papa used to call her his little abacus. Now she was stealing kisses in gardens, and nearly holding hands with Sedgemere in broad daylight. “I am not interested in marriage, Your Grace. My father’s household is my hom
e.”
Though lately, that home felt more like a prison.
Sedgemere’s fingers paused, then wandered to the underside of Anne’s wrist and from there to her palm. His touch was neither presuming nor hurried, and yet, all of Anne’s attention was riveted to the question of where his fingers would travel next.
“Then perhaps,” he said, “over the next two weeks, I can change your mind, hmm? Perhaps you’ll consider your options, and include me among them. Or perhaps you won’t.”
A breeze stirred the vines above, bringing the scent of the stable and forest beyond. Beneath those hearty, earthy scents was the fragrance the duke wore, which Anne would ever associate with tender, surprising kisses.
“I won’t change my mind,” Anne said. “I might…”
Sedgemere’s fingers laced with hers, like vines embowering a bench beneath a trellis, lovely to look at, but strong enough to tear down stone edifices, given enough summers.
“Yes, Miss Faraday?”
“I will not marry you, and I will not be your mistress.”
Across the garden, a boy yelled about having found one.
“Those parameters exactly define the bounds of a thorough wooing,” Sedgemere said, leaning close. “If you think you’ve dissuaded me from further kisses, you are daft.”
He kissed her cheek and rose just as Lord Ralph came churning into the arbor.
“I found one!” he bellowed. “Miss Far Away, I f-found one.”
“Her name—” Sedgemere began as Anne shot to her feet and approached the boy.
“Lord Ralph, you must show me. It’s been an age since I’ve even seen a four-leaf clover, and you’ve brought this one straight to me.”
Anne knelt and admired a big, perfect four-leaf clover. “Come,” she said, taking a blushing Lord Ralph by the hand. “We must show your papa.”
“But your name—” Sedgemere said as Anne led the boy to his father.
She glowered at the duke, brandishing her lucky clover. Her smile promised that if Sedgemere tromped on Lord Ralph’s accomplishment, there’d be no more shared kisses, not on any terms.
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