To Dodge a Duke (Entangled Nobility Book 2)

by Naomi Boom

  “Is there someplace my coachman can take the horses, my lady?”

  Mrs. Platts nodded. “Of course, there is a barn around back.”

  The unknown gentleman stepped to his coachman’s side, whispered a few words, and then sent him around the house. He closed the door behind him, and Mrs. Platts shook her head. “You both are soaked to the bone. We must get you out of those wet clothes immediately.” She cast them a sympathetic look and rushed out of the room, calling over her shoulder as she left. “Wait here. I will return with dry garments.”

  Nothing could compare to the thought of clean, dry clothes. Well, maybe one thing could. Eleanor had appreciated lying on top of the stranger, feeling his masculinity all around her, but a repeat of such an act was not in her realm of possibility. Not for this gentleman, whom she would never again see after this day.

  “Would you care to explain who our hostess is?”

  Eleanor shook herself from her silent reverie. “She is the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Platts.”

  “And you do not believe she will have questions?”

  Her brows drew together in confusion.

  He must have read her expression, because he said, “You worry how your father will react if he discovers we were alone together, yet you do not care what the vicar’s wife thinks? Your logic is flawed, my little water nymph.”

  Stairs creaked, and Mrs. Platts materialized in the hall carrying two bundles of fabric. She extended one to the gentleman and the other to Eleanor. “Excuse us, my lord. Miss Ashford and I shall go to the kitchens, while you change in the sitting room.” She nodded her head to the first door to the left, and he took his leave of the ladies.

  His words rang in Eleanor’s ears as Mrs. Platts led her down the long hallway. Now that she was away from him, she allowed her rigid posture to deflate. Had he called her a water nymph? She shook her head. It would be completely nonsensical for him to call her that.

  They entered the kitchen where someone had recently made bread, as evidenced by the flour adorning the countertops and the lingering scent of yeast. Mrs. Platts turned Eleanor away from her, pushed aside Eleanor’s bedraggled hair, and proceeded to undo the laces of her gown.

  “I suppose you want to know how I wound up on your doorstep with that man.” Eleanor’s voice trailed off, unsure if she had taken the correct approach. She really should have determined the man’s name, at least.

  “Has he behaved the gentleman?” Mrs. Platts asked, finishing with the laces and helping Eleanor from her sodden garments.

  “Of course.” Eleanor pulled a worn, dry chemise over her head and said, “I was caught in the rain on the way back from Rotsdale when I happened upon the gentleman. We came here straight away.” Omitting part of the story was not a lie, right?

  “Precisely what I figured.” Mrs. Platts helped Eleanor into a drab gown intended for someone much shorter and said, “You know I cannot stomach gossip. Our good Lord warned against it, so if you claim all is well, I will believe it.”

  Eleanor’s heart stuttered. Had fate finally smiled upon her this dreary day? “You mean you won’t tell anyone I was here? What about your daughter? Will she?”

  “Beatrice better not spread any rumors!” Her voice quieted, and she smiled, turning Eleanor to face her. “My dear daughter is not here. She and my husband are visiting parishioners today. Of course, if anyone asks what happened, I will tell them, but I would never defy God’s will in such a way as to spread malicious rumors.”

  “Of course.” Eleanor smiled. The likelihood of someone asking the vicar’s wife of Eleanor’s whereabouts was slim indeed.

  Mrs. Platts led Eleanor out of the kitchen, stopping before the room the gentleman occupied, and called out, “Are you finished dressing, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  She then led Eleanor into a small parlor where the gentleman was already seated on a rugged armchair. He stood as the ladies entered, although Eleanor ignored him. Her focus was on the roaring fire which would soon dry her hair. Sitting down with her back to the flames, she unwound what was left of her chignon and combed her fingers through the tangled mess. The heat from the fire was pure heaven, and she closed her eyes.

  “Do you not prefer to sit on a chair?”

  Eleanor peered through her thick lashes at Mrs. Platts. She shook her head, closing her eyes once more as her damp skin warmed. “I must dry my hair. I am a bit parched, though. Go fetch some tea.”

  “Of course, dear.” Mrs. Platts turned on her heel and left them together, alone. The door remained cracked open, and Mrs. Platts’s receding footsteps echoed down the hall, until they were swallowed by silence.

  “You should have asked for tea, not demanded as if she were a mere servant.”

  Eleanor pried her eyes open and awarded his candor with a look of open hostility. He had resumed his seat on the armchair and made himself quite comfortable, judging by the way his large frame reclined against one of the arms. His features in the candlelight were exquisite, and she suddenly found herself at a loss for words.

  He coughed as she continued to stare at him. Remembering herself, she tore her gaze from his only to recall her borrowed gown was too short. Her ankles were on blatant display. She brought her feet nearer to her torso and tucked her ankles under the available fabric, but not before he noticed. His eyes watched her ankles as they moved, and now, there was a definite glint of appreciation in their green depths.

  His attention was nothing new. She had thwarted numerous advances, but this was different. She almost wanted to encourage him.

  “Are you friends with the vicar and his family?”

  She closed her eyes once more and ignored him. The warmth of the fire had a lulling effect, and she would not waste it by conversing in a tedious manner with him.

  “You must not have heard me. Are you friends with the family?” His voice was deep and soothing. While the fire was pleasant, it was more pleasant when he was silent.

  Despite her desire not to, she reopened her eyes. She would answer him this once. “Hmm, no. We are acquaintances, at best.” She chuckled. “In fact, I believe the vicar’s daughter dislikes me.”

  “I am not surprised. Do you treat her as you have treated me?”

  Eleanor’s eyes widened and she straightened. “First of all, that was rude of you to say. Secondly, I have treated you nicely, considering.”

  He growled. “Considering what?”

  “Your rank is inferior. Under normal circumstances, I would not give you the time of day, much less be as kind to you as I have been.”

  He smiled. No, not smiled, it was more of a smirk. A dangerous smirk, as if he enjoyed her statement. “Do you think that might be why the vicar’s daughter dislikes you? You have hardly endeared yourself to me, you know.”

  His candor was not something she could appreciate, no matter how accurate. “You assume I care for either your, or the girl’s, approval. I am capable of acting perfectly enchanting. I just choose to reserve that behavior for people worthy of the effort.”

  He took a moment to consider her words before asking, “Do you have any friends?”

  “Of course!” she said in too loud a voice. Some of her fire left her as she admitted, “At least I did, until I muddled that up. My cousin, Laura, was my best friend. We were very close.”

  “What happened to her?” he asked as he shifted in his seat, causing the leather on the chair to creak.

  She closed her eyes and uttered a soft sigh. “She married.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Reopening her eyes, she leveled a hard stare at him. He met her gaze, and the air heated around her. Who was this man that he did not back down from her? Everyone else did, but he appeared unaffected. His reaction intrigued her, even though she did not wish to feel intrigued.

  A crackle sounded from the fire, and the room brightened. Eleanor pulled her legs toward her and leaned her head against her knees. She did not care that her ankles and feet showed, or that he looked.

&nbs
p; She would never see him again, so why not allow herself to be frank? “Growing up, she was always the perfect one. Whenever I did something wrong, Mother would ask why I could not be more like Laura. Eventually, I learned how to behave myself, but I was never as good as her.”

  “That sounds more like a competition than a friendship.”

  “Yes, I believe that describes my relationship with Laura accurately, to an extent. She was always so perfect. Everything came naturally to her.” Eleanor sighed and shook her head. She spoke of matters she never told anyone, ever. “I remember how easily she learned to dance, as if it were the same as walking. I, on the other hand, had to sneak in practices so everyone would think I was just as good.” She inclined her head and looked at him as the firelight played across his strong features. His eyes seemed to glow as he returned her gaze, a soft warmth in them as if he understood her.

  She rushed to speak before he could say anything, to express his pity for her. “I am, of course, above reproach in all things I do.”

  He laughed, and his pity was replaced with humor. “I expected no less. So aside from your cousin, do you have other family?”

  “Oh yes. There is my mother and father and a dear widowed aunt.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “And are you close to them?”

  Eleanor brushed a piece of lint off her skirt and said, “No. Father has never been involved, and Mother has always held me to an impossible standard. It is hard to be close to people like that.” She smiled as she reflected inward. “My aunt, on the other hand, has always acted more like a mother to me than an aunt. She is not perfect, but who is?”

  She turned her attention to the fire. She should never have spoken to him in such an unguarded manner, but his eyes were compelling, and he seemed to hold genuine interest in what she had to say. Most gentlemen she knew did not want to hear her speak, much less speak about herself.

  “How sad.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.” She smiled a wistful little smile. “But Laura was always there, and my aunt gave me plenty of fond memories to ward off the bad.”

  He scowled and stood from his seated position. Walking over, he bent down and took her hand in his. “You have had an unfortunate family life. Luckily, you have the chance to turn that around by having a family of your own.”

  Of course she would have her own family, but he was delusional if he thought hers would be any different than her own parents. Dreams were best forgotten and realities focused on with forceful determination. Just as her mother taught her to do.

  He smiled in sympathy until his eyes took on a darker light, and he leaned toward her. She threw up her hand and said, “Just so you are aware, you will not be the one I build that family with.”

  He stood and stepped back as she lowered her hand. No, her future marriage of convenience would never allow for such a picturesque idea. Such dreams were dangerous, and she could not allow them to spread like wildfire in her mind. Not when she needed to snare a titled gentleman.

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  He rose and returned to his seat. “I grew up in the country without much family, as my father and mother had no other children and passed away at a young age from illness. I do, however, have a couple of cousins and an uncle.”

  “And you are close to them?”

  “I am close to one, but he is an irritating fellow.”

  She smiled at the fire. Her relationship with Laura was similar. “I can understand. I am sure you love your cousin very much but sometimes cannot abide him.”

  He nodded, and she asked, “Where is your estate?”

  His expression was unreadable as he shifted in his chair. “It is in the North. I am currently visiting a friend who lives nearby. Perhaps you know Lord and Lady Gammon?”

  “So you are not from here, then?” That explained why she did not recognize him. “Where in the North?”

  “My estate is called Briarthorn and is near the Scottish border.”

  How horrid, to live so far from London. Her hair had dried a sufficient amount, so she sat up and began to secure it in a quick bun.

  “Stop.”

  Eleanor paused, and then continued to do her hair.

  “Did you not hear me?” he asked in a mesmerizing, deep voice.

  “Of course I heard you. You are only five feet from me.” Eleanor laughed at the absurdity of his question.

  “Your hair looked lovely unbound.”

  Their discussion stopped as footsteps rang out in the hall. She tore her gaze from his, sucking in a breath and trying to act unaffected. His words had hardly been the most eloquent, but he had meant what he said, not what he thought she wished to hear. She studied the sea-green walls as the footsteps drew nearer.

  Mrs. Platts entered the room, bearing a tea tray and sandwiches. She set them down on a table and took a seat on the settee. “Did I miss anything?”

  Eleanor stood and ran a hand down her skirt to smooth it. She then took a seat in the spot next to Mrs. Platts, who was in the process of pouring tea.

  “Thank you,” Eleanor said with a sweet smile as she accepted a cup from her hostess.

  “Of course.”

  Eleanor sipped her tea, welcoming the warmth of the liquid as it spread through her. The stranger remained silent in his armchair, his gaze fixed on the window near him. He stood, and Eleanor was reminded of his considerable height as he towered over the two ladies.

  He turned to Mrs. Platts and bowed. “Thank you for your generosity. I believe the rain has lessened a sufficient amount, and I should be on my way. I will return the clothes once I have had them laundered.”

  Mrs. Platts rushed to stand, but he held a hand up and smiled at her. “Please, remain seated. I can find my way out.” His smile turned mocking as he regarded Eleanor. “Do you care to know my name, at least?”

  “No.” She straightened and turned her gaze from his to the window furthest from the door, hoping he would understand their interactions were finished. Forever. The outdoors looked so dreary, despite all the signs of spring. Even the tulips arranged in a straight row appeared drenched. She continued to look outside as she said, “No. In fact, I would prefer to forget I had met you altogether.”

  Silence descended on the room, broken only by the soft sound of the door as it opened and shut.

  “That was not very nice of you, young lady.”

  Eleanor turned back to her hostess and smiled. “How I behave toward him hardly signifies. I doubt I shall see him again.” Her words were confident, but why did she feel a twinge as she said them? She took another dainty sip of her tea. His type was unsuitable for her, and she had best remember that.

  Chapter 2

  Logan Eastworth, the tenth Duke of Waking, guided his white stallion over a small hedge and smiled as Raphael regained his footing. He followed a tree line which appeared to stop in front of him, melding into a veritable forest. He should return, but those trees beckoned to him, to discover what lay under their canopy.

  He had gone on longer and longer rides since his rainy encounter with Miss Ashford in a futile attempt to erase her from his memory. How could he though? The look she had afforded him when he complimented her hair had spoken volumes. She found him as attractive as he found her, but somehow she was under the misguided notion that he was beneath her. Granted, he had thoroughly enjoyed being beneath her the night he met her, aside from the fact that he fell into a puddle of mud, but she was misguided. His rank was the superior one. Not hers.

  No one had ever treated him the way she had. Yes, she acted superior to him, but she also desired him, and it was an honest desire. Not a false desire because of his station. He could grow accustomed to the way she made him feel, as if he was the most attractive man in the world and she just waited to do his bidding. Unfortunately, that fantasy was dashed whenever she opened her mouth, but her criticisms of his supposed station did not change the look in her eyes when she beheld him.

  He entered the dense forest and eyed a stream as he fl
ew by, appreciating the way it sparkled in the sunlight that trickled through the leaves. The moment he saw Miss Ashford, he had thought of the water nymphs of legend. Her beauty could rival any Greek goddess, no less a naiad. The way her clothes had clung to her body had been alluring, to put it mildly, and then, when he had beheld her ankles…He swallowed. Ankles should not have the power to excite him, yet hers did, with extraordinary force.

  She had treated him in an increasingly frustrating manner throughout the day. Somehow, she had latched onto the idea that he was landed gentry, and who was he to say different? She had not been a simpering bundle of nerves, hoping to entice him into marriage, and he had appreciated her honesty. He doubted he would have enjoyed Miss Ashford’s company as much if she understood just who she had spent an unchaperoned afternoon with.

  He followed his path around a bend and pulled up on his reins as another rider appeared. Excitement coursed through him as he realized he had happened upon Miss Ashford. However, she looked far from pleased to see him.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, without offering a welcoming smile.

  He surveyed her as he displayed his own impeccable manners by smiling. Dressed properly and dry, she was even more appealing. Yes, she was beautiful, but she would be even more so if she would smile.

  Now that he was not soaked to the bone and covered in mud, his disposition had improved. “What does it look like I am doing?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, obviously I can see you are riding, but why are you riding on the Ashford estate?” Her piercing blue eyes narrowed, and she said, “My father will never believe you if you claim to have ruined me.”

  Exhaling a breath, Logan relished the irony. He was plagued by young ladies trying to trap him into marriage all the time. This was the first instance he had been accused of attempting to capture the lady’s hand, and it amused him.