Join him, indeed. She couldn’t stop the seductive smile that claimed her lips, even as a fresh wave of desire-filled tension washed over her, raising the fine hairs on her arms and at the nape of her neck. She nodded her reply to the man below, signaling that she would join him. She raised a hand, sending him a tentative little wave in return to his more boisterous gesture.
Without thinking, Yancey flattened a palm against the cool pane of glass and held it there … as if awaiting his touch in return. Below her, standing with his feet apart, much like a ship’s captain on the main deck, his upturned gaze seemed to bore into hers. Awareness, not dulled by distance or panes of glass, flowed between them. Yancey couldn’t look away. Worse, she didn’t want to look away. In fact, if she could stay just like this for the remainder of her days—
She heard herself and gasped, jerking her hand away from the window. “Dear Lord, what am I doing?”
“Beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
Yancey gasped and spun around, her hands fisted around her skirt.
Across the room stood a slender, dark-haired girl in a maid’s livery, who proffered a quick curtsy and an apology. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Stung, embarrassed, wondering how much the girl had seen, Yancey all but barked out, “How long have you been standing there, Robin?”
Her eyes wide, the maid took a step back. “Not long, Your Grace. I’ve only just now come into the room.”
“I see. Well … then, good.” Yancey eyed the young girl with whom she’d already lost one struggle this morning. Robin had insisted that she’d been promoted to lady’s maid to assist Yancey. And as this was a major elevation in the girl’s status in the household, she wasn’t about to relinquish it. And so, over Yancey’s protestations, Robin had assisted with “my lady’s toilette.” And now, here she was again. Though she owed the girl no explanation, Yancey heard herself giving one. “Over there, by the window, I was just, uh, thinking and didn’t hear you come in. And there’s no need to call me ‘Your Grace.’”
The girl curtsied again. “Yes, Your Grace.” And continued to stand there at attention, her brown eyes wide and expectant.
A confused silence crowded the space between them until Yancey caught on that the girl possibly awaited her permission to speak. Damned stupid custom, was Yancey’s unvoiced opinion. Still, “Did you want something?”
“Oh no, Your Grace. Not me.” With her hands knotted together in front of her, the girl waited, yet looked ready to hare off at the slightest provocation.
Yancey wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. After another bit of awkward silence, she ventured, “Then … perhaps I can do something for you?”
“Oh no, Your Grace. Not at all.”
Really stymied now, Yancey brushed at a stray lock of hair at her temple and stared at the girl. “Then I find, Robin,” she began, “that I have no idea how to continue this conversation. Unless you came in here to ask me something specific or to—”
“I have a message for you, Your Grace.” she blurted. “From His Grace.”
“Really?” Striving to appear unaffected, even though a now familiar thrill shot through her, Yancey crossed her arms, feigning nonchalance. “I’d love to hear it.”
Taking a deep breath, Robin pulled herself up to her full height and proudly, loudly, announced, “His Grace the Duke requests that, if you are not otherwise engaged, you attend him in the gardens, Your Grace.”
No doubt, Robin had rehearsed that title-heavy speech all the way up the stairs. Yancey suppressed a grin. “Oh, I see. Well, yes, I knew that, Robin. He just now threw a rock at the window.”
The girl’s eyes widened, no doubt out of surprise at the unfathomable antics of her betters. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“What I meant was I was standing at the window, looking out, when suddenly a stone hit the glass and I looked down and there the duke was, signaling to me. And then here you were and…” Yancey’s voice trailed off, leaving her feeling silly for having divulged all that to her lady’s maid. “If that’s all, Robin?”
The girl gave a start. “Yes, Your Grace.” She curtsied and began to turn away, but then turned back to Yancey. “Begging Your Grace’s pardon?”
Already in motion, her feet being moved forward by an impatient desire for fresh air and sunshine—and nothing more, she stridently told herself—Yancey stopped short and met her maid’s gaze. “Yes?”
“I was wondering, Your Grace, about the rest of your trunks.”
“The rest of my trunks?” Yancey frowned her confusion. She’d brought all her clothes with her, not knowing how long she’d be here or what she might need. And only this morning Robin had told Yancey that she’d unpacked them last evening while Yancey had been at tea with the duke. Even knowing there weren’t any others, Yancey asked, “What about them?”
“The ones with your gowns. I didn’t find any, and I thought that exceeding strange, yourself being a duchess and all. Forgive me for asking, but will they be arriving from America soon?”
Now, how to answer that without giving herself away? Yancey decided on brevity … and a lie. “Yes.”
Robin’s expression cleared and she smiled widely. “Oh, Your Grace, I just knew they would be right along. I just knew it.”
The girl’s happy response gave Yancey pause. Was there perhaps discussion belowstairs about the impoverished state of the, uh, duchess’s wardrobe? And had Robin been defending her mistress? Yancey’s conscience reminded her that the maid’s trust in her would soon be dashed when no trunks appeared. Feeling guilty, Yancey added, “Hopefully, my trunks won’t be lost in the shipping. That happens more than one cares to think about.”
Robin was now agog with affirmations. “I’ve been told as much, Your Grace. We can only hope and trust to God that it won’t be so.”
Yancey came very close to chuckling out loud. “I hardly think it’s as dire as all that. We are talking about clothing here, and not a person’s life, Robin.”
Instantly contrite and red-faced, the girl dropped another curtsy. “I beg Your Grace’s pardon. I didn’t mean to overstep my bounds.”
“But you didn’t.” Yancey’s fleeting reflection was that she and Robin were both novices at this mistress-and-lady’s-maid relationship. In truth, and well Yancey knew this, she had more in common with the maid than she did with any duchess. “And I’m certain it will turn out well,” she added—only to be interrupted by another well-aimed stone pinging against the window behind them.
The duke was obviously becoming impatient. Yancey met her maid’s startled gaze and smiled a tight little smile as she again set herself in motion to cross the room. “Perhaps I’d best go before the duke unleashes a barrage of stones that brings the house down around our ears.”
“Yes, Your Grace. The duke is not a man to be denied long.”
Yancey’s pace didn’t slow but inside she was aflutter with nerves. Her traitorous body had given Robin’s innocent answer a different spin and left Yancey unsettled. Meaning that was exactly what she feared—that she would not be able to deny the duke anything … or for long.
Chapter Seven
She’d come down to him like a lamb to the slaughter. And now, Sam reflected, to lead her down the garden path, as it were, and penetrate her façade. Anything to get to the woman underneath.
“You have quite the unorthodox method for gaining someone’s attention, Your Grace.”
“Many of my methods are unorthodox, Miss Calhoun. But I assume you mean specifically my tossing pebbles at your bedroom window?” Sam smiled lazily at his very striking companion as they wound their way through the garden’s maze. Composed of high green hedges that blocked the soft breeze, it made the sunlight feel almost too warm upon Sam’s shoulders, just as the woman at his side made him feel too warm all over.
“Yes. Startling, to say the least.”
“I hope I didn’t frighten you?” He couldn’t have been more solicitous of her tender feelings. Or
more apologetic in his attitude.
“It takes more than a few tossed pebbles to frighten me, Your Grace.”
“I can well imagine that it does.” They’d reached an intersection in the maze. “And which way would you suggest we turn, Miss Calhoun?”
She glanced up at him, giving Sam a perfect picture of a delicate feminine jaw and slender neck. Feathery reddish-orange curls laced her hairline at her temple. And he found himself drawn to her lips, which were pink and full. “You wish me to choose? But you’ve been leading us so unerringly.”
“Out of sheer habit. I’ve navigated this maze since I was a child.”
“I see. So my choosing our direction now is to be a test of my skill?”
“Skill. Chance. Luck. Whatever you wish to call it. We can only go left or right. So you have even odds for being right or wrong.”
Her arch expression told him plainly enough that despite his disclaimer, she knew full well that he was toying with her, testing her, but not on any level that had to do with the maze. With a knowing smile curving the corners of her sensual mouth, she ducked her chin in acknowledgment of the thrown gauntlet. “Ah. Even odds. The words seem to cancel each other, don’t they? Like so much in life, Your Grace, and just like in this maze we currently find ourselves.”
“Really? An interesting observation. Tell me how you think this maze has anything to do with life.”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Look here.” She swung a pointing finger from left to right at the intersection in front of them that faced a wall of hedges. “Just like life. Each of our actions and decisions brings us only as far as the next crossroads. Then we’re shown only bits and pieces of what lies to our left and to our right. But still we must choose at each juncture, even without fully knowing what is around the next corner.”
Sam found himself completely engaged in this mental exercise. “I see where you’re going. But a maze differs from life in that it remains a fixed shape.”
“Meaning it doesn’t reconfigure itself with our decisions?”
“Exactly. The maze here doesn’t change for us. Should you take the wrong path, the only consequence is you will waste a bit of time because, once you’ve discovered your error, should your decision prove to be one, you remain free to simply turn around and try another path.”
She pointed at him, her green eyes bright with enjoyment. “Ah. But life is again similar. With each decision we make, we cannot know if it is right or wrong until we act upon it. And one wrong turn in life can change its outcome, too. It may seem unfair, but we are actually only guessing our way through at any particular point because we can only see our present choices, and not those of the future.”
“But our present decisions directly affect the future, which in turn doesn’t begin to take shape until we make a decision one way or the other in the present.”
“So far as we know.”
“True.” He slanted a meaningful look her way. “Still, I worry more about being forced to choose when I suspect that not all of my options have been made known to me.”
She sent him a sidelong glance from under her eyelashes. “You mean by others who don’t wish you to succeed?”
“Exactly. What do I do then, Miss Calhoun, when I suspect there might be hidden information that could affect my decision, yet I’m not made privy to it?”
She shrugged, shaking her head as if she were innocent of any such actions as he’d just described. “Well, Your Grace, either you must wring more information out of the offending party, or make your decision to the best of your ability based on what you do know.”
Feeling himself duly forewarned that she’d be a formidable adversary, Sam softly clapped his hands together. “Bravo, Miss Calhoun. A fine bit of logic and philosophy.”
She sketched a formal curtsy. “I share the triumph with you, Your Grace.” Then she stepped out into the intersection and looked both ways.
Now captivated by her figure as much as he was by her mind, Sam crossed his arms and watched her work on this problem. Sparring verbally with her left him wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss her soundly. He found himself wondering what she would do if he did …
She turned around abruptly, facing him and smiling, pointing to her right. “This way, Your—” Her expression sobered, her eyes rounded.
So he’d been caught with his thoughts on his face. Sam arched his eyebrows, doing nothing to hide the intensity of the desire he felt for her. “To my left, then?”
“Yes,” she said a little breathlessly. “Am I correct, Your Grace?”
He nodded. “You are.” He started toward her. “Tell me how you knew. Or did you guess?”
Though she still appeared distracted by his approaching nearness, she stood her ground and shook her head in the negative. “Not a guess. It was simple, really. The gravel is more displaced in this direction. The path is more worn. Anyone who knew his way through here wouldn’t consistently take wrong turns. So I merely followed your footsteps, as it were, Your Grace.”
Sam had to chuckle. “Undone by my own habits. Outsmarted by a fox, I’d say, Miss Calhoun.”
Her expression blanked and she pulled back, looking startled. Sam sobered in reaction to her response. “Are you quite all right, Miss Calhoun? Did I say something untoward?”
She recovered quickly—curiously so—and smiled brightly, talking a bit too rapidly. “Oh no, it was nothing, Your Grace. Nothing at all.” She gestured toward the correct way out. “Shall we? I find it a bit too warm and close in here just now.”
Sam considered her a long, silent moment, then indicated she should precede him. “Please, then. After you, Miss Calhoun.”
She turned and walked off, giving him time only to wonder about her puzzling reaction to something he’d said and to notice the enticing sway of her hips, when she spun around, forcing him to stop in his tracks or risk running into her.
“I find it rather curious, Your Grace,” she said, “that your servants still believe me to be your … well, your American wife, the duchess. You obviously know I am not. So why do you allow the charade to continue?”
Her bluntness took Sam by surprise. He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his other foot, two delaying actions which gave him time to formulate an appropriate answer. From the number of options coursing through his mind, he finally decided on the one certain to spark outrage in her heart. “Because it pleases me to do so, Miss Calhoun.”
She pulled back in surprise. “It pleases you? I believe I have a right to know in what ways it does, since I’m a party to this deception.”
“Merely a party? I believe you to be the instigator, Miss Calhoun.”
Her cheeks pinkened, and she had trouble meeting his gaze. “I have tried to right that wrong, but your servants won’t believe me.”
He fought to keep a grin off his face. “I’m sorry to hear that. But as regards me, I need no other reason than that it pleases me. Since I am a duke, I am free to behave according to my every whim or mood. And no one will gainsay me or think to correct me. That is, not if he—or she—wishes to remain in my good graces, which I am sure you do … given your, uh, position here in my household.”
Sam watched the effect of his words on her. Her green eyes radiated momentary confusion, even a bit of fear. She seemed to shrink back. He didn’t like that he’d frightened her, but it couldn’t be helped. After all, he had no idea who she really was or what her purpose was in being here. Until he did, he had a duty to protect what was his, and he saw no reason to make life simple for her, no matter how much she affected him. He’d given her good advice—and she’d be wise to heed it.
When she still made no reply, Sam indicated the path ahead of them. “Shall we—now that we know the correct way of things here?”
Without a word, she turned away from him and faced the path ahead. Behind her, quirking a grin of victory as he watched her straighten her shoulders and march onward, Sam pronounced himself content enough for the mom
ent to walk behind her to the accompaniment of buzzing bees, happy songbirds, and the crunch of gravel under their feet.
She was being very quiet. He’d always heard that someone with something to hide was best served by remaining silent. Then, hadn’t he better draw her out? “Tell me, Miss Calhoun, what do you think of the gardens of Stonebridge?”
Not slowing the least or even casting a glance over her shoulder, she said, “Very impressive. I especially like the roses. Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this before. So much variety. So intricate and surprising. A fountain here. A tiny grotto around that corner. And there a pond. Something unexpected around every corner.”
Her last words put him in mind of their dealings together so far. Something unexpected around every corner—and behind every word. “That there is. Much like life again, wouldn’t you say?”
Her steps faltered, but she bravely carried on, still refraining from giving him her direct attention. “I’m not sure. How do you mean?”
“Well, I daresay you never expected to find yourself here. And I mean in England.”
“But of course I did. I wasn’t drugged and tied up and thrust on board a ship bound for your fair country. I came here on purpose. A ticketed customer. It was all very aboveboard.”
He chuckled. “Very clever. What I meant, of course, were the circumstances that caused you to be on that ship.”
Just as he said that, they exited the maze and found themselves face to face with a knot of workmen who immediately abandoned their tasks to clear a path. As they did, they pulled off their caps and bowed in a show of respect. Several “Your Graces” followed Sam and his enigmatic and lovely companion around another corner on the outside of the maze.
As they moved past the deferential men, Miss Calhoun finally looked up at him. Sam’s breath unexpectedly caught. Did the sunlight have to add such a glow to her peaches-and-cream complexion? And then glint so brightly off her curling hair in such brilliant hues of gold and orange and red? Only yesterday he’d wondered what her unbound hair would look like in sunlight. And now he knew. Today she’d caught her hair back with combs and left it to hang down her back in a long, lush wave. Sam itched to stroke her hair, to feel it slip through his fingers and perhaps cascade across his bare chest.
The Marriage Masquerade Page 10