The Dangerous Duke

by Arabella Sheraton

  Finally, she had sat at her window, watching dawn’s rosy fingers streak the fading night sky with swathes of tender pink and soft violet. The red rim of the sun peeped over the dark treetops as scudding night clouds fled to make way for a perfect day. Fenella’s eyelids felt leaden as she watched the dawn break. She longed to return to her bed, but such an action was impossible. Besides, her thoughts of the Duke would rampage through her head again, so there was no point in trying to escape. There was nothing else to do but to present a brave face. She put on a plain gown, since she intended to change again into a habit for her morning ride, and went down to breakfast.

  * * * *

  At the table, the assembled company, comprising the Duke, Freddie and Fenella, spoke little and applied themselves to the delicious breakfast at hand. The only sounds were the muted clatter of knives and forks and murmured requests for more marmalade or butter. Fenella found that if she avoided looking at the Duke she was capable of controlling both her emotions and breathing. The Dowager had decided to take her breakfast in her bedroom. She left a message for Fenella to come see her the moment her ride was finished. No doubt, the old lady was already drawing up lists of chores to be done, rooms to be aired and guest requirements for the coming ball.

  All because of that woman.

  While Fenella was more than a little excited at the idea of a ball, she was angry (although she admitted to herself that she had no right to be) that Lady Penelope had managed to manoeuvre everyone into doing her bidding. Fenella was relieved to find her enemy absent…but alas, it was not for long.

  Soon Roberts bowed Lady Penelope into the room. Fenella had to admit Lady Penelope always managed to attract attention, and it was not difficult to see why. A vision of loveliness with golden curls and porcelain complexion, wearing peach taffeta and trailing gossamer scarves, she affected no appetite at all and merely sipped hot chocolate while crumbling a roll between her long white fingers.

  “I am of mind to ride this morning, Devlin. Will you accompany me?” She gazed at the Duke with a bright smile.

  “I have a few papers to attend to; however, if you will be patient, I am at your service in half an hour,” he replied, pushing back his chair and standing up. Lady Penelope made a little moue of impatience.

  “Do you ride, Miss Preston?” she asked Fenella and, without waiting for a reply, gave a scornful laugh. “I suppose not. I mean, your position would hardly allow it.”

  Freddie opened his mouth to protest, but before he could utter a word, the Duke intervened.

  “I am afraid you are mistaken in that regard.”

  Fenella looked up at Devlin, startled to hear his voice. He cast her just a brief glance before addressing Lady Penelope again. “Miss Preston has won the admiration of our dour Finch when it comes to her skill in the saddle.”

  A faint smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He looked back at Fenella and raised his right eyebrow. She reddened, partly from pleasure at this encomium, partly from embarrassment at his singular attention. She dropped her eyes to her breakfast.

  “Yes, she’s a capital rider!” Freddie exclaimed. “I daresay we’re going out as usual this morning, Miss Preston?”

  Fenella looked up at Freddie. “Why, yes of course,” she stammered, wishing with all her heart that both men would drop the subject of her equestrian prowess at once. She could see from Lady Penelope’s expression that here was a woman unused to attention being drawn away from her.

  Here was a woman accustomed to complete domination of any male interest.

  “Excellent!” Freddie shot a smug glance at Lady Penelope, who sat with a fixed smile on her face.

  “How…unusual.” Her tone of voice managed to imply that such a skill was obviously wasted in someone of Fenella’s low social standing. She tossed her blonde curls with a sniff of disdain, thereby relegating Fenella to the level of absolute unimportance.

  Fenella stood up. “I shall be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  * * * *

  A short time later, Fenella emerged from the front door and waited for Finch to bring Butterball round to the drive. The crunching of hooves on the gravel heralded his approach. Butterball seemed strangely agitated, unlike her normal placid self. She snorted, arching her back and kicking out her back legs. Fenella smoothed the horse’s mane and felt in her pocket for a lump of sugar purloined from the breakfast table. Butterball chomped on the sweet treat but continued to display unusual restlessness.

  “I’m not sure, Miss,” said Finch, a worried expression creasing his brow. “She seems a bit fidgety today.”

  “Never mind, Finch, she’s probably feeling out of sorts. Horses have feelings too, you know.” Fenella patted Butterball, who was sniffing at her skirts in the hope of more delicacies.

  Finch chuckled. “If yer say so, Miss. I never thought of it like that. She could jes’ be eager for a good run.”

  He handed Fenella up into the saddle. As Fenella settled into the seat, Butterball stamped and kicked, giving a little squeal of irritation.

  “Will yer need me, Miss, or will yer be ridin’ with Mister Perivale this mornin’?”

  “Mister Perivale will accompany me, so there’s no need for you to come along, Finch. Thank you.” Fenella replied.

  Finch continued to hold Butterball’s reins, reluctant to release them. “Mebbe I should, Miss. I’ve never seen ’er like this before.”

  From the stables, there came a fierce and angry neighing and the rapid thudding of hooves on the ground. Finch stared past Fenella’s shoulder, and his eyes grew large and round, as if transfixed by a horrible apparition.

  “Dear God in ’eaven,” he muttered. “What’s she doin’? The master will kill me!”

  Lucifer raced round to the front of the house, his hooves flying and gravel scattering in his path. He was stamping, bucking, and twisting his head round in his attempts to bite his rider. Perched on his back, Lady Penelope sat sidesaddle, slashing at him with her riding crop.

  The moment Fenella saw Lady Penelope’s stylish riding ensemble, she felt more like a poor cousin than ever. Lady Penelope wore an exquisite, amber-coloured velvet riding habit. Tan leather boots and gloves, and a small perky hat with an elaborate feather curling over her shoulder completed her ensemble. Fenella’s own habit was a hand-me-down that Mrs. Perkins had discovered in the attic. It was of faded blue velvet, worn in several places and well past its former glory. Fenella had been grateful for it and since she often returned from her ride with spatters of mud along the skirts, did not care about elegance while riding.

  However, her thoughts were now more concerned with the imminent danger facing her as a potentially hazardous situation unfolded. Butterball began to edge backward, giving nervous snorts and rolling her eyes in fear. Lucifer was always stabled well away from the other horses and for good reason. He was a powerful, aggressive animal with only one master. The irritating creature on his back had to be disposed of and Lucifer did his best to dislodge it. He began to buck and lunge, swishing his tail and tossing his head, snapping his teeth and squealing in anger.

  As Lucifer leaped toward Butterball, Fenella steered her nervous horse away. She was shocked to see Lady Penelope riding the Duke’s horse. Not only was he dangerous, but the entire household was under strict instruction that no one besides Finch, whom Lucifer tolerated, and the Duke, whom Lucifer adored, was to lay a hand on him.

  “Take that, you disobedient beast!” Lady Penelope swished the crop down hard on Lucifer’s rump.

  That swipe was the final indignity. Lucifer reared high in the air with an outraged squeal, his hooves flailing. Lady Penelope slid off his back and thudded onto the gravel in a flurry of petticoats and skirts. However, far worse was still to come. As Fenella tried to control a now panicked and skittish horse, Butterball’s rear came within striking distance of Lucifer’s lethal hooves. One hoof struck a sharp blow on the aggrieved Butterball’s rump. She gave a loud shriek and reared up in indignation. Fenella felt herself rise h
igh in the saddle, as to be almost unseated, and then came down with a hard thump.

  * * * *

  The effect on Butterball was astonishing. With a scream of pain, Butterball galloped off, leaving behind an open-mouthed Finch, an irate, screeching Lady Penelope and an enraged, bucking stallion. Finch made a grab for the loose reins, but Lucifer, maddened and confused, reared up at him, thrusting out his razor sharp hooves and forcing the groom back. Lady Penelope moaned in fear and tried to crawl to safety as Lucifer thundered around her body.

  “Lie still, Miss!” an exasperated Finch yelled at her. “He won’t trample ye if ye lie still!”

  Within minutes, the commotion had drawn the entire household. The servants gathered on the front steps, gazing goggle-eyed and open-mouthed at the chaotic scene before them.

  “Get ’is Grace,” Finch shouted, real fear breaking through in his voice. “Quickly, or else the beast will kill someone.”

  Freddie trotted round the corner on a grey mare just as the Duke pushed his way through the gaggle of servants.

  “What in God’s name is going on?” he yelled. “Finch!”

  Lady Penelope, upon hearing the Duke’s voice, reached up a weak hand from her supine position.

  “Devlin! Help me!” she cried, but he made for the enraged horse, ignoring Lady Penelope’s plight.

  “Sorry, Sir,” gasped Finch, warily circling Lucifer and waiting for an opportune moment to grasp the reins. “But Miss Fenella’s gone. Lucifer kicked Butterball an’ she’s bolted. Ye’d better send someone after ’er before she ’eads fer the woods.”

  “Let me go,” Freddie urged, wheeling his horse round. “I’ll catch up with her in minutes.”

  “No, you won’t.” The Duke flung himself into the saddle and grasped Lucifer’s reins with firm hands. “Sort out this mess, will you? I’ll need all the speed I can muster to catch a horse that’s run mad.”

  He glared down at Lady Penelope. “What the devil have you done now, madam? This is your mischief, I’ll warrant.”

  Then, whirling Lucifer round, he spurred the horse on in the direction Butterball had taken. Lucifer leaped forward and, within minutes, horse and rider had disappeared from view.

  Lady Penelope sat in the dusty gravel, her hat askew, the fine feather crushed and her habit rumpled and filthy from her fall. Finch bent down to help her up but she slapped his hand aside.

  “Get away from me, you…you peasant!”

  She heaved herself to her feet and stamped into the house, tears of frustration coursing down her cheeks in dirty rivulets.

  * * * *

  Fenella had never been so frightened in all her life. She was a skilled horsewoman, but even her years of experience could not help her now. Butterball thundered in a frenzied, careering path that Fenella feared would take them straight into the woods. The countryside flashed past her in a chaotic blur. Butterball ignored Fenella’s frantic yanking against the rein and raced headlong. Fenella considered letting go and falling from the maddened animal, but she was afraid she might break a leg or worse, cripple herself. She hung on grimly, her hair streaming out in a dark swathe behind her. Her worst fears were realised when Butterball made for the woods, leaping over fallen logs and stumbling into hidden holes.

  “Oh, dear God, please don’t let her fall and break a leg,” Fenella prayed.

  She put her head down but it was hard to duck the young branches that swished back, slapping her face hard and leaving great red welts on her skin. She gritted her teeth and clung on, feeling as if every bone in her body was being pulverized into splinters. Fenella could not see anything clearly as Butterball wove a crazy, erratic path splashing through streams and galloping around trees. Fenella hoped the horse would tire and finally come to a halt without killing them both.

  * * * *

  Devlin rode like a madman. For a few minutes, he could not see the horse and her rider. Somehow, Lucifer instinctively headed in the direction Butterball had taken. Devlin tried to turn the great stallion, but the horse ignored his master and soon he saw the creature was right—ahead he caught a glimpse of Butterball galloping into the woods.

  Devlin leaned forward and patted Lucifer’s neck. “Good boy. You’re cleverer than me.”

  Lucifer whinnied in response, as if trying to make amends for his previous conduct.

  They headed into the woods, slowing their pace to avoid stumbling into a hole. It was the worst route possible. Devlin swore under his breath. Not only could a hidden hollow bring a horse down, injuring it fatally, but also overhanging branches could nearly decapitate an inexperienced or frightened rider. He hoped Fenella had the sense to put her head down. She did, but in one fateful moment Butterball soared over a fallen log and Fenella flew up in the saddle, straight into an overhanging branch. The solid wood thwacked into her forehead with enormous force and she toppled off the horse, falling unconscious into a gulley.

  Butterball, released from the terrible pain that had sent her into a screaming frenzy, cantered on a few yards, and then slowed to a halt. She gave great, shuddering sighs, her flanks streaked with foam. Then she put her head down and began cropping at the grass.

  Devlin saw the riderless horse and spurred Lucifer on. Within seconds, he had leaped off his horse’s back, flung the reins over a tree branch and was bending over Fenella’s limp figure. Almost immediately, he heard the thundering of hooves and Freddie arrived, with Finch clinging on behind him.

  Devlin turned Fenella over onto her back. She gave a low moan of pain and her head flopped to one side. Devlin settled her into a comfortable position, straightening her limbs with care to see if there were any broken bones. He stripped off his coat and rolled it into a bundle to form a pillow under her head. Finch gathered Butterball’s reins and led her away from the scene.

  “Don’t ride her, Finch!” the Duke ordered peremptorily.

  “Pardon, Sir?”

  “Don’t ride her, just walk her back. There’s something wrong with that saddle.”

  “Very good, Sir. I’ll check it.”

  “Send for Doctor Barclay at once and get Mrs. Perkins to prepare whatever’s needed. Blankets, hot water and suchlike.”

  “Let me go,” Freddie pleaded. “I mean, unless you think I can help and besides, I’ll get back faster than Finch.”

  “That’s a better idea,” Devlin said, relieved. “Although, perhaps I can carry her back.”

  “But should she be moved?” Freddie wondered. “I’ll get the men with a cart. We can lay her flat; there’s less likelihood of further damage if she’s injured.”

  “Thank you, Freddie,” the Duke said. “I’ll stay with her until you return.”

  Freddie spurred his horse on and galloped furiously past Finch, who was leading an exhausted and subdued Butterball.

  Devlin sat beside Fenella, after making her as comfortable as he could. Her face was white and her body quite still. Several times, fearing she was dead, he rested his head on her breast to listen for a heartbeat. He wetted his handkerchief in a nearby stream and carefully wiped her face, stroking the damp, matted curls back from her forehead. Red welts stood out on her cheeks where the branches had swatted her face. He could see thin scratches, beaded with dried blood on top of the swelling.

  Everything was so wrong, so confusing.

  He brushed the leaves and dirt from her body and then strode impatiently up and down, fuming that it was taking them so long to effect a simple command. His emotions whirled in a maelstrom and his heart pounded with fear—the fear that if she died she would be lost to him forever; the fear of losing his heart to a woman he could not have.

  Yes, if I want to utterly fly in the face of convention, sadden my mother and disgrace my family name, I can have her.

  Devlin was a Deverell, with centuries of pride and respect behind his name. How could he continue like this? He could not marry her if she was only a commoner. Yet there was a glimmer of hope. The locket with the worn crest hinted at some clue to her past, either nob
le or ignoble. If she came of noble birth, he could make her an offer. However, was it true she had received it from her mother’s family? Or was she hiding the fact that it had been purloined, yet felt safe enough in the obscure countryside to wear it openly?

  He smacked his hand against his head.

  What was he thinking of? Even if she were of good stock, she would never have him since every time she looked at him he felt the scalding shame of his previous actions toward her. She had responded to him out of innocence, he thought, only to be repulsed by his animal desires. He sank down on his knees beside her and held her hand. It was still warm, yet so lifeless.

  Devlin never prayed much; in fact, he could hardly remember the last time he had prayed. He prayed now for this woman to live.

  He heard a faint hallooing noise and looked up. Freddie rode toward him, followed by a cart and several men hanging onto it. Carefully the men placed Fenella on a door and carried her to the cart. She lay limp and white, and did not make a single sound.

  “She’s still alive, isn’t she?” Freddie asked, with a worried look in his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “The doctor’s at the house; we’re all ready for her.”

  “Good.”

  A sad entourage slowly trundled back to Deverell House with Devlin walking beside it, a nervous groom leading Lucifer, and Freddie bringing up the rear. The men carried their precious burden to Fenella’s room where Doctor Barclay hovered, solemn and anxious. He shooed them all out and then, with a grim-faced Mrs. Perkins at his side, began to tend his patient.

  * * * *

  Devlin walked toward the stables, lost in thought. He mused on the unusual behaviour of a normally docile horse. He heard footsteps behind him. It was Finch, a serious expression on his face.