by Eva Devon
“Yes?” he queried.
“Captain,” Argyle began, his burr thick with distress. “A young lady is waiting outside to see you.”
“Does she have a companion?” He wasn’t about to let a young lady into his house without a proper chaperone. Even he knew what disaster lay in that. It was damned odd for a young lady to call upon him at all given that he had few female friends in the capital and all those were the wives of either the recent family he had acquired through his brother, or of the dukes that seemed to come hand in hand with them.
“She does have accompaniment,” Argyle said tightly.
“Then send her in,” he said, hoping whoever it was might cause his thoughts to dance away from Lady Beatrix.
Argyle cleared his throat. “She says it will be too difficult to get back up on the horse.”
Adam’s brow furrowed. “She’s on a horse?”
“Yes. Her groom relayed the message.”
Adam shot up from his leather, wing-backed chair and headed for the window.
He searched the street clogged with hackneys and carts laden with produce for the markets. He grabbed hold of the windowsill, barely able to believe his eyes.
Surely not.
Lady Beatrix sat atop her saddle in haughty splendor, her scarlet red riding habit draped over the withers of a black mare.
She sat clasping the reins with ease with elegant black gloves, but her back was ramrod straight, the trail of her dark veil dancing between her shoulder blades. He could not see her face under the fine veil of her hat which was designed in the military style.
“Did she say anything else?” he asked, agog.
“She asks if you would like to ride in the park.” Argyle’s usually low, rumbly voice was pitched high, as if he couldn’t quite believe the message he was conveying.
“Have my horse brought around,” he said immediately.
“Captain?”
“Quickly.” Adam glanced back over his shoulder and gave the older man a reassuring wink, as if to say this was naught at all but another lady after him, as ladies often were. “After all, we mustn’t keep her waiting.”
Argyle’s eyes rounded into twin spheres, clearly not willing to believe that this was all above board. “Whatever you say, Captain.”
With that, the Scotsman headed back into the hall.
Adam whipped his gaze back down at her, a smile beginning to pull at his lips. The bloody courage of her. Despite his hopes, he’d been mostly certain he’d never see her again. But now? Here she was, inviting him for an outing.
Perhaps, he hadn’t been too forward at all. Perhaps, it had been just right and now that he had her here, what the devil was he going to do with her?
As he stared at her, sitting perched sidesaddle, an image of him pulling her into his arm, of tilting her head back, whisking her veil away, and taking her mouth in a passionate kiss came to his mind. That’s what he could do with her. A woman like Beatrix would be pure passion. He knew it in his soul.
He shook the wild thought away. They were to be friends. Pulling a young lady of good breeding up against his chest and having his way with her perfect, pink mouth didn’t induce friendship. It induced ruin or a quick march up the aisle, with her cousin, Lockhart, close behind, saber in hand.
Quickly, he headed for the door. The stairs were taken two at a time and his footman was waiting with his long coat.
As he slipped it on, he paused. Somehow, this seemed utterly mad and. . . Perfect.
It was what he had wanted. Wasn’t it? He’d pushed for it, yet somehow he felt if he opened the door to his house, went down those few steps and joined her, everything would change.
He’d always loved change, so this should not give him the slightest pause. He shook the unusual feeling away and, without another thought, he turned the brass door knob and bounded down the stairs.
Her face was tense. Her whole posture was tense. It had likely been some time since she’d attempted such a feat. But when she turned to look at him, she smiled.
Her groom held the reins at the mare’s mouth lightly, easily keeping the animal in place despite the carts and coaches racing down the road.
“My goodness, that was quick,” she said brightly. “Did you think I would change my mind?”
As his own stallion was brought around and he quickly mounted, he replied, “Lady Beatrix, I have a strong feeling, that your mind is anything but changeable.”
She laughed, a beautiful bell sound. “A terrible trait, yet true.”
“To know one’s mind?” he asked, tipping his hat. “There is nothing terrible in that.”
She glanced downward then gave him the cheekiest grin he’d ever seen. “I have been accused of stubbornness.”
He laughed. “Never.”
“Shall we?” she asked, no sign of reticent evident.
“Indeed,” he agreed, wondering if she had chosen absolute boldness to hide any fear she might have. It was a tack he knew well.
“George, will you ride with us?” Lady Beatrix asked.
Her groom, George, no doubt, gave a quick nod. “Of course, my lady.”
George let go of the bridle and mounted his own horse.
It was deuced odd to be accompanied by a servant on a ride, but he was glad of George’s young and seemingly capable presence. It suddenly hit him in a new way that she had not ridden since the accident and he wondered how difficult it had been for her to mount this morning.
Was she truly up to this?
He certainly wouldn’t ask. If she felt she could do this, as she clearly did, he would do all he could to support her.
They rode down Pall Mall and entered Hyde Park. Rotten Row was just before them. Several people were out riding along the dirt path and, just beside it, the promenades were full of beautifully-dressed people, hoping to see and be seen.
They walked the horses at a sedate pace, one that would have chafed him in normal circumstances. But now, he felt nothing but pleasure.
As they made their way along the path, her straight spine did not curve. But as if being on a horse again was the most natural thing, her entire body eased, taking on a self-assuredness few could ever hope to replicate.
She looked completely at ease.
He felt it then, the hundreds of pairs of eyes upon them. Not them. Her. Again. The people of London were watching her, and it was then he realized the full extent to which Lady Beatrix’s reputation had grown.
Had she always been so well known or had tragedy made her the focus of all? Perhaps it was both.
Whatever it was, it angered him. Couldn’t they just let her get on with things? To find normalcy again?
“Ah. You’ve noticed,” she said with a sly smile, barely turning her head in his direction.
“Noticed?” he asked, determined to be oblivious.
“That we are animals in a zoological exhibit,” she whispered in exaggerated confidence.
“I beg your pardon?” he queried. He’d never considered the position of a Bengal tiger in the Tower before. But now that she’d said it, it made a good deal of sense.
“We can’t see the bars, you know. But we are certainly being studied.”
“I did notice,” he sighed, wishing he could make them all go away. But if he tried, it would only cause a far grander scene and create more attention for her. “It must bother you.”
“I won’t deny it.” She winced and her horse took a quick step to the right as if it sensed her unease. She reached down and stroked the beast’s neck. “At one time, they stared out of envy. I knew it, and was always very careful in how I presented myself to society. My parents taught me how privileged we were. Now, they stare out of pity as if they are thanking God and heaven that they aren’t me.”
“Surely not. That can’t—” But then he stopped as he surveyed the gaping faces amidst the beautiful trees which lined the park. Was she correct? Were they all saying secret prayers of gratitude that her fate had not befallen them? For all her wealth
and title, her life had become a shadow of its former self.
Suddenly, she took up her reins and gave him a devilish look. She widened her eyes and declared, “Let’s give them something to truly see.”
As his heart pounded in his chest at that sudden mischief displayed before him, he realized his wits had abandoned him. He had no reply. And suddenly, she urged her mare on.
A yelp of protest passed his lips to no avail.
Lady Beatrix raced away from him, her mare kicking up the dirt path. And she rode as wildly as he had ever done. The animal charged ahead as if it were the king’s own purebred on race day.
His heart shot into his mouth. Fear. He hadn’t felt fear in years. But now it grabbed hold of him harder than it ever had. What the hell was she doing?
He drew in a long breath as it hit him.
She was living.
That’s what she was doing.
And it was both frightening and wonderful to behold.
Chapter 9
Pain throbbed in her leg, but it couldn’t be matched by the thrill of exhilaration coursing through her veins. It was all she could do to keep her seat as she pounded down Rotten Row. Her hair flew from her hat, her skirts billowed, and oh how free she felt!
It felt as if, long last, she were flying, the breeze whipping at her face, the scent of the earth surrounding her and she could see nothing but the view ahead.
As she reached the end of the dirt path, she pulled up her mare. How had she denied herself this feeling for so long? A grin pulled at her lips. A grin so wide and powerful, it nearly hurt.
The dark night of the year was still there, but she could see starlight now. Dancing, playful, promising the sparkle of something new.
She turned on her sidesaddle and spotted Captain Duke racing towards her. His face did not look so free. No, his handsome visage was a mask of fear and. . . Admiration.
Once he rode up beside her, his stallion pawing at the earth, clearly wishing to be given its head for another run, Captain Duke said, “I thought you might race to Plymouth.”
She laughed. “Tempting. What would I have done then?”
“Boarded a ship and sailed for the end of the world?” he asked playfully, even as he held himself as if he’d been bracing himself to be picking her up off the earth.
She laughed again. She’d surprised them both. It was wonderful.
“How delightful,” she declared. “I’ve never been out of England, you know. Can you recommend such a voyage?”
He adjusted his reins and, slowly, the tension slipped from his face, his usual jaunty arrogance returning. “They are commonplace to me, but I think you have the soul of an adventurer.”
“Then I must go.” She leaned towards him ever so slightly. “Perhaps, you will take me.”
His eyes flared. “Ladies on my ships are not a common occurrence.”
“Are you afraid I shall curse your vessel?” she whispered, loving this delicious line of fantastical conversation.
He let out a rich, barrel laugh. “No. Though sailors are a suspicious lot, I think ladies on the water are the least of the troubles to be found.”
“Then we are agreed,” she teased. “You shall take me to the corners of the world.”
He cleared his throat “Lady Beatrix—”
“Don’t look so frightened, sir,” she cut in, shaking her head.
“Do I?” he challenged, clearly surprised.
“You look like a man shown a jail cell.”
He smiled ruefully. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as that.”
“Our suppositions only give my imagination fodder. I do not plan on forcing you to be my companion. Or daring the high seas just at present.”
His brow furrowed. “No man would have to be forced. But society might not like it.”
She cocked her head to the side, eyeing him. “I did not realize you cared for society’s rules.”
“I don’t,” he agreed as he turned his horse to keep the excited beast settled. “But I also know they exist. One can pretend otherwise, but there are consequences.”
“Perhaps I am ready for them,” she replied recklessly, truly feeling the summer sun and seeing the lime green of the leaves on the trees for the first time in months.
“Perhaps you are,” he said slowly, his gaze suddenly heating.
“Come then,” she teased. “I shall become a lady sailor and help you in your work.”
“Help me?” he asked, his voice deepening.
“What you do,” she said with all seriousness as she stroked her mare’s shoulder. “It’s important.”
“And dangerous,” he added.
“Surely there is something I could do,” she ventured boldly, finding the idea remarkably appealing. “I’m quite good with books and organization.”
A look of amusement but also consideration warmed his features. “Are you proposing to be my secretary?”
She shrugged. “What else could I do?”
His eyes darkened with some emotion she could not identify but, suddenly, she felt hot. Her blood hummed in her veins as she, even in her naiveté, realized there was another position she might take with him. One that would completely flout society.
One that might end the tomb of her current existence.
She gave him a wicked look. “Was there something else you had in mind?”
He laughed, but it was a rough, gravel sound. A sound of forbidden promise. “Only if you’re willing to throw society to the wind.”
“And why not?” she challenged. It mattered not that the turn of their conversation was absurd and inappropriate. He was a man who had already caused her to do unimagined things. Why should she stop imagining now? “They’ve already thrown me to the wolves.”
“Oh, Lady Beatrix,” he said softly now. “I do not think you quite know of what you speak.”
“I’m already notorious. Surely, I could have a bit of fun in my state.”
“Fun,” he breathed.
“Mmm.”
“Forgive me,” he pressed his sensual lips together before he queried, “do I understand you?”
She laughed. “I doubt it, but in your company? I feel free in a way that I haven’t felt in. . .” She paused. Had she ever felt so free? With him, all things were possible. With Captain Duke, she felt as if she could be as reckless as she chose and as honest. “I don’t know what I shall do, but I can’t keep on as I have.”
His face turned grave. “Be careful. Once you go down certain paths, it is impossible to go back.”
At that warning, she leaned forward again and asked, “Do you promise?”
Before he could reply, she squeezed her knees and urged her mare off in the direction they had come, as fast as before, as wild as before, and now as free as she had longed to be. It was the happiest she had been in over a year and there was no way she was going to let that go.
*
“I’ve unleashed a devil,” Adam Duke groaned into his gin.
Alexander Duke, who usually was happily at home or at a political rally with his wife, sat with his brother, drinking.
Adam wiped a hand over his face, wondering how the hell he was going to explain all this to anyone, even his rather open-minded brother. The whole Hunt clan was going to hate him. It was something he hadn’t really considered when embarking on his mission to help Lady Beatrix. Possibly because he could never have guessed it would take such a turn.
In truth, the Dukes had only just been accepted. Adam had always gotten along with most of the family, but as Americans they would never be. . . Well, English. And they would always be regarded with some suspicion. Usually, he would not have cared a whit, but he did care for Alexander’s happiness. And his wife’s family’s approval had been important.
Not for any sort of power or alliance, but the general contentedness of Lady Gemma and Alexander. To his shock, he’d discovered that the Hunt clan was an incredibly close family, unlike most of the ton families he’d encountered. Not only were they ec
centric and loyal to the blood, they were a loving group.
“Surely, it’s not so terrible,” Alexander replied with the sort of ease only a man in a blissful marriage could express.
Adam palmed his glass, knowing he had to get all this out while he was capable of logical speech. “It’s that bad. I’ve converted an angel, though I suspect she has always had a taste for adventure, to sin.”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Alexander drawled. “You’re not known for your angelic ways.”
He stared at his brother and then confessed, “I’ve befriended Lady Beatrix.”
Alexander spat his gin across the table “Gemma’s cousin?!”
Adam brushed the alcohol from his coat. “Yes.”
Adam’s eyes darted about frantically as if he half-expected her army of a family to suddenly appear and kill both of them. “But. . . She’s a young lady of society.”
“Not exactly,” Adam corrected.
His brother squared his shoulders and lowered his chin. “Adam. What have you done?”
“Nothing,” Adam protested. “We’ve done nothing. I’ve done nothing.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes. “Then why the devil do you look so guilty.”
Adam looked for some way to say it without sounding like a madman but there was nothing for it. “She wants to go adventuring. With me.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I wanted to help her,” Adam assured quickly. He was determined that it be understood he had not gone after a young lady in a potentially vulnerable state. “To be her friend.”
“And now she wants to be a pirate?” Alexander drawled, pounding back his gin. “Of course does.”
Adam cleared his throat and, despite the seriousness of the situation, his lips twitched. “She wants to be a pirate’s secretary.”
Alexander blinked, silent for a moment. Then he, too, realizing the absurdity of it, bellowed with laughter.
“This is not amusing,” Adam gritted. He leaned forward, his elbows scraping the rough wood table. “I think. . . I think she might want to be my mistress, too.”
Alexander’s laughter vanished. “I beg your pardon?”