The Perfect Duke

by Ireland, Dawn

  “Miss McClure is . . .” Garret pictured Cara as he’d last seen her, laughing with his niece. Since she’d arrived, even the servants appeared happier. He downed the last of his Scotch, set the glass on the table, then sank into a chair across from his friend. “I find her adequate, but she has only been here a fortnight. It is still too early to tell.” He found Bradford’s hint of a smile annoying. “Have you discovered who paid for her fine education?”

  The question erased Bradford’s smile. “No one knows. An unmarked coach came for her on two separate occasions. From what I gather, Miss McClure was sworn to secrecy”—he stared at Garret with disapproval—“and her ability to keep a secret seems equal to yours.”

  Garret refused to be baited, but couldn’t help shifting in his chair. He hadn’t thought keeping the truth from Cara would be so difficult. If only she hadn’t been so damn accommodating.

  Bradford rubbed his thumb along the edge of his glass. “I’ll discover her benefactor, eventually.”

  From anyone else, Garret would have considered the comment boastful. A sharp rap reverberated on the study door.

  His guest set down his drink and stood. “Visitors?”

  “I’m not expecting anyone.” Garret got up and crossed to the door. “Enter.”

  One of the liveried servants came into the room and gave a slight bow. “Pardon, Your Grace, but Miss McClure is requesting a moment of your time.”

  Garret masked his surprise. Why had she sought him out? It must be important. During the last week she’d seemed uncomfortable in his presence. But after the incident in the nursery, he understood. He’d been appalled at his own lack of restraint. “Show her in.”

  “How fortunate. I’d hoped to meet her.” Bradford’s eyes narrowed.

  Garret knew that expression. Cara’s secret presented a challenge.

  Cara entered the room, then stopped. “Oh. Excuse me, I didn’t realize you had a guest.”

  Her dark green gown brought out the golden highlights in her hair. She’d secured her tresses into a bun at her nape, accentuating her large eyes and elegant neck. Everything about her appeared fragile. That must be why he had this uncharacteristic urge to protect her.

  He turned toward Bradford, then back to Cara. “Lord Bradford, may I present Miss Cara McClure, the governess attending my niece during her stay.”

  The visitor was . . . compelling. That was the only way Cara could describe him. After several moments, she realized she’d forgotten to curtsey, and hurriedly did so, mortified by the slight curve of Bradford’s mouth. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Bradford. I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

  “Hardly. As a matter of fact, Kendal and I were discussing the wonderful reputation of your school, and the admirable work you’re doing there.” Bradford indicated the chair he’d vacated. “Please, join us.”

  “No, thank you. I had a question for His Grace, but it can wait.” Lord Bradford’s oddly direct gaze held Cara captive. She suspected most women would find him appealing. His striking white-blond hair didn’t need powder and his features, though angular, were handsome enough. He radiated an air of dangerous power that was almost tangible. She gathered her skirts in a tight grasp and took a small step backward.

  For some reason, the man seemed to have chosen her as his focus. The assessing gleam in Bradford’s eyes gave her the feeling his physical attributes were equaled only by his intellect. It was as if he could see all her secrets, not that she had many. In spite of the invitation to join them, she had a strong urge to escape.

  When Bradford turned away, she edged toward the door. The duke’s voice stopped her. “No. Miss McClure, I would like you to remain. Lord Bradford was just leaving.”

  A look passed between the two men. Lord Bradford appeared annoyed, then a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “It seems we’ll have to get better acquainted at some other time, Miss McClure.” He crossed to her and raised her hand to his lips. “I happily anticipate our next meeting.” With a slight inclination of his head to the duke, he left, the click of the door echoing in the silence.

  Now that they were alone, Cara had no choice but to turn her attention to the duke. He didn’t seem menacing, yet she’d almost called Lord Bradford back.

  She’d been a fool to hope that she could pretend their last encounter hadn’t happened. Simply being in the room with the duke reminded her of the warmth of his hand on her face. How could a man’s touch cause her throat to go dry?

  He didn’t appear at all affected. As usual, he stood very still, a slightly quizzical expression on his face. It occurred to her that he must be waiting to hear what she had to say, so she launched into her request before she could reconsider.

  “I hoped you might allow Mr. Timmons and Mrs. Shaw to work together. I realize they have their own responsibilities, but as Papa always says ‘a challenge never hurt anyone.’” At the duke’s expression of amused surprise, she squared her shoulders and used what Tess referred to as her “prim” voice. “I’d like to suggest some changes.” She counted them off on each finger. “First, I would like Timmons and Mrs. Shaw to determine which tasks the servants excel in. Second, they would prioritize their duties. And, third, they would share some of the staff when needed.”

  The duke raised one winged brow. “Are you sure they would not kill each other?”

  Something in the tone of his voice made her think he was teasing her, but she couldn’t be sure, so she answered him in all earnestness. “Of course not, in all actuality I suspect . . .”

  “Suspect what, Miss McClure?”

  “I . . . suspect . . .” She worried at her bottom lip until it hurt. It wouldn’t do to tell him she thought they were in love. She doubted he understood love. Not that she would be considered an expert, but at least she’d read countless stories about what happened between a man and woman. “I suspect the two would come to like each other, and the household would benefit.” There, he couldn’t find fault with that statement.

  “I see. The staff coming to ‘like’ each other seems to be important to you. However, you do realize a lady should not concern herself with the affairs of the servants.”

  “I’m not.” Cara tried to appear as innocent as possible. “If I make their lives easier because I’m improving the way things are done, what harm is there in that?”

  “What harm, indeed.” He crossed to the grouping of chairs before the fire and she followed, taking the chair he indicated. “I’m not sure what to do with you, Miss McClure.” He moved away a few steps, then turned and peered down at her. “I asked Timmons to refrain from telling you about the servants’ lives, but you insist on getting personally involved.”

  “You told him what?” Cara stood. “You had no right.”

  “Actually, I have every right.”

  For the first time in her life, Cara wanted to throw something at another human being. Fortunately, the oriental vase on the table closest to her was out of reach. “Tell me something. Do you relish being feared by your staff?”

  He took a backward step. “That is ridiculous. They do not fear me.”

  “Don’t they? And what makes you so sure?” Cara could not believe the man had no idea how he treated others. “When did you last speak to a footman?”

  “I speak with them daily.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘command’ them daily?” Over the last fortnight, she’d witnessed the impersonal way he treated his staff. “I’m willing to wager you don’t even know one of their names.”

  “Charles.”

  Cara crossed to within inches of him. Staring up into his frigid green eyes, she enunciated every word. “There is not one footman named ‘Charles.’ It’s the name you give them, like referring to all dogs as ‘dog.’”

  “You would not understand. That is the way things are done. It would be impossible for me to learn every footman’s name.”

  “Impossible, or tiresome?”

  The duke took her arms in a firm hold and Cara had
the impression he wanted to shake her. “My conduct is not your concern. You need to prove to me that you can be a lady in every sense of the word.”

  “Why?”

  He stared at his hands in disbelief, then dropped his hold on her. “Because, it is a requirement of your employment.”

  Cara saw the frustration in his eyes before he moved to the window.

  “To that end, I intend to host a ball in a week’s time. You are expected to handle the arrangements, and will act as my hostess.”

  “A week?” She took a breath, ashamed that the question had come out as a startled croak. “How am I to do everything in a week?”

  “I suggest you advise Timmons and Cook of your improvements.” The duke faced her, his expression unreadable. “The ball will test your theory of increased efficiency.”

  Cara felt as if she’d been given an apple, only to discover its beauty cloaked a poison heart.

  The Prince’s kiss awakened her. Though they’d never met, he felt familiar, and she found herself drawn to him as if he were her destiny.

  Sleeping Beauty

  Chapter 5

  Cara climbed yet another set of stairs, wishing she’d taken the opportunity before this to explore Belcraven’s northern tower. As of late, all her energy had been centered on the ball. The preparations had turned into a disaster and she’d barely spent any time with Rachel.

  Perhaps that was just as well. If the duke ever found out she’d been giving his niece lessons in the stable, he’d dismiss her immediately. Her sigh was barely audible, soaked up by the thick carpets and colorful tapestries in the hallway. Why couldn’t he pay more attention to Rachel? Then he would have known she adored horses. What was so unladylike about spending time in the stable?

  Propriety shouldn’t rule your life. Her coldly handsome duke didn’t seem to understand that simple fact and it was becoming more and more difficult to be charitable toward him. Not that he was her duke, thank heaven.

  At least he’d stayed away from her since his ridiculous request for the ball. Three days without seeing him, not that she was counting.

  A footman approached and she struggled to remember his name. William or Stephen? She couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t matter as he inclined his head without meeting her gaze, then continued on.

  “Can you tell me how to find the attic?” She doubted he would stop, but her feet hurt and she didn’t want to wander any more hallways.

  He hesitated, then finally turned, still not meeting her gaze. “You’ll find a set of stairs at the end of the hallway. Follow them up to the door.” With a curt nod, he hurried off.

  She tried not to be hurt, but she hated being an outsider. All this, because she’d suggested Mr. Timmons and Mrs. Shaw work together. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that they would resent her interference?

  After a few minutes, she came to a narrow staircase that ascended into the shadows. It certainly didn’t appear inviting, but then the attic would be little used. She climbed about ten steps before noticing a door on the landing. The stairs continued to wind upward, but this door hadn’t been maintained. The wood lacked the polished sheen of everything else in the manor. Surely it belonged to the attic?

  The knob turned easily and the door swung open, it’s creak loud in the oppressive quiet. She took a step back as the heavenly smell of flowers and evening light cascaded over her, dispelling the gloom on the landing.

  Her mouth fell open at the sight before her. How wonderful. A glass-enclosed room sheltered exotic plants of all shapes and sizes. The tangle of growth and vivid flowers in startling colors called to her, like a child drawn to an unexpected sweet.

  A smile touched her lips. She leaned forward, and rested one palm against the doorjamb. This must be the conservatory. If she remembered right, she’d seen the odd glass structure on the roof between two of the north towers.

  Surely no one would mind if she took a brief peek? She stepped through the doorway, and shivered with delight at the enchanted world surrounding her. No other place in the manor could begin to compare with this. Orderliness did not rule here, and it occurred to her how much she’d missed the chaos of her life in London. Longing wrapped its arms around her until she felt tears threaten. Papa would love this singular display of God’s beauty.

  Flowers like nothing she’d ever seen vied for attention against the backdrop of a peach and pink sunset. Not only the beauty of the blooms, but the plants themselves caught her eye. They were amazing in their form and leaf structure. Some stood half again as tall as her, with branches that reached to the floor. The pots had been randomly bunched onto tables, carpets, and even some atop the back of a stone elephant in the corner.

  She shut the door and leaned back against it, enjoying the warmth of the room. With her eyes closed, she allowed the fragrance and quiet of the place to soothe the anxiety she’d been feeling since the duke’s request for a ball.

  “What are you doing here?” The coldness of the duke’s voice washed away her feeling of peace.

  Her eyelids snapped open and she straightened until the edges of the wooden door panels dug into her shoulders. He stood not five feet from her, almost hidden amongst the foliage. “Your Grace.” She raised a hand to her throat. “I was looking for the attic.”

  He studied her with the same green eyes, but this wasn’t the duke she’d come to know. He no longer wore his waistcoat or vest, and the sleeves of his fine lawn shirt had been rolled to expose muscular forearms. His wary stance held nothing of the rigid stillness she’d observed at other times. “The attic is further up the stairs.” Even though his comment implied he wanted her to leave, there was something in the way he gazed at her . . .

  She suddenly felt ill at ease with this new, more accessible lord. “I’m sorry to have intruded.” Warmth infused her face and she turned to leave.

  “Wait.”

  With her forehead resting against the door, she tried to collect her scattered wits. The duke was her employer. What was she afraid of? She took a deep breath, then turned to face him.

  The duke came to stand in front of her. “What did you hope to find in the attic?”

  “Furniture.”

  “For what?”

  “I need more chairs for the ballroom.”

  His brow furrowed. “Why did you not ask the servants for help?”

  “I was going to, but . . .” She dropped her gaze and swallowed. What could she say? There was a certain justice in the irony of the situation. The duke had ordered her to limit her involvement with the servants, but it had been her own meddling that caused the rift. She didn’t want to set herself above the staff, but it was becoming apparent she would have to.

  He lifted her chin with his fingertip and she met his gaze. “They will not do as you ask?”

  “No, that’s not it.” She broke the warm contact of his fingers and brushed by him, not sure where she wanted to go. “I didn’t request their assistance. It’s not their fault.” A pale pink orchid with darker pink veins stood closest to her. She bent over and sniffed the heavy sweetness for several moments before turning back to him. “You were right.”

  “About?”

  “I should never have interfered with Timmons and Mrs. Shaw. I truly thought they would benefit from working together.” She studied his face. “You knew how they would respond. Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Would you have believed what I said?”

  She smiled. “I suppose not. I never intended to insult them. It’s hard for me to understand, and yet it’s really not so different from the working class in London. Every person needs to feel pride in something they do well.”

  He moved to within inches of her. “And what do you do well?”

  “I teach children.” She looked up. His nearness caused her to shiver. Everything around them faded. His eyes, no longer cold, held an intensity that drew her into their depths.

  “And?”

  How could she think with him distracting her? She struggled to remember the
question. “I sew.”

  “What else?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have time for many other entertainments.” He’d probably be appalled to know she enjoyed sneaking into the theatre with Tess or reading all manner of romantic tales.

  His breath grazed her face. “I suspect there are other things you do well.”

  With difficulty, she broke his gaze and stepped away from him. Her fingers trembled as she brushed several of the plants with the pads of her fingers. “What is this place?” Most of the leaves were smooth and plump, but some felt furry, like the nap on velvet. “I’ve never seen such a great variety of flowers. Your gardener must be more skilled than I imagined.”

  “He is. However, these plants are not under his care.”

  “No? Then who looks after them?”

  “I do.”

  “It’s obviously one of the things you do well.” So, you had to be a plant to get his attention. How could he put such care into his flowers, but be so indifferent to the people around him?

  “I dabble with horticulture.” He gave a slight shrug. “I enjoy having exotic plants around me. They evoke images of distant lands. Have you ever wanted to see far off places, Miss McClure?”

  “Yes, but a vicar’s daughter is not likely to see much beyond her own front door.”

  “I, also, am limited in where I may go.” The bitterness in his voice surprised her. “A duke must take his responsibilities seriously. Estates do not run by themselves.” He made it sound like a litany. “I’d like to show you something. Follow me.”

  He led the way, weaving around plants as he moved toward the sun side of the conservatory. The pink-edged orb had nearly dropped below the horizon, deepening the twilight. What would this place be like at night?

  She hurried after him, then stopped. Nestled amongst the greenery stood a table littered with instruments and charts. The clutter reminded her of her father’s desk at home. She ran her finger over the odd markings on what she assumed was a map of some kind.