It was early, just after midnight. The members of the ton played with a vengeance until the wee hours of the morning and slept in until noon or later afterward.
“Your Grace,” Morris greeted Antonio at the door. “Is everything all right? You’re in early.” He took the duke’s cloak, walking stick, gloves, and silk top hat.
With the exception of the servants, Antonio was alone at the town house.
“Si, Morris. Just a bit tired tonight.”
“I shall alert Haggerty, Your Grace.”
“No, no, Morris, leave him in peace. I’ll be awake for a while yet—in the library.” Heading in that direction, Antonio asked over his shoulder, “Is there brandy?”
“Of course, Your Grace. Will you want anything from the kitchen?”
“I think not.”
The butler bowed and made his way down the hall toward the back of the house.
Antonio strolled into the quiet library, its bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. A single lamp burned on a side table in front the fireplace next to one of two leather-upholstered chairs. Heavy, amber-colored drapes were drawn over the windows opposite the door. Crossing the room, Antonio pulled them open halfway. Looking out at the clear, night sky, he noticed a new moon riding overhead, shining its dim light onto the side garden.
He unlocked the hasp and opened one window to let in the cool night air, taking a deep breath. The odors wafting from outside smelled of Town, and he grimaced. During the heat of summer, an unpleasant stench rose from London’s crowded thoroughfares, even in Mayfair. Antonio missed the fresh, pungent aroma of the grassy Kent countryside. Things there, he knew, were bursting into bloom. Had it been only three weeks since he had run into Caroline at the stream?
Antonio had felt a sense of guilt ever since, something he hadn’t been able to shake off. He’d been a cad. It was extremely unfair of him to tease and taunt her so. What did he care if she rode across Westhaven’s lands? Even though he brought it up to Hal the day he spied the trespasser, neither she nor her brother confessed. Perhaps, Hal didn’t know. But someday he’d learn why Caroline had lied to him.
He had used his false anger to take advantage of her…to maul her. Nombre de Dios! He couldn’t forget the alluring sight of her wading in the stream, her luscious curves fully visible through the wet, almost transparent shirt and chemise. And those skintight breeches filled with her deliciously rounded buttocks…
Her ripe appeal played havoc across his mind’s eye, memory indulging his lust.
His groin tightened.
Turning away from the window, Antonio removed his wrinkled silk cravat and laid it over a chair back. His black evening jacket and satin waistcoat followed. He unfastened several studs, unbuttoning his shirt. He walked to the sideboard next to the fireplace and poured himself a brandy. Then, taking both decanter and the snifter with him, he placed them on the small table near a chair facing the fireplace. Dropping his lean frame onto the chair’s thick cushions, he slumped, stretched his legs, and stared into the ashes of what had been a small blaze. Taking a large quantity of the potent liquor into his mouth, he rolled it around on his tongue then slowly swallowed, relishing its fiery burn as it traveled down his gullet.
Sighing deeply, his face pensive, Antonio directed his mind to his dilemma—Caroline Lockler. Resting his head against the chair’s high back, he shut his eyes.
Visions of her haunted him. He’d seduced her quite easily beneath the willow tree. Sexual intercourse between them had been very close. He wondered why she’d bolted like a frightened rabbit. He knew she’d been enjoying what he was doing to her.
The duke warmed the snifter in his palms. She’d given him no invitation to employ his ardent lovemaking. Not one coy glance, no fluttering lashes. Not a one. He’d been the aggressor.
His forehead puckered, remembering the first time he’d met her, all grown up. For him, the attraction had been immediate.
Guilt made Antonio groan aloud as he swirled the amber liquor in his glass, and he was glad there wasn’t anyone to hear. Swallowing another sizeable mouthful of brandy, he realized he’d consumed the dregs left in his glass. He poured more, a more generous amount this time.
Dios! His libido grew hot for Hal’s sister whenever he thought of her. He still wanted her; he couldn’t get past that. But he knew she would be wary of him, and rightly so, after that day at the stream, and would probably avoid him—even refuse to speak to him.
Hal once told Antonio that their father’s illness and demise had devastated Caroline. It was partially because her husband was a replacement for a father figure. Her second loss must have torn the heart out of her when her husband, too, died so suddenly two months later. Reacting in spite of himself, Antonio admired what a stoic she must’ve been to go through those painful months.
His thoughts shifted to the first time he saw her on that black stallion. Caramba! The girl could ride. She was beautiful to watch, streaking recklessly across the meadow like the wind. If she could be taught the ‘airs,’ she would be magnificent on one of his beautiful Andalusians.
It was unfortunate she had excused her visit to Westhaven with Hal and hadn’t seen his Spanish horses. He must get her on one of his horses soon!
He poured another generous dollop of liquor.
Antonio rose to his feet and wavered slightly, more than a little foxed after the brandy he’d consumed. Still restless and in his cups, he wobbled around the library. Idly, he ran an index finger across the volumes on the bookshelves. Pausing next to a large world globe encased in its wooden stand beside the ornate desk, he reached down and set it twirling. His thoughts were pinned onto a far distant, warmer, sunnier place.
The brandy was having its effect—unwanted ideas bored into his brain.
He wished he could take Caroline home with him—to Spain—show her the beauty of his Andalucia. He envisioned them riding the sand hills of his country together, spending hours in the riding hall, training to enhance both their skills and that of the young horses they would raise.
He braced a shaky hand against the large desk.
What kind of nonsense was this? The only way he could take her to Spain was as his wife. And he wasn’t ready to marry anyone. No, definitely not. Why else had he announced his intentions to any lady with whom he dallied? He would not entertain long term commitments. No, he didn’t plan to marry for many years hence.
Still, his liquor-dazed brain continued to play its games.
If he were to take a wife, any wife, his common sense told him he couldn’t make a better choice than Caroline Lockler. She was of noble blood, an English aristocrat. She was the right age and lovely to look at. Even more to her credit was their mutual love for horses. Antonio could think of no other woman of his acquaintance—except Briella, perhaps—who had the skill and affection for the animals he dearly loved.
“No! I won’t even consider it!” he exclaimed aloud.
Dizzy after the amount of brandy he’d consumed, he realized he shouldn’t have stood up. He swayed from side to side. Raising his glass to his lips, he emptied it and vehemently shook his head to clear it.
Yet, the germ of an idea persisted.
It would be good to share his dream with someone. What an empire he and Caroline might build together!
Chuckling like an empty-headed fool, Antonio staggered back toward the chair and the small table beside it. When he picked up the brandy decanter, it felt light. He held it up to the glow of the gas lamp. A half inch of liquor remained. Catching himself so as not to fall flat on his face, he wavered, leaning heavily against the chair as he emptied the rest of the liquid into his glass. He slid around the chair and fell onto the cushions, his eyes half closed. One forearm draped over the chair’s arm. The snifter hung loose in his fingers. Weary, he rubbed bleary eyes with the other hand, pinched the bridge of his nose then threaded fingers through what was once his carefully combed coiffure. His foggy brain persisted in bringing forth reminders of Caroline Lockler. Why
the devil couldn’t he forget her? Get her out of his system? He certainly tried.
“Dammit to hell!” he cursed aloud.
She was pretty enough—beautiful even. But then so were dozens he’d flirted and danced with, as well as made love to during the Season. None deviled him like the lovely country widow. He dallied with others while trying to forget her, but he wasn’t able to wipe her image from his mind. Not at all. She still plagued him. Why?
Caroline had lied to him on at least one occasion, yet still he sensed her innate honesty. The knowledge that she wasn’t expert enough to coquette like some women he knew was a plus. Could that be the lure she threw out so innocently and thereby used to entice unsuspecting males into her snare? Was that an act…or was she truly naïve and vulnerable?
He almost felt as if she needed protection—from him.
“Very likely,” he growled.
But she clearly couldn’t be untouched. After all, she had been married—and was now a beauteous widow.
Sliding deeper into his cups, Antonio felt even guiltier about how he’d pestered and pursued her so mercilessly. Raising the snifter, he saw it was empty. Reaching out, he grabbed for the decanter, and found that it, too, was empty. He let the snifter slip from his nerveless fingers to the thick carpet, where it landed with a muted thump. He leaned the back of his head against the chair, eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. His mind roamed further.
Hal’s sister had married a man more than twice her age. Perhaps the old baron had taught her nothing about making love, but had simply taken his own pleasure and left her wanting. Was that it? Was that why her eager responses to him were so inexperienced, felt so new to him, and it seemed to her, too, the way she behaved?
Antonio’s head swam with intoxication, but Caroline continued to perplex him.
An unwanted thought he’d suppressed earlier sneaked onto the foreground of his alcohol-besotted brain. If they were to marry, he could quench this impossible need to have her—over and over, again and again—until he was completely satisfied.
Would that be so bad? His father wanted an heir to secure the Weston title. What fine sons Caroline would give him. And, Caramba! How he would enjoy breeding her. Hal’s luscious sister fit so perfectly in his arms…soft, warm and responsive. She had smelled…like roses…and tasted like a blend of heady, red, Spanish wine.
“El Diablo!” Antonio exclaimed to no one but himself. “I must see her again! I must apologize.” Desire flamed furiously through his bloodstream just as fiercely as the potent liquor. He needed…he needed to…what? He wasn’t sure what, but he must go to her or he’d go loco.
Antonio struggled to his feet. Less than steady, he shouted, “Morrish! Haggeree! Come at onesh! I wash my carrish, damn you! Get me dresshed!
“I’m right here, Your Grace.” Morris appeared as if by magic at the library door.
Antonio squinted through thick lashes and drooping eyelids. He shook his head weakly.
Dios! Was there two of Morris standing in the doorway?
It was the first time the butler had ever seen the Duke totally foxed.
Antonio waved an imperious hand. “Morrish, goin’ to Wesshaven now. Tonight,” the duke persisted. “Need my carrish.”
Morris quickly crossed the room. With an arm around his employer’s waist, the butler steadied Antonio as he staggered his way into the hall, guiding the peer to the stairs leading to the sleeping chambers. “Your Grace,” he reminded him. “Lady Elizabeth, Lady Briella and your Aunt Mari will soon return. I don’t think you want them to see you in this condition.”
Antonio was still arguing that he must leave, be on his way to Kent tonight. Hearing the commotion on the stairs, Haggerty came to assist.
“No, no! Got to go to Wesshaven. Call for my co…co…”
Suddenly, Antonio was bombarded by a series of hiccoughs. “Need…the co…co…sh…man,” he pleaded, trying to control his convulsing diaphragm.
As young and strong as Antonio was, he could not fend off the pair of determined hands undressing him. “All is well, Your Grace. I’ll order your carriage. Everything shall be as you wish. Now lie back for a bit, and I’ll see to it.” With a nod, Morris sought Haggerty’s agreement. Between them, the men stripped Antonio of his clothes, pulled the covers up to his chin, and tucked him into bed as naked the day he was born.
“Never seen the likes of him so tucked, Morris. What did him in?”
“Car-o-o-umm,” Antonio mumbled softly, smacking his lips and tossing his head from side to side before drifting into a drunken slumber.
“It’s a bit o’fluff, I expect, botherin’ him, Haggerty. He’ll forget her in the mornin’. Like the rest o’ them,” the butler said, shaking his head. The two menservants wished each other goodnight and left for their beds, their work finished for the night.
Chapter 11
A hazy sun vainly tried to pierce the smoky pall that hung over London. The time was barely ten o’clock. Antonio was angry with both Morris and Haggerty and railed at both of them when his valet opened the drapes, letting sunlight filter into his bedchamber. He groaned aloud from beneath the several pillows he’d pulled over his head to cover his eyes.
However, soon rationality prevailed and he begged, “Help me, Haggerty. Do something quick. Get me coffee and a headache powder…now!”
Damnation, the pain!
Antonio decided the ungodly pain was caused by hammer blows of a brawny smithy against metal while shaping a horseshoe and pounded in rhythm on his poor, bloated brain. Bleary-eyed and forcing bile to stay down in a stomach that threatened to spew every time he turned his head too fast, he soon realized that it would have been folly to start out for Kent last night. Not only would the trip have been dangerous, he couldn’t have barged into Crestwood Manor asking to see Caroline at four o’clock in the morning, stinking of brandy, and looking jug bitten.
His raw throat was parched, his eyes must’ve looked red-rimmed, and his hands shook like he’d contracted palsy. Antonio made it out of bed although it took some effort. With assistance from Haggerty, he cast up his accounts in the chamber pot—twice—then lay back on the mattress, mewling like a dying cat. However, with Morris and Haggerty’s constant ministrations, within a span of an hour, Antonio was on his feet, wobbly, but bathed, shaved and dressed.
A persistent throb reverberated between Antonio’s ears with a hellish, unending clanging. When Morris knocked and announced himself a second time, bringing the duke a loaded breakfast tray, Antonio winced. His countenance turned furious.
“Get the devil out of here this minute, Morris!” he exclaimed, too soon. He should never have raised his voice. Tenderly, Antonio placed both palms against his aching temples. Meanwhile Morris backed out of the room slowly, his mouth twitching in sadistic amusement.
Not totally recuperated from his night’s debauchery, Antonio left Weston House after penning a wiggly-written message to his grandmother and sister. Both were still abed.
The vehicle reached Westhaven Hall in mid-afternoon, transporting a snoring, sound asleep duke, curled up on one of the coach’s cushioned benches. He awakened a second time and grimaced, certain the queen’s army had marched through his mouth during the trip.
The first thing he did inside the manor was to order his card sent to Caroline, adding a verbal request with the footman for permission to visit her about an urgent matter. After his night’s solo bout of drinking, he was desperate to come to grips with his wild ramblings. That first chore completed, he splashed two fingers of brandy into a glass, sipped it slowly, and waited for a reply from Crestwood, pacing around his study.
The Westhaven footman returned within the hour, announcing that Hal Newton and his sister had left for London the previous afternoon. Antonio’s face reflected a mixture of annoyance and frustrated disappointment when he heard the news.
“Did the butler tell you where they were staying?” he questioned his footman.
“No, Your Grace. Their butler was not
generous with information.”
“Damn.” Antonio let his anger show. “I feel as if I’m on a roundabout. I’ll have to return to London. Have my coach brought around with two fresh pair in the slats. I want to leave in twenty minutes.”
* * * *
Antonio arrived back in London before his relatives left Weston House for the round of the evening’s entertainments. “Good heavens,” his grandmother greeted Antonio. “Are you wearing wheel ruts in the road between here and Kent? I heard you were gone by noon, and here you are back at seven. What’s going on, my boy?”
“I had business at Westhaven, abuelita.” And, he thought to himself, at Crestwood. “Has Briella heard from Crestwood?”
“Here she comes now. You’ll have to ask her, Antonio.”
“Ah, buenos tarde, Tonio,” Briella greeted her brother as she descended the long staircase, trailing elegant, manicured fingernails along the sleek, polished oak handrail. “We weren’t expecting you back quite so soon. Is something wrong?”
“Nada, no, Briella. Nothing is wrong, hermana. I was only wondering if you’d seen Hal today.”
“Oh, yes, Tonio, and I learned Caroline has come to Town, too. I’ll be happy to see her again. I told Hal you’d gone to Westhaven, but we’ve made plans to meet him and Caroline at the Nashes’ later this evening. Now that you’re back, will you join us?”
“Excelente, chica. Yes, I’ll escort you and abuelita there. At what time do you meet?”
“At ten.”
“Bueno. It will give me time to bathe and dress. Are you dining in?”
“Si, Tonio. Grandmama and I were about to do so, but we will wait for you. Tia Mari is not accompanying us tonight. She asked for a tray in her room.”
“No need for you to wait on me, Briella. I want nothing to eat.” His innards hadn’t settled completely yet. “Until then, con su permiso, I’ll rid myself of these travel stains.”
The Reluctant Duke Page 10