A Most Unlikely Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  Chapter 9

  Gabriella stared. How utterly unfair of him to look like that, his posture stretching and bunching his perfectly tailored jacket in a way that accentuated the width of his chest and the breadth of his shoulders, his body exuding physical strength while the chiseled sweep of his nose and jawline accentuated the soft curve of his lips. Feeling parched, Gabriella struggled against the dryness in her throat until she finally managed to utter a gravelly, “No.” She should have said yes, she reflected, and sent him away. Instead, he pushed himself away from the doorway and strode toward her with the distinct presence of a man who never allowed the opinions of others to affect him.

  Knowing he had no choice but to bow to social norms now—to change everything about himself for the sake of appearances—had to be frustrating. His candid dislike of the aristocracy meant that he probably had to deny a great many principles in order to embrace a life among them. That he would do so for his sisters was extraordinarily noble.

  “Amelia and Juliette are making excellent progress,” Gabriella said, her voice a little sharper than she would have liked.

  Pausing, he looked down at her. His features were more relaxed today, his eyes radiating a startling degree of warmth that seemed to spill over her. The slightest dimple appeared at the edge of his lips, in perfect accordance with her escalating heartbeat. In one easy move, he claimed the seat beside her, his sudden closeness disrupting her trained control in a trice. Pushing the palm of her hand into the seat cushion beneath her, Gabriella sought to reacquire some measure of stability in the midst of the strange storm that tore its way through her.

  “Then you must be an excellent teacher,” he murmured, his words somehow managing to linger between them like unspoken promises.

  What was she thinking? He was being perfectly cordial. There was no reason at all for her to suppose this bizarre attraction . . . She drew a breath. No. She couldn’t possibly be attracted to him, a man she’d met only days before on the pavement in front of his home when she’d mistaken him for a servant. And yet . . . no other man had ever affected her in such an uncomfortable way. It had to be his unusualness that made her react so. Yes. That was it. She simply wasn’t accustomed to dealing with a man who was so . . . different from the other gentlemen of her acquaintance.

  And then, while his sisters proclaimed that indeed she was the best teacher in the world and proceeded to praise her to the heavens, Huntley reached for her hand, the unexpected touch stealing through her with fiery sparks of awareness. It was all Gabriella could do not to forget to breathe, her dazed mind barely registering the gentle scrape of a callused thumb against her soft skin as he raised the hand slowly to his lips.

  She could not look at him, but neither could she look away, which presented something of a conundrum. The kiss was airy—scarcely a touch at all. Nevertheless, it sent heat rushing through her veins, scorching her from the inside out while her heart beat in concert with her ragged exhalations of breath.

  Aware of the crimson that surely blanketed her cheeks and temples, Gabriella closed her eyes just briefly enough to regain what little composure she had left. “Thank you, Your Grace. It has been a pleasure getting to know them better.” With a gentle tug, she drew her hand away from his and willed the sensations he’d stirred in her to abate. This was wrong. She ought to feel this way about Fielding, for whom she’d hardly spared a thought since her arrival here. Sobered by guilt, she managed a cooler tone when she spoke again. “You’ll be pleased to know that they’ve applied themselves diligently the entire morning.”

  His gaze drifted to the table where Amelia had placed the book that Gabriella had brought with her. His eyebrows rose as he reached for it, studied it and set it back down. “My secretary gave me somethin’ similar: The Gentleman Instructed, In the Conduct of a Virtuous and ‘appy Life.” Leaning back, he stretched out his legs in a casual pose of relaxation. “If I do as it suggests, my days will be filled with nothin’ but social visits. Frankly, I don’t know ’ow gentlemen get anythin’ practical done when they ’ave—have—to call on any friend who has recently returned from a journey, who requires an expression of joy or sympathy, upon ‘is host at any party immediately followin’ the event, upon any lady who’s accepted ‘is escort . . . the list goes on.”

  “I suppose that’s why gentlemen value their secretaries so much,” Gabriella said with a teasing smirk. “They obviously need someone to manage their busy schedules.”

  His eyes caught hers, twinkling in response to her comment—just long enough to convey his appreciation of her sarcasm. But then he sighed and shook his head, dislodging a lock that settled across his brow. “It’s not very efficient, is it?” He grinned then. “If it were up to me I’d let the calls accumulate and then put everyone together in one room, say whatever needed to be said, offer a bit of tea, and be done with it in ‘alf an hour or less.”

  Gabriella laughed. “How enterprising of you!”

  “But,” he added, all traces of humor fading, “I don’t suppose I should worry too much since I ‘ave no friends to call on yet.”

  “You will, I believe,” Gabriella assured him. “Eventually.”

  “Because I’m a duke and everyone will wish to know me?”

  “There is that,” she agreed, “but there’s also the man you are without the title—your character and your personality. You needn’t change either just because you’re learning to speak and conduct yourself differently. In fact, I think it would be a shame if you did.”

  His eyes stayed on her for a long moment, and then he suddenly turned toward his sisters, who’d fallen into their own conversation. “May I see what Lady Gabriella has taught ye?”

  Gabriella flinched, startled by the sudden change of mood, but she quickly recovered, straightened her back and smiled at the two sisters. “Juliette. Why don’t you begin?”

  Rising with great hesitation, Juliette’s confidence seemed to grow increasingly fragile as she moved about the room. Clearly, Huntley’s perusal was making her too self-conscious. “Just relax,” Gabriella told her gently. “You’re doing very well.”

  “Shouldn’t she hold her head a bit higher?” Huntley asked.

  Juliette faltered, her body jerking slightly as she turned with a strained expression that conveyed deep concentration with an underlying hint of defeat. Gabriella’s lips thinned. She turned to Huntley, who was clearly the cause of his sister’s distress, most likely because she’d hoped to impress him and wasn’t self-assured enough to bear his comment as anything other than a criticism aimed at her. “I suppose you think you can do better?” Gabriella asked.

  The duke started just enough for Gabriella to appreciate his discomfort. His expression tightened, producing a slight strain in his jawline. “Probably not,” he admitted.

  “Oh?” She gave him a frank stare. “Perhaps you shouldn’t comment on the progress of others unless you have something positive to say, then?”

  “I’m sorry, Julie,” Huntley told his sister with a touching degree of sincerity. “I didn’t mean to sound critical. Please,” he moved his chin in his sister’s direction, “do continue.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, the sisters showed their brother everything Gabriella had taught them that morning, including how to pour drinks for guests. No other mistakes were made, which led to an impressive smile of appreciation from Huntley as soon as the demonstration was over. He clapped his hands. “Well done!”

  His enthusiastic praise lifted Gabriella’s spirits in a way nothing else ever had. She felt a strong sense of accomplishment, even though she knew this was only the beginning. “There is still a lot of ground for us to cover before you’re ready, but if your dedication doesn’t change, I suspect you will both obtain the admiration you deserve.”

  “What about me?” Huntley asked. “Do ye think I’ll receive the admiration I deserve?”

  Swallowing, Gabriella tried to keep her expression as bland as possible. “If you apply yourself as well as Juliette
and Amelia, then I’m sure you will.”

  He rolled his eyes in an unapologetic way. “Richardson expects me to learn about opera an’ some famous composer called Beathoevan.”

  “It’s pronounced Batehoven, Your Grace, and Richardson is correct. There are certain subjects that you will be expected to be familiar with in order to converse with the ladies and gentlemen you meet.”

  “Can’t I just talk about current events? I’ve been readin’ the papers fer as long as I can remember, keepin’ up to date on politics an’ such. T’would make fer a more interestin’ debate.”

  “I’m sure it would,” Gabriella agreed, “But discussing politics in public is considered vulgar for precisely that reason, which is why gentlemen tend to address these matters in the privacy of their clubs.”

  “Sounds stupid.”

  Gabriella couldn’t resist laughing. “Perhaps it does, but it prevents tempers from rising on account of differing views.”

  “Hmm.” He didn’t seem to agree. “Is there anythin’ else that I should avoid talkin’ about?”

  “Religion,” she said. “As with politics, this is an area that can easily rile and offend. Instead, I would suggest focusing on books you’ve read or the arts—even the weather will do if you can think of nothing else.”

  “If ye take a look at the paintings ye own,” Juliette suggested, “ye can talk about that. I’ve noticed a couple of De Latours upstairs as well as a Rubens in the library.”

  “Yes,” Gabriella agreed with a few rapid blinks. She was somewhat surprised by Juliette’s unexpected knowledge about painters. “Your library is an excellent resource in general. I suggest you make good use of it.”

  “Thank you,” Huntley said, his voice a deep and honest conveyance of gratitude.

  Fearing her own voice might betray her, Gabriella nodded her response with a smile. “Well then,” she said, determined to remove herself from Huntley’s presence before her legs grew too weak to walk. “I really must—”

  “Tell me somethin’, me lady,” Huntley said, interrupting her without further ado.

  Gabriella drew a fortifying breath. “Yes?

  “What does someone like ye do fer sport?”

  She blinked at that. “For sport?”

  “I mean, ye don’t work, which surely gives ye a great deal of time to fill.” He gave her a lopsided grin before adding, “When ye’re not busy with social calls, that is.”

  “Oh.” She sat back, noting the looks of interest on all three faces. “Well, most young ladies like to paint or play an instrument and are generally very accomplished at needlework. Some might pass an entire day selecting the gown for their next social event, visiting the modiste and going for rides or walks in the park.”

  “But that doesn’t answer the question. What I wish to know is what ye—you,” he amended, “like to do.”

  Gabriella bit her lip. She rarely spoke of her hobby with anyone. People simply didn’t understand her fascination with insects and since they tended to respond with shock instead of interest, she generally chose to avoid the subject unless she felt a need to press it, which was what had happened the other day with Fielding.

  But the thought of possibly sharing her greatest passion with someone and not feel so alone . . . “Entomology.”

  Silence.

  They stared at her, all three. Gabriella felt the heat of censure creep up her spine. She cleared her throat. “It’s the study of—”

  “Insects,” Juliette supplied.

  “That’s what you enjoy doing?” The question was asked by Amelia.

  Gabriella gave her a tiny nod. “Yes.”

  “Well, I’ll be,” Huntley said. His eyes sparked with renewed interest. “I’d never ‘ave thought it, but ye might just be the most interestin’ contradiction I’ve ever ‘ad the pleasure of meetin’.”

  And just like that, Gabriella’s heart melted. She was doomed, she realized as she got to her feet with a sudden desperation to quit his company. All because he’d given her the nicest and most meaningful compliment she’d ever received. “I really must go,” she said as panic tightened its hold on her, squeezing until she could scarcely breathe.

  This must have been how her sister had been lured away from Bellmore, with pretty words and a devilish smile that made her feel things that no young lady had any business feeling. Gabriella began backing away, adding distance, almost stumbling into a side table in her sudden haste to get away. “We can resume your lessons tomorrow,” she told the sisters. “Will the same time do?”

  “Yes. That’ll be fine,” Amelia said while Juliette nodded. Both were watching her desperate departure with wide-eyed curiosity, while Huntley himself . . .

  Gabriella averted her gaze from him and focused on reaching Anna, who was waiting for her by the door.

  “Me lady,” Huntley said, drawing Gabriella’s attention back to him with great reluctance. “Thank ye again fer doin’ this—fer wantin’ to help. We’re most appreciative.”

  His sincerity was almost too much to bear. Oh, if he’d only been rude and unpleasant. But he wasn’t. Quite the contrary. He was charming and funny. Which meant that she had no choice but to like him, no matter how much she feared doing so. His sisters were safe, but Huntley . . . he was the furthest thing from safe that she’d ever experienced. “You’re welcome,” she managed, her voice a little raspy.

  Reaching the door, she paused just long enough to bid them all a good day. And then she fled without a backward glance.

  Chapter 10

  “I need a break,” Raphe said as he stood up and strode toward the parlor window. It was Wednesday morning, with only two days to spare before the infernal dinner party at Fielding House, but by God he would go mad if he had to practice his heiches and dees for one more second. Not to mention that there was a right and a wrong spoon depending on the meal being served. Idiotic. A spoon was a spoon. It served the same purpose regardless of shape and size.

  Apparently not.

  “Very well,” Richardson said while Pierson looked on with concern. “Will one hour do?”

  Raphe glared at him.

  “We’re only trying to help,” Humphreys explained as though speaking to a stubborn child.

  “Fine,” Raphe agreed. “We’ll reconvene here in one hour.”

  The servants filed out of the room, leaving Raphe alone. He considered the table that had been set up for him to practice at. There were five dishes, four of which were piled on top of each other while one—the bread plate, as they called it—stood to one side. Raphe stared at it. Who would ever have thought to make a special plate just for bread? Seemed strange.

  Stranger still was the need for different glasses. There were four of these too, depending on what one was drinking. And all of this was surrounded by an army of silverware. Ten pieces to be exact, including the fish fork, the salad fork and the dinner fork, each with an accompanying knife to go with it. Picking up the dessert fork, he studied the piece for a moment and eventually shook his head. A grown man should not have to use such a tool. It was far too flimsy and feminine looking.

  Grimacing, Raphe turned his back on the nightmarish place setting and strode from the room. With little time to spare before his lessons resumed, he’d be happy to catch some fresh air. But as he neared the doors leading out to the garden, he paused upon hearing a bit of laughter from one of the closest rooms. His sisters’, he recognized, but there was another more feminine sound, so pretty in its cadence that he simply had to see . . .

  Approaching, he reached for the door handle to the room, and then paused again. Aware of the distress he’d caused Lady Gabriella the last time he’d seen her, he’d deliberately stayed away from her since, allowing her to tutor his sisters in private. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought of her or been aware of her presence in his house.

  Discovering that she studied insects had certainly been intriguing. And her willingness to risk her reputation on account of people she barely knew had also raised he
r appeal to a whole new level. He thought of her sense of humor—there was an openness to it that he definitely liked. And the way in which she reacted to him . . . It obviously terrified her, but still, there could be no denying that it was there—a very elemental awareness always simmering beneath the surface when they were in the same room.

  Another bit of laughter flew toward him.

  Oh, to hell with it.

  He pushed the handle down and the door swung open, revealing a scene that put him momentarily off his guard. Because there on the floor, with her bottom sticking up in the air while she reached for something under a table, was Lady Gabriella—the very image of feminine comportment in a state of absolute disarray.

  His sisters, Raphe noted, were lying flat on their bellies, both trying to help her with whatever it was they were hoping to accomplish. Holding himself perfectly still, he stared, aware that a gentleman ought to announce his arrival. But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to do it—could not deny himself the pleasure of admiring a part of Lady Gabriella that was otherwise hidden from view. Yes—it was only the contour of her bottom, but it was enough for him to measure its size and shape. And then, heaven help him, she wriggled it, and Raphe almost let out a groan. Instead, he clasped the door frame for support, took a second to compose himself, and finally said, “Might I ask what you’re looking for?”

  His sisters squealed at the sound of his voice, both jumping back while Lady Gabriella went instantly still. A second passed. He heard the clock tick and wondered if she might remain underneath the table forever after, her embarrassment too great for her to come out. But then she slowly scooted back and gracefully rose to her feet, her cheeks as pink as blossoms in bloom. “There . . .” she cleared her throat and straightened her spine a bit. “I found an interesting spider.” And then she did the most unexpected thing. Stepping closer to him, she held out her closed hand and carefully opened it to reveal a black creature with long spindly legs. “See?”