From France, with Love: League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 1

by Gill, Tamara

  Ava shut her mouth with a snap and busied herself inspecting the oven. She was being too kind to the duke, and they were not even on the best of terms with each other. Why was she going out of her way for him? A terrible little voice whispered it was because she still cared for him, even after all this time and all the pain he’d caused her.

  Taking one last inspection of the cottage, she started toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, not taking one step before he clasped her arm, halting her.

  “Truly, thank you Ava, not just for taking my horses or giving me leave to use this cottage, but for last night. For coming to my aid, not leaving my side or my horses, when by staying, put you in extreme danger. I shall not forget your kindness.”

  She stepped away from his hold, not liking the fact that her body refused to remain indifferent to him and his touch. If they were to be on the same property with each other for some weeks, she had best start to learn to be around the duke and not show her emotions like an open book waiting to be read.

  “It was nothing, Your Grace. Nothing that you, yourself, would not do for me in return, I’m sure.” She started toward her home, needing to get away from the expression of devotion that was written all over his visage. The last thing she needed was for him to start looking at her in such a way. The way he used to when they were young.

  * * *

  Tate leaned against the doorframe of his cottage as Ava strode back to her home. With her wearing breeches, not a dress, it gave him the perfect opportunity to admire her from behind. He fisted his hands at his sides, as longing for what was lost washed over him like water.

  Had he stayed, had she not rejected him all those years ago, they would be married by now. Possibly even be parents and raising their children to take over the great racing estate they wanted to forge on their own. To have a son who would inherit his title and maybe if blessed, a daughter who would be as wild and unmanageable as her mama.

  He closed the door and leaned against it. He didn’t have to stay at Knight Stables, but the thought of going back to the Hall did not appeal to him either. His horses were here, and he could have his steward send his paperwork over regarding his estates. If what his stable manager had said this morning was right and the evidence he’d found in the rubble of the fires was correct, there was an arsonist on the run.

  It was best he was near Ava in case she was the fiend’s next victim. His steward would keep watch of Cleremore Hall until the stables were rebuilt and he could return. In truth, he was here at Ava’s home because this was where she was and now that they were at least on pleasant turns with each other, he was loath to leave.

  She’d always had the ability to draw him in. Make him long even to hear her voice or see her across a field. Tate pushed away from the door and opened it, needing to tell his valet where to bring his bags. At least, such a task would keep his mind occupied for a time and not so obsessed with a woman who’d ripped his heart out of his chest that felt like only yesterday.

  Chapter 5

  I have no hopes that we can be anything other than passing acquaintances in the future, but know that I shall always care for you. That you were my friend and will always be part of me.

  – An excerpt from a letter from Miss. Ava Knight to the Duke of Whitstone

  The next month kept everyone busy at both Ava’s farm and the rebuilding of the duke’s stables at his own estate. A couple of times, Tate had asked her for an opinion on the layout and design of the new stalls and stables, and together they had come up with what would be modern and practical solutions to any issues they’d had in the past.

  And most importantly, the stables were brick instead of wood and all would be built with a second access door in case one is blocked, as what happened at the fire.

  Ava sat behind her desk in the library and leaned back in her chair, looking out over the grounds. The day had come in stormy and so a lot of the activities she’d had planned for the day had been put off until tomorrow.

  She stood and walked over to the window, looking in the direction of the small cottage that the duke had made his own these past weeks. Most nights he came to dine with her and, unfortunately with each night, Ava was reminded of what could have been. Of what she had lost when Tate had chosen a different path than the one they had planned.

  They had not spoken of what had happened between them, in fact, they both seemed to be at pains to never bring up their past. She did not mention France and he did not mention New York. It was no surprise that they could not go on in such a way. There was a glaringly taboo subject they needed to talk about. Ava especially needed to know why. Just why he’d lied and not loved her as she’d thought he had.

  How he thought that after all the time they’d spent together, she only deserved a letter to tell her all her dreams were crushed. A letter delivered to her father, not even herself. Why could he not have done the deed himself?

  With the rain pelting against the window pane, the small glow of candlelight at the cottage became blurred, a small wisp of smoke floated into the sky from the chimney. Dinner was not so very far away and then he would arrive…

  She turned and started for her room, bathed quickly, then had her maid help her dress. Most days she wore men’s breeches, paid little attention to her hair or how clean her boots were. But tonight she would wear one of the new gowns she’d ordered from London when she’d traveled there, last month to ensure her manager had purchased a yearling from Tattersalls she’d wanted. Madame Lanchester had accommodated her without trouble and her abilities as a seamstress were better than Ava had hoped.

  Over the years they had been apart, the thought had crossed her mind more than once that the reasoning behind the duke’s crying off their elopement had been because she was too rough about the edges. Not ladylike enough or educated in the arts of a lady as most duchesses would be. For months she’d lain awake, wondering if her wearing of breeches, and unfashionable straw bonnets had put him off. That, in time, he’d come to realize himself that she would never make a good duchess.

  Which was perfectly correct, she would not, not now at least, too much had happened in the five years since they’d parted. She was certainly no duchess material now, but that did not mean for herself she could not dress up, show the duke that one ought to look past the outer shell of a person to what they were inside. Maybe he’d forgotten what it was that had drawn him to her in the first place.

  Ava stared at herself in the mirror. Her embroidered muslin shift was simply the prettiest undergarment she owned and it was almost too pretty to cover up with a dress.

  “Which gown, Miss Ava, would you like to wear?” Her maid opened the armoire and started inspecting the few gowns that she owned.

  “The bronze silk with lace and pearl edging, and I’d like my hair placed in soft curls atop my head, if you can tonight, Jane.”

  Her maid smiled, busying herself preparing the gown. “Oh, you’ll look lovely this evening, Miss Ava. And I’ve been practicing with some new French designs for your hair. It’ll look right pretty with the cut of the dress.”

  Which, Ava had to admit, looking over the gown lying on her bed was very low about the breast. A delicate lighter bronze ribbon ran beneath the chest line, and a delicate fleur-de-lis pattern in pearl and silk lace ran along the hem.

  “Thank you, Jane.” Ava smiled at her maid, eager for the night to commence.

  Over the next hour Jane fussed with Ava’s hair, pulling it up into a semblance of style, not simply tied back with a ribbon that she always sported, and she was ready for dinner.

  The sound of male voices came from downstairs and Ava caught her maid’s eye. “I’ll go downstairs, Miss Ava, and tell the kitchen staff to start serving upon your arrival downstairs.”

  “Thank you, Jane.” Ava turned back to the mirror and studied her appearance. Her maid had done wonders with her hair and somehow the woman who trained racehorses, wore breeches and mucked out stables as well as any of her staff had vanished.
Instead, reflecting back at her was a woman who was the master of her own life. Tate had broken her heart, he had not broken her spirit. And the little devil in her wanted to show him what he’d lost. What he would never have again.

  Winking at herself, she grinned and turned to leave, snatching up her shawl, laying it across her shoulders. The dress shimmied about her, cool and soft, and she had the overwhelming feeling of being almost naked.

  It had been so long since she’d been to a ball or party, or even dressed up for dinner. Here at home she never followed the strict rules of the ton, and she supposed it could be one of the reasons Tate had fled to America instead of marrying her.

  Ava checked her gown as she made the stairs, and her steps faltered at the vision Tate made waiting for her at the bottom. Gone were his tan breeches, and soiled shirt she’d seen him in over the last few weeks. Gone was the man who exercised the horses, helped build his new stables, and ran about both her and his own estate daily keeping up with all that he had to. Ruffled, dusty or muddy depending on the English weather.

  Before her stood a duke. The boy she’d loved and the man she’d come to respect in a lot of ways again. In his buckskin trousers and glistening black knee-high boots, his silver waistcoat, his perfectly starched shirt and tied cravat. Well, words failed her a moment.

  Never had she thought he could become more attractive than he did right at this moment. She had pictured him dressed so when imagining their Gretna Green wedding, before he hightailed it to America. She pushed the thought aside, not wanting it to dampen her mood.

  He bowed as she stepped off the last step, bowing his head a little, but not before she saw the flare of awareness that entered his eyes.

  Did he like what he saw too? Did he regret his choice? Ava, at least, certainly hoped so.

  * * *

  Tate took the opportunity, as he bowed to Ava, to school his features to one of indifference and not what he really felt each and every time he saw the woman before him. The overwhelming desire to fall to his knees and ask her to tell him why she’d turned away from his love all those years ago.

  She’d not married, which was the first thing he had expected to hear while away in America, but no such news had reached him and it only muddled his mind with the need to know the truth. Why did she not love him anymore? Why had she sent him that cold, unfeeling letter the night before their elopement.

  His parents had only gone so far as to update him that she was away at school and seemingly enjoying the continent immensely, not missing her home or those she left behind. The change in her character had been so altered from the Ava he’d known, that he couldn’t help but wonder if it were true. Could people really be so false?

  He gestured for her to take his arm to walk her into the dining room. The intoxicating scent of roses filled the air and left him with a longing for a time long past. He closed his eyes a moment to compose himself.

  How a scent could bring back so many memories he’d never understand, but it did.

  She sat herself down at the table, and he took in her silk gown that was adorned with lace and gold thread. The gown was the height of fashion, and her figure was most pleasing within it. Gone was the body of a girl on the brink of womanhood. Seated across from him was a woman who would please even the starchiest of men.

  Her long russet brown locks were pulled back into a delicate coil of curls, accentuating her perfect shoulders and neck. Her eyes, wide and clear, sparkled with pleasure and her lips shone with the lightest touch of rouge, and playfully quirked into a smile. Seeing Ava tonight, feminine and all soft curves, hell and damnation, she was beautiful.

  A nearby servant poured them glasses of wine and taking his seat, Tate waited for the first course to be served.

  Ava adjusted her seat, placing the napkin on her lap before meeting his gaze over the highly polished mahogany table.

  “Thank you for coming tonight, I did wonder if you would since the weather has been dreadful today…” her words trailed off as a hot, steaming vegetable soup was placed before them.

  “I do not mind the walk, although with the rain this evening I was grateful for the carriage Mr. Brown sent for me. As short as the ride was, it made the hike a lot less wet underfoot.” Tate almost rolled his eyes at the banal conversation. There was a time when they would share every thought, dream and desire. That they had lost their way, lost each other, maddened him. He frowned, turning to a servant.

  “Wine for us both. Thank you.”

  The young man bowed, quickly going about his duties. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Tate waited for the wine to be poured. “We will call when we’re ready for the next course. Thank you,” he said to the servants, not speaking again until they had all shuffled out the room and he and Ava were alone.

  Finally…

  “There is something that I wish to discuss with you, Ava and it’s probably best that this subject is discussed while we’re alone. And forgive me, but I cannot wait any longer to know what has been vexing me for quite some time.”

  She looked at him wide-eyed, and placed down her glass of wine after taking a sip. “Of course. What is it you wish to say?”

  He leaned back in his chair, idly playing with his soup with the spoon. After a time, he willed himself to speak the words that had been locked inside him for too many years. “Why did you not elope with me?”

  She laid down her spoon, her face ashen. “Why did I not elope with you?” She laughed the sound mocking. “Are you really asking me that question?”

  He nodded, once. “Why?”

  Ava studied him a moment and he could see her trying to understand why he was asking such a question after all these years. But if he didn’t know the truth behind her decision, it would continue to drive him mad.

  “I snuck out of the house in the middle of the night and made my way to our tree. You were not there, but my father was. He informed me that you’d left for London where you were catching a ship to America. He said that you had written and cried off, saying that the understanding that you believed I harbored was a mistake. That I was hoping for a connection that would never eventuate being that you were heir to a dukedom and we were not a family with connections or nobility.”

  A punch to his gut would’ve caused less pain. Tate thought back to that night and the situation that led to his parents coming into his room.

  He’d been packing not five minutes before and had been thankful that they had not seen his small luggage case that was sitting in his dressing room. His mother had sat before the fire on the leatherback chair he’d often read in, his father standing behind her.

  Tate reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the missive that they had handed to him, having retrieved it earlier that day from his ducal estate, determined to find out the reason behind their parting.

  He handed it to Ava, and she reached across, taking it without question before unfolding it and reading the note.

  Horror crossed her features.

  “I, ah…” she bit her lip, gasping as she read the last of the note. “I didn’t write this, Tate.” She looked up at him, shock etched on her sweet visage. “Our parents must have worked together on keeping us apart. My father,” she paused, her eyes welling with tears. “I cannot believe he would hurt me in such a way.” For a moment they stared at each other in silence before she said, “I can only gather from this that the letter your father sent per your favor was not from you either.” She refolded the letter, sliding it across the table to him. “I do not have your father’s letter on me, but I have kept it. I will show it to you tomorrow.”

  “I need to see it now,” he demanded, pushing back his chair to stand. He went around the table and helped Ava out of her seat and, taking her hand, pulled her toward the dining room door. It had been years since he’d touched her in such a way. To have her silk-gloved hand within his own brought back all the longing that he’d had to endure knowing she didn’t want him. A lie that he now believed his parents had fabricate
d.

  A lie he would travel to London and ask his mother about and see if she could explain her despicable actions.

  He wrenched the door open and the footmen who waited for instruction started, standing to attention.

  She’d not scorned him. Did that mean she’d been as heartbroken as he had been all these years without her? The memory of how he’d tried to forget her. The many women he’d bedded, had on call for his desires, all a distraction for a heart that called out for another thought lost. How would he ever make it up to her…?

  Entering the hall, they quickly made their way upstairs. Tate ignored the shocked and inquisitive glances from the staff who viewed an unmarried woman lead a duke into her private quarters.

  He didn’t give a damn about what proprieties he was breaking. The anger that thrummed through his veins at what their parents had done, pushed away any thought of what was right and wrong at this present moment.

  She came to a room at the end of the hall and, casting him a nervous glance, entered.

  Tate leaned against the door’s threshold, not willing to completely breach her private space and yet, for the first time, he glimpsed into her most private of places; her bedroom. Where he’d imagined a more masculine feel for a woman who rode horses and mucked out stables like the best stable lad in Berkshire, her room was all soft tones of blue and pink. The furniture was white and looking about it reminded Tate of a field of flowers on a summer’s day.

  Ava walked over to a small bedside cabinet and opening the drawer, pulled out a folded missive. She came back to him, handing it over.

  He opened and scanned the note quickly. His stomach churned. His mother’s writing. So she had been involved in this scheme to separate them, a scheme that had worked for too many years. But no longer. Not if Ava would have him back.

  “My mother’s writing, I’m afraid.” He folded it and handed it back to her. “I don’t know what to say other than I’m sorry, Ava. I did not think our families could be so cruel as to play such a trick on us both, but alas, it seems that is what has happened.”