Claiming the Heart of a Duke: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 1)

by Arietta Richmond

  And yet, recalling the events of that fateful evening, she realised that she had never felt as protected, as whole, as alive as she had felt while Hunter held her, after having rescued her from the loathsome Lord Peter’s clutches.

  ‘If Lord Peter’s plan had succeeded, I would be marrying him.’ she thought, shivering.

  Her mother had thoroughly catechised her before her betrothed’s visit.

  “His Grace of Melton’s prompt request for your hand in marriage has avoided a most unsavoury scandal, but now you must act with utmost caution. I know, it was not your fault, Lord Peter Featherstone proved to be an out and out rascal and Lady Phoebe, the little viper, is very welcome to have him, and to keep him if she can. But now we must deal with Lord Melton, who has revealed himself to be a true gentleman. He must not think you forward or fast. You must be reserved, modest, grateful but just a bit reluctant, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mama. Maybe it would be more honest if I refused him. I do not want him to think that I sought to trap him.”

  Lady Chester had shot her daughter an outraged look.

  “Do not even think about it, my daughter. I will not have my family disgraced. If not of yourself, think of your sister. You would not want her to be besmirched by a scandal which is none of her doing, would you?”

  “No, Mama, of course not. I will wed him.”

  “Good. Now try to relax. I will send a maid with some hot tea to revive you. And pinch your cheeks, you are too pale.”

  Lady Chester had left, in a swirl of peach sarsenet, while Nerissa sipped pensively at her tea and tried to divert her mind by leafing through a much coveted and newly acquired tome on her favourite subject, garden design.

  She was deeply absorbed in Humphry Repton’s Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening, when the footman knocked at the door and announced:

  “His Grace the Duke of Melton to see you, my Lady.”

  She composed herself, stood up, straightened her shoulders and took a deep steadying breath. Absentmindedly, thinking only of Hunter, and what they might say to each other, she left her book open on the chaise where she had been sitting.

  “Please tell his Grace to come in, Fenton.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Hunter stood transfixed, looking at Nerissa. She was standing in front of the window, framed by rich brocade curtains, clad in a morning gown of periwinkle blue muslin, a paisley shawl on her arms, a necklace of freshwater pearls and lapis lazuli around her throat.

  A sunbeam bathed her in a golden halo, enhancing the colour of every strand of her hair, lighting her perfect skin, turning her into a vision of breath-taking loveliness.

  Nerissa smiled.

  “Welcome, Your Grace, please, be seated. Fenton, have some refreshment brought.”

  Hunter sat down on the indicated chaise, and could not fail to notice the open book next to him, a mint new copy of the rather controversial Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening, showing an exquisitely detailed plan for a formal garden, complete with an arboretum of exotic trees, a grotto with a rock garden and a monk’s garden.

  Suddenly, the drawings he had seen, falling from Nerissa’s portfolio that very first day in the woods, took on a completely different significance.

  He remembered how he had been agreeably surprised by the improvement in Viscount Chester’s park. He realised in that instant, that Nerissa herself must have had a hand in planning them.

  Her talent stunned him, and, thinking back to Lady Stanmore’s much-vaunted new garden, he felt that Nerissa’s work, as demonstrated by the garden’s here, was much more original and innovative.

  If this was Nerissa’s secret, he could not blame her for hiding it.

  Landscape and garden design, and architecture, were not counted among approved occupations for young ladies. It seemed so typical of Nerissa, that the thing she cared deeply about should be a thing that she ‘shouldn’t do’. The thought brought a wry smile to his face. These were the things that he most liked about her – the things that made her herself.

  Still, seeing her somewhat serious face, he decided not to speak about it yet - he would wait for her to trust him enough to confide in him.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Nerissa looked at Hunter, who, somehow, managed to look more handsome and wonderful than ever – which was rather an achievement, after a long and serious conversation with her father!

  He seemed unsure, and the silence was dragging on, as they simply looked at each other.

  The silence needed to be broken – suddenly, she decided to speak her mind. This was one of the most important events in her life and she did not intend to play the coy maiden.

  “My lord Duke, I’m deeply grateful to you - you saved me from a very difficult situation. I was caught, if you will forgive my saying so, between a rock and a hard place. Had you not intervened, I would have been obliged to marry that knave. You already had my friendship, now you have my undying gratitude as well. I…” she blushed, “I am honoured to be your bride, but you must tell me truly - is this prospect, I mean, marrying me, distasteful to you?”

  ~~~~~~~~

  Hunter looked at Nerissa, not quite believing what he had heard. Did she fear to be rejected? Did she think herself not good enough for him?

  In a flash, he saw her again, valiantly struggling to free herself from Lord Peter Featherstone’s unrequested advances, a sylph fighting an ogre, and felt an overwhelming desire to hold her, to kiss her, to bury his hands in her marvellous silken hair, to caress her, to love her. The intensity of it shocked him – it was by far the strongest desire that he had ever felt.

  She was watching him, in that trusting, open way she had, the way that, he realised, she saved for him, had done so since those first conversations in the icy woods. She was waiting for his answer, trusting him to be honest with her. The intensity of his desire for her redoubled, and he forced it back – he had to find the words, now, to reassure her.

  It had lasted just an instant, that rush of desire, of care, before Hunter had schooled his expression back to a courteous interest, but his eyes had lit up with the intensity and passion of his feelings for her - and Nerissa had seen it.

  Before he even spoke, a warm glow surrounded her – that look in his eyes had told her all that she needed to know.

  True to his word, Hunter came to collect Nerissa the next morning, for the promised ride in Hyde Park. She was ready and waiting for him in the hall, with her smiling mother at her side.

  “Good morning, Your Grace. Here is my Nerissa, all ready - take good care of her.”

  “I will, my lady. The weather is ideal for a drive, sunny and pleasantly warm, now that the winter is leaving us.”

  “Don’t forget your parasol, Nerissa.” Lady Melton fretted, “You would not want your complexion to be an unseemly shade of tan, like a peasant girl, on your wedding day!”

  “Don’t worry, mother, I have it here.” She kissed her mother’s cheek and followed Hunter from the house.

  The footman handed Nerissa into the high perch phaeton, drawn by a pair of obviously quality frisky red chestnuts, and they were off at a brisk pace.

  They made a stunning couple and many a head turned to look at them.

  Nerissa looked quite lovely in a coral pink and coral red silken striped carriage dress, complemented by a coral pink bonnet trimmed with cream feathers and coral red ribbons. Madame Beaumarais had outdone herself, again.

  Hunter looked every inch the distinguished gentleman, with his brocade waistcoat, midnight blue coat, tight pantaloons and shining Hessian boots.

  After a good night’s sleep, for once free from nightmares, that morning he felt happier and more carefree than he had for a long time. He felt invigorated by the fresh morning air, unaccountably excited by Nerissa sitting at his side and by the prospect of, again, driving a fast, sporting carriage. It was as if the reckless boy he had been was alive again, on that spring morning, taunting him to some wild dare.


  Nerissa had been driving in the park quite often, but never in such a modish carriage, or with such an accomplished and handsome driver. She revelled in the sense of freedom, in the fresh country smells of the park and in Hunter’s presence so near her.

  The narrow seat compelled them to touch often and, through the thin fabric of her gown, Nerissa could feel Hunter’s hard muscled thigh pressing against hers. It was a strangely intimate contact, which unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

  She tried to take refuge in conversation, but meanwhile they had reached Rotten Row and Hunter was putting the chestnuts through their paces, his concentration on them for the moment.

  The wildness encouraged Hunter to take the horses rather faster, at least for a moment, than was generally regarded as suitable for the Park, and the delight in Nerissa’s eyes made him glad that he did. The spirited horses responded well and the phaeton picked up speed, swaying from side to side on its spring suspension and making them bump into each other often.

  More than once Hunter kept her from unbalancing by encircling her waist with one arm. More than once Nerissa found herself leaning against him, the ribbons of her bonnet flying wildly behind her.

  They rode on, laughing, touching, exhilarated by their nearness, by speed, by a heady feeling of daring and freedom.

  After a while Hunter reined in and the horses slowed down to a more sedate pace. They looked at each other, a high colour whipped into their cheeks by the wind, their eyes sparkling, both slightly panting and dishevelled. A sudden feeling of rightness, of belonging with each other, overcame them and left them speechless.

  They rode back in silence, knowing that something wonderful had happened, but unwilling to name it yet.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Life became hectic in the weeks preceding their marriage - both Lady Melton and Lady Chester had insisted on a sumptuous marriage, with all of the ton in attendance.

  Both Nerissa and Hunter had repeatedly stated that they did not care for such an ostentatious affair, but to no avail - their mothers presented a common front and vetoed their pleas.

  “You must understand, my dear boy,” Lady Melton had said to her son, with the slightly cajoling tone one might use with a person of slightly slow comprehension, “that a fashionable marriage is unavoidable, given the…er…strange circumstances of your betrothal. We must dispel any doubt that this is a love match, that you and Nerissa had a long-time understanding and that only the fear of her father’s displeasure had prevented you from asking for her hand earlier. Do you see?”

  Yes, he saw, even if it did not please either him or Nerissa.

  They visited with each other every day, and she often complained to him of the endless arrangements.

  “If I see another guest list I’ll scream. If I have to endure another pointless argument about whether to invite or not to invite Lord Something or Lady Whatever or whether Second-Cousin-Thrice-Removed Sir Goodsort will or will not be offended if he does or does not receive an invitation card…”

  Hunter laughed, rather mirthlessly, sharing her frustration.

  “I know. Had I only imagined all this completely meaningless fuss, I would have eloped with you and married you over the anvil in Gretna Green.”

  Nerissa giggled.

  “And gladly would I have come with you. Does one really marry over an anvil? I am very curious. Perhaps we are still in time to find out…”

  Hunter shook his head glumly.

  “Do not tempt me, my affianced bride. I could pick you up willy-nilly, abduct you and drive you up to Scotland in a thrice.”

  Nerissa looked at Hunter with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

  “Would it be an abduction, I wonder?”

  Hunter groaned.

  “Insufferable brat. I do believe you have not changed a whit since you were a pesky ten-year-old.”

  They laughed together and the boring details of their marriage faded away in their shared amusement.

  They grew closer each day, the subtle ties of a shared childhood, and the weeks of conversation after his return from the war, subtly and unconsciously changing into something else, into a more complex, and somehow baffling relationship.

  Their mutual attraction played a part as well, and, as constricted as they were by social convention, and by the educated compulsion to behave properly, the urge to touch, to be near, to kiss was always present, if never indulged.

  Meanwhile, they were involved in the whirlwind of their social life with their new status as betrothed, which granted them a degree of freedom that they had not previously enjoyed.

  There were picnics and balls, there were outings and strolls - as both Nerissa and Hunter were not late risers, unlike most of the ton, there were early morning rides in Hyde Park, which became their favourite time of the day for being together.

  Nerissa had to undergo the seemingly never ending fittings of her wedding gown – which also involved tolerating the constant bickering, between Madame Beaumarais and her mother, about how her gown should be fashioned.

  “Do you want your daughter to look like a meringue? Like a meringue trimmed with whipped cream?” the Frenchwoman would argue.

  “No, I do not, but neither do I want her to look like a nun. Simple is all well and right, but too simple, no, it is not! This is a marriage, not a penitential pilgrimage!” Lady Chester would shoot back.

  During these clashes between the two strong willed women, neither used to being naysaid, Nerissa did not even try to participate in the discussion. She simply allowed it to wash over her, allowed herself to be poked and prodded, turned this way and that, as they wished.

  She really did not care about her appearance, as long as she knew that she would be marrying Hunter.

  It all seemed dreamlike, a whirlwind of activity which swept her along, with or without her cooperation. She could not yet believe that she was really going to marry him, even if through a serendipitous cause.

  ‘What if it is only a dream?’ she thought. ‘What if he changes his mind?’

  On a sunny afternoon, after a meeting with the florist to plan the ballroom decorations, Nerissa was sipping a cold drink of mint and lemon juice, when the footman announced Hunter’s visit.

  Nerissa was so glad to see him that she had to restrain herself from running to him. It was quite a challenge to wait for him to come into the room, for her to stay primly sitting on the sofa.

  They talked together about their mutual friends, about the journey to the Lake District that they were planning to make after their marriage, and Nerissa gave him a humorous account of her plight, as a victim of both her mother and Madame Beaumarais.

  “Poor Nerissa,” laughed Hunter “A dove caught in the cruel talons of two hawks… It is a blessing for us gentlemen to have fewer choices to make about our attire.”

  “You look very elegant in your city clothes, but I liked you also in your buckskins and riding boots.”

  Smiling, Hunter caught her hands in his.

  “Mmmmh, so you liked me! You never told me that!”

  She smiled.

  “How improper of me, should I have done so. I should not be so forward, my mother told me so.”

  Hunter kissed her hands and, raising his eyes, he looked at her full, laughing mouth and could not resist. He circled her waist with his arm, lowered his head to meet hers, and kissed her.

  He had meant it to be a chaste, almost brotherly kiss, but, as soon as he felt the petal soft texture of her sweet lips, he was lost. The kiss deepened, became passionate, alive with an almost primal urgency. Nerissa, startled at first, then did not hesitate to reciprocate - with a degree of abandon that delighted Hunter.

  Surprised, Nerissa wondered how it could be possible for the same act to be repugnant or wonderful when performed by two different men.

  She still vividly remembered the disgust and the outrage she had felt, when Lord Peter had tried to kiss her. Why then, did she enjoy so much being kissed by Hunter, and wish for the kiss never to stop? Before
rational thought forsook her, a little voice in her head whispered: ‘because you love him, you ninny.’

  The kiss seemed to last only a second, and yet forever, but eventually they broke apart, panting and bewildered by the naked intensity of the emotion they had shared. Hunter gave her a tentative smile.

  “I should apologise for my behaviour, but the truth is that I have longed to kiss you since that day in your park, when you almost fell down from the fence.”

  “And I wish you had. After all, a kiss is the just guerdon a brave knight has a right to claim for rescuing a damsel in distress.”

  Hunter laughed outright.

  “I must remind you, then, my belle dame sans merci, that I rescued you twice.”

  “Claim your prize, then, mon brave.”

  Hunter looked at her askance.

  “Provoke me at your risk. I plan to claim my full prize, ma cherie, but not now…”

  Nerissa blushed furiously but bravely met his eyes.

  “It will never be too soon.”

  They clasped hands and stood looking at each other, shaken by the strength of their feelings.

  Hunter spent a troubled night, torn between hope and fear, anticipation and anxiety. He relived, over and over the previous afternoon’s events, and could not regret them.

  He had acted on impulse, without restraint, it was true, but he had been amply rewarded by Nerissa’s unabashed and yet innocent enthusiasm.

  Could he dare to hope? Was there a future of happiness for him? Did he deserve to be happy? Had he not forfeited his right to love again by not being able to protect Beatriz from a horrible death? Then, when dawn was already brightening the horizon, he finally fell asleep.

  In his dream, he was walking along a country lane, under an indigo twilight sky. A light breeze was blowing, sweet with scents of honeysuckle and wild roses.

  A faint pink hue was still visible in the west and a soft, glowing mist extended its silver ribbons between the trees.

  The beauty of the peaceful landscape was like a balm for Hunter’s battered soul, soothing his anxiety, assuaging his fears.