The Duke's Daring Debutante (Regency Historical Romance)

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Freddy,’ she demanded, pulling at his shoulders, wanting the weight of him against her hot, demanding skin.

  His gaze searched her face as if seeking an answer to a question he had not posed.

  Had she been too bold? Too demanding? Was he a man who preferred to take control?

  Right at this moment she didn’t care. She wanted, no, she needed, what his kisses promised. She raised herself up on her elbows, pressing small kisses to the line of his lightly stubbled jaw, the rasp against her lips an erotic reminder of his masculinity. Heat bloomed upwards from her belly. Her core ached.

  She grazed her teeth against his throat.

  One lithe spring and he landed on the mattress beside her, his weight rolling her towards him as he cupped her face in his large, warm hands, his gaze fixed on her face. ‘There is no chance of going back after this. No possibility of crying off.’

  Dark warning filled his voice. And triumph.

  Her mind cleared of the sensual haze that had held her in thrall. The realisation that once again he was using the attraction between them, her weakness, to control her, as Pierre had. Using her for his own purposes. And when he had what he wanted, what then? Would he leave her in this house with his mother and continue with his life, honour and duty satisfied?

  The very idea was a betrayal, yet without question all a convenient wife could hope for.

  ‘That was not our agreement.’ She pushed at his shoulder. ‘I believe it is time you returned to your own chamber.’

  Bleakness filled his eyes. ‘Your idea of our agreement, you mean.’

  ‘The betrothal lasts only until Moreau is in custody.’

  In one swift move he left the bed and picked up his robe. ‘Then you need to stop playing with fire.’

  He unlocked the door and left her with her body humming with desire and her heart feeling as if it had been ripped in two.

  Because what she had seen in his eyes had been frustration, but also, she thought, hurt. Was it possible, when all that was between them was the need to bring down a traitorous spy? It hardly seemed likely. And that meant she was allowing her own emotions to colour her judgement.

  * * *

  The next morning, Minette wasn’t sure whether to expect Freddy to take her driving or not. She’d met with the gardener, discussed what was available from the flowerbeds and greenhouses and prepared a list of what would have to be ordered from the nurseryman he had recommended. Then she’d gone upstairs and dressed for riding. Now ready and waiting in the drawing room, she could not help wondering if Freddy would, after her rejection of his advances, set out alone. Or she might have if she hadn’t known deep in her heart that he was a man to whom his honour meant a great deal. He would keep his word.

  When he entered the drawing room in breeches and top boots that set off his muscular legs, and a coat that skimmed wide shoulders she knew intimately, she was both relieved and saddened. Relieved that he had kept his promise and saddened that they could never be more than friends. If that. Likely he would want nothing at all to do with her after this was over.

  A cool gaze swept her person. A nod of approval. ‘The horses are saddled.’

  So they were back to chilly distance. She felt the loss but had to be glad. It would be easier to keep her own longings in check. And yet from the way her pulse fluttered she was no closer to keeping her longings under control this morning than she had been the previous night.

  He escorted her out to the stableyard, where the horses stood ready. A small chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead and three white stockings carried the lady’s saddle. The mare tossed her head and sidled, pleasing Minette no end. She’d half expected him to order her a quiet horse. The other animal was a beautiful bay gelding with black points.

  They mounted up and set off down the drive. Both horses were fresh and ready to run, but well behaved enough to hold steady in the trot.

  ‘What is your plan for this morning? Go to Maidstone and see if he is there?’ she asked.

  ‘Too obvious. I wrote to the commanding officer and warned him to keep an eye out for unusual activity. He’s a man I knew at university.’

  ‘And us?’

  ‘We protect Falconwood. I thought about it last night. If the occupants of the house are his target, he will need a base of operations.’

  The frost in his matter-of-fact tone, the lack of the warmth she’d begun to enjoy in his company was a painful reminder of her rejection of him the previous evening. It was exactly what she had wanted. Then why did it hurt?

  ‘A local inn, perhaps? We could ask at those close by.’

  He nodded. ‘We could but I have a better idea. The vicar’s wife, Mrs Farmer, knows everything and everyone in the district. She will know if any strangers have moved into the parish.’ He shot her a hard look. ‘She would also expect a visit from the future Duchess of Falconwood, given that it is a family tradition to be wed in the parish church.’

  Minette tried not to wince. It was terrible how many people they were involving in their lie. Yet it made perfect sense. No one would question their reason for visiting this Mrs Farmer, thus they would not alert Moreau should he be nearby.

  ‘Will she not be offended by my arriving in such a fashion?’ Ladies did not call in their riding habits as a general rule.

  ‘We will make a formal visit later in the week,’ he said. ‘Mrs Farmer is an old friend. She will be delighted to see us. News travels fast in the country and she would be disappointed if I did not land on her doorstep my first morning home.’

  ‘Mrs Farmer holds a special place in your life?’

  ‘The Reverend Farmer was tutor to me and my brother. He used to bring us home with him sometimes for tea and scones. They were kind.’ His dark eyes shuttered. ‘Especially kind during my convalescence.’

  Minette could remember what it was like to have neighbours who cared for one. Without them she would have perished on the day of the fire. They had hidden her away from the soldiers for days, before they had passed her on to a group of nuns who were escaping the area.

  In the end, it hadn’t done her a bit of good because she had ended up in Moreau’s hands. But they had tried to help and if she ever saw them again she would want to express her gratitude.

  It was another perfect June day and the ride to the village church took a scant twenty minutes. A man working in the small front garden of the stone house beside the church came and took their horses. By the time they had walked up the path to the front door a maid was waiting to greet them. She showed them into a comfortably furnished parlour. A plump grey-haired woman in a lace cap and a plain chintz gown rose as they entered.

  ‘Your Grace,’ the woman said, dipping a curtsey. ‘How good of you to call so soon after arrival at Falconwood.’

  ‘I am glad we found you home, since we sent no warning. Is your husband around?’

  ‘Called out to visit a parishioner, I’m afraid. The Widow Redfurn. She’s been ill in her bed for days.’ Her glance went to Minette, her grey eyes twinkling.

  ‘May I introduce you to my betrothed, Miss Minette Rideau,’ Freddy said.

  The woman curtseyed again. If she had notice the strain in Freddy’s voice she didn’t show it. But Minette had noticed. Clearly he did not like deceiving this woman. She held out a hand. ‘I am very glad to meet you, madame. His Grace has informed me of your past kindness.’

  Mrs Farmer blushed and beamed with pleasure. ‘My husband and I have always been fond of Freddy, him and his brother. Pair of mischievous lads. Always up to something they were.’

  Freddy’s expression softened. ‘And we knew where to come when we were in a scrape.’

  Mrs Farmer smiled at Minette. ‘My husband had a soft spot for those two lads. Not an ounce of malice in either of them, he always says. It was the worst of bad luck, that acc
ident. And so I’ll say to anyone who asks.’

  Her voice held a bit of a challenge, for which Minette felt grateful on Freddy’s behalf. Before she could ask about this rush to defend him, Mrs Farmer gestured for them to sit. ‘You will take tea?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Freddy deposited his hat on a side table and helped Minette to sit, before sprawling beside her on the sofa. ‘Tell us all the news. It is an age since I was here. How fares everyone?’

  Having rung the bell for tea, Mrs Farmer sat down and began to talk about what seemed like an endless list of people. The tea tray arrived. The tea was drunk and still the gossip continued. Minette did her best to look interested when she was dying for Freddy to ask the all-important question.

  ‘Mrs Pearson’s husband died last year, you know,’ the woman said, leaning forward with a sad expression. ‘She moved to Yorkshire to live with her daughter.’

  ‘Did she sell the house?’ Freddy asked.

  Mrs Farmer shook her head. ‘Leasing. She was at her wits’ end, with no one local interested. She had to leave a solicitor to handle the matter.’

  ‘Really?’ Freddy said.

  ‘It will be a blessing if she can find a tenant. If not she’ll have to let it go and her Sammy always swore it would go to his grandson. It would be a real blow if she can’t honour his wishes.’

  ‘Have her to send word to me,’ Freddy said. ‘I could likely make use of the land, if not the house.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mrs Farmer looked surprised.

  ‘What is it?’ Freddy asked.

  She shook her head.

  ‘You asked Mother,’ Freddy said in a flat tone.

  Her face coloured. ‘I mentioned it, but she said that while she could see you purchasing the land, Mrs Pearson’s pure foolishness in wanting to keep it was not to be encouraged.’

  Freddy got to his feet. ‘As I said, if she doesn’t find a tenant have her write to me.’ He turned to Minette. ‘It is time we were going if I am to show you more of the estate, my dear.’

  They made their farewells, and Minette promised she would call with Freddy later in the week and discuss arrangements for the wedding with the Reverend.

  * * *

  ‘You didn’t ask her about strangers.’

  She sounded worried, as if she feared he could not protect her from this Moreau. A stinging blow to his ego indeed. Or perhaps it was simply part of the game she was playing with him. A way to lull him into a false sense of security. ‘Asking would only make her curious. She would have told me if anyone new had moved in or been asking questions.’

  The furrow in her brow said she was not entirely satisfied. ‘So what do we do now? Seek him in Maidstone?’

  ‘Hardly. Not with the ball in the offing.’

  ‘You would let Moreau go free for the sake of a stupid ball?’

  He decided to be honest. Up to a point. ‘It is not stupid. The coincidence of the ball and Moreau travelling to this district at the same time is too much to discount.’

  ‘You think to let him come to you. It is a very dangerous ploy.’

  So intelligent. Whatever she had been doing in France she had not been sitting in a nunnery, saying prayers. Her appearance at the Ramsgate and her responses to his far-from-respectable kisses meant she had been involved in something far less innocent, something dangerous. And Moreau was at the heart of it. And was she warning him? Or pushing him one way so he would go in the direction she preferred?

  The way he did with Mother.

  He would have to tread very carefully if he was going to find out exactly where she stood in regard to this Frenchman. He’d hoped to gain her trust, but since he hadn’t he would have to treat her as an enemy, until proved otherwise. ‘Do you have a better idea?’

  ‘How can you stop him, if someone at the ball is his ultimate goal?’

  ‘We will watch. I would like to take a look at this farm that is up for lease. If I recall it correctly, it is quite isolated.’

  ‘Oh.’ She nodded and brightened considerably. ‘Yes. It is the sort of thing that would be very useful. A place to hide. Do we go there now?’

  ‘That is where we are headed.’

  ‘You don’t think we will scare him off?’

  ‘If a tenant had taken up residence, Mrs Farmer would have told us. There isn’t an ant that moves in this parish without her knowing.’

  To his surprise, Minette blushed. The realisation why hit him a second later. ‘The servants at the manor are completely trustworthy. Mother wouldn’t allow anything else. One word of gossip about the doings of Falconwood and they would be tossed out onto the street.’

  ‘Your mother is a formidable woman.’

  ‘True.’ He grinned. Couldn’t help it. ‘Not looking forward to your interview later?’

  ‘I think it is going to be difficult. The head gardener was astonished that I was meeting with him and kept saying he would have to check with the “missus”.’

  Anger scored his insides, which were already raw enough. ‘I’ll have a word with him.’

  ‘I really don’t think we should be upsetting your mother to no purpose.’

  He repressed the urge to tell her that he didn’t care what she thought was going to happen after they caught Moreau, they would be wed. One battle at a time. It was wisdom he’d learned early. And this particular battle wasn’t going to be easily won.

  Beyond the village he turned off the main road and up one of the lanes that wound its way from farm to farm. The Pearson place was one of the most remote. They rode side by side at an easy walk, each apparently busy with their own thoughts. A rabbit darted out in front of them. Her mare startled and tossed its head but she quickly brought it under control. Whereas with another woman he might have moved closer ready to grab the reins, he merely gave her room to manoeuvre. She gave him a small smile of triumph as the horse quickly settled.

  He’d already seen that she had an excellent seat and managed the spirited mare with ease. It pleased him to watch her lithe body sink into her saddle, her competent hands guiding the mare. He pictured them riding around the estate together, visiting tenants, discussing plans. He stilled. He was thinking like the Duke of Falconwood. Not like the second son. It was a bit of a shock to realise he was coming to accept his role in life. Because she would be part of it.

  This would be his last job for Sceptre.

  It would have to be. A man with a wife, with the kind of responsibilities that went with the dukedom, could not continue to play ducks and drakes with the estate’s future by letting Mother have a free hand as he had been doing these past several years. It needed a different hand on the reins, according to his steward. Mother had too many old-fashioned notions. He’d seen the evidence of that on their ride this morning. The idea of serving the place where he grew up no longer felt like a penance. Not if he had the help of a woman he cared about. Liked. Lusted after. None of those words seemed to cover exactly what he felt for Minette, although he certainly felt all of them. And he still wasn’t sure she’d have him, not in the way he wanted, on terms he would have to make clear before the wedding, if he was going to be fair.

  The hedgerows were full of dog roses and the air redolent with their scent. The likelihood of meeting traffic on such a remote lane was slight, but it would be better to be sure. At the first gate they came upon, he called a halt. ‘We’ll cut across country.’ He lifted the latch with his crop and ushered her through.

  The mare rolled her eyes but trotted through as nice as you please. Minette held her at a stand while he closed the gate behind them.

  ‘Which way?’ she asked.

  ‘Straight across.’

  She eyed the distance with a look of mischief. ‘I wager I can be over the wall before you. I dare you.’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  The mare needed
little encouragement. ‘En avant, Freddy,’ she cried over her shoulder over the thud of hoofbeats.

  Freddy urged his horse to follow. Damnation, she was a fine horsewoman. There was no doubt he would win but... His heart rose in his throat as he recalled the nasty drop on the other side of the wall.

  ‘Minette. Stop,’ he yelled, encouraging his gelding to greater effort when she didn’t appear to hear him.

  His heart pounded in his chest. His vision narrowed to one horse, one rider and the looming wall. The image of a twisted, broken body careened through his mind. Not his brother’s this time but hers. And then they were neck and neck. He threw himself off his mount and grabbed at her horse’s headstall, using his weight to bring the animal to a bone-wrenching halt. The mare stood, chest heaving, three short yards from the low stone wall, while his own mount swerved, slowed and started cropping at the grass a short distance away.

  Fury in her eyes, she raised her crop. ‘Idiot. Qu’est-ce tu fais?’

  He grabbed the whip from her hand and threw it down. ‘You are the idiot. Do you know what is on the other side of that wall? No. Of course you don’t. You’d sooner get yourself killed than lose a race.’ Nausea rolled through his gut as he heard his voice speak the words that had resided so long deep in his soul. He took a step back. Pain shot up his leg. Damn it. He’d twisted his ankle. Furious, he let go of the bridle and hobbled across the grass to collect his mount.

  When he had himself mounted and his horse turned around she was at the wall, looking over. She glanced over at him with an expression of chagrin.

  ‘Mon Dieu. One would never guess the ditch was there.’ She gave a little shudder. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  His heart refused to settle. His blood was surging hot in his veins. His throat was still dry. ‘Even a schoolboy knows better than to go at a hedge he has never seen before.’

  A red flush spread upwards over her face. ‘Perhaps an English schoolboy,’ she shot back. ‘In France our boys have more courage.’

  A red haze blurred his vision. The picture of her broken and bleeding on the ground slithered across his mind. ‘Courage? Crass stupidity, more like. Perhaps you need to be led.’