Miss Dane and the Duke

by Louise Allen

  With a sound somewhere between a curse and a sob Antonia whisked out of the retiring room, carried onto the dance floor by the speed of her exit. A stately measure was in progress with complicated sets moving slowly the length of the ballroom. Her intrusion set several couples out of rhythm, but they were even more discommoded when Marcus strode to her side, seized her hands and forced a place for them in the line.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ Antonia hissed, sending apologetic glances to the couples on either side.

  ‘I had not finished with you,’ Marcus ground out, keeping the social smile on his lips with an effort. ‘And if the only way to stop you boxing my ears again is to converse on the dance floor, then so be it.’

  They had reached the head of the set. To his horror, this brought them directly under the scrutiny of Lady Jersey. From her raised brows, he gathered that their irregular entrance had not escaped the Patroness’s notice. Hoping he had not completely ruined Antonia’s chances for acceptance Marcus directed a charming smile at her ladyship and was rewarded by a relaxing of her adamantine gaze.

  He whirled Antonia around and they took their place in the centre of the circle. ‘Everyone is staring at us,’ Antonia muttered. She curtsied and began the complex sequence of steps with her partner while the other couples circled around them. Her deportment was perfect, her eyes were wild.

  ‘Will you stop this nonsense and say yes?’ Marcus demanded, keeping his tone conversational.

  Antonia’s cheeks flamed. ‘Shh!’ The steps took them apart and then together again.

  ‘I mean it, Antonia,’ he warned.

  ‘You cannot force me,’ she flashed back, still in a whisper.

  Now they were hand in hand, sidestepping down the long row. ‘You will stay on this dance floor until you give me an answer.’ Marcus wanted to plead, but he made his voice hard with determination.

  He was conscious that heads were turning and amongst the watchers some women were whispering behind their fans. Antonia half-turned, looking to flee through the throng, but Marcus was too swift for her. He circled her wrists, keeping her to the measure.

  ‘Marry me, Antonia, you know it was meant to be,’ he insisted as they whirled around.

  ‘Never. Nothing you can do or say will induce me to marry you, Marcus Renshaw.’ The words fell into a sudden silence as the band came to a halt in a flurry of strings.

  Aghast, staring wildly about her, Antonia realised her words had been audible to all the dancers around her. The floor failing to open up and swallow her, she picked up her skirts and fled and the crowd parted before her.

  Outside, careless of cloak or bonnet, she hailed a passing hackney carriage. The driver seemed startled to find a lone gentlewoman hailing him outside Almack’s, but he was polite enough when she stammered out the direction.

  Hodge, with the licence of an old family retainer, was frankly scandalised to find her returning alone. ‘Miss Antonia! Where’s Mrs Clarence? And your cloak and your bonnet. What is amiss?’

  ‘Oh, never mind. Please don’t fuss, Hodge. Just pay the driver and send my maid up to me.’

  Antonia managed to maintain her composure until the maid had helped her into her nightgown, then she dismissed the girl. ‘Thank you, that will be all. Please make sure Lady Granger knows I am returned, but tell her I have a headache and will see her at breakfast.’

  Antonia sank down on the bed, put her head in her hands and despaired. Under her fingers her temples throbbed and she could still feel the heat of humiliation burning her cheeks.

  The whole of Society would know by tomorrow that she had made an indecorous exhibition of herself at Almack’s and humiliatingly rejected the Duke of Allington into the bargain. He would never forgive her for that very public rebuff, even though it was he who had been to blame, she thought bitterly.

  Antonia groaned. To think she had come to London for sanctuary. Now she would have to retreat once more into Hertfordshire and rusticate until some other scandal arose to titillate Society and she was once more forgotten. And Great-Aunt would never forgive her, broadminded though she was.

  At that moment the knocker thudded, audible even through her closed door. Hewitt, no doubt, with Emilia squeaking in his wake, ensuring that no sordid detail of her disgrace remained untold. There were footsteps on the landing and her great-aunt’s sitting-room door opened and closed. Strain her ears as she might, Antonia could not hear voices.

  The visit lasted half an hour. When carriage wheels rumbled away in the street outside, Antonia sat tensely, awaiting the summons to account for herself. It never came and eventually she fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Antonia entered the breakfast parlour the next morning to be met by a benign smile from Lady Granger. ‘Good morning, my dear. I trust you had a pleasant evening last night.’

  ‘No, Aunt, I did not.’ Antonia sat down and stared at her plate. ‘Surely you have heard? Surely Hewitt told you last night when he came?’

  ‘Oh, Hewitt. I never pay any attention to what he says.’ Lady Granger fell silent as a footman brought in a fresh jug of chocolate. As he left, she remarked, ‘I suppose you will be wanting to go out of Town for a while? You may take my travelling carriage and Blake my coachman will, of course, drive you into Hertfordshire.’

  Antonia accepted gratefully. She was a little surprised that her great-aunt had not offered one of the maids to accompany her. She concluded that, despite her calm, the old lady was displeased with her.

  It was only a few hours later that Antonia found herself driving out of London, feeling not unlike an unwanted package being returned to its sender. Great-Aunt Honoria had been affectionate, but somehow distracted. Antonia concluded miserably that the old lady was concerned with limiting the damage to the family’s reputation and did not press her to talk.

  Blake was a middle-aged man used to driving an elderly lady and so progress was steady and smooth. Arriving at last in the late afternoon at the Saracen’s Head in King’s Langley for the last change of horses, Antonia declined the landlady’s offer of refreshment in a private parlour and sighed to see the coachman lumber down from the box and stride into the taproom.

  She picked up a book, resigned to wait at least half an hour, but she had scarcely found her place than she saw the skirts of his greatcoat as he mounted the box again. Soon they were bowling through the countryside with surprising speed. The new horses must have been an excellent pair but, even so, Blake’s driving had acquired a verve and flair he had not demonstrated in the previous miles.

  She thought little of it, grateful to be making such good progress and hopeful of being back at the Dower House by nightfall. Blake made the correct turning in Berkhamsted, wheeled left by the castle and began the long steady climb to the Common. Antonia dozed fitfully, then woke with a start as the carriage lurched.

  Strange, she did not remember the road being quite so rough. Puzzled, Antonia looked out and realised she had no idea where they were. Blake must be lost, and she had given him such careful instructions before they set out from Half Moon Street.

  Irritated, she knocked briskly on the carriage roof with the handle of her parasol, but Blake took no notice, nor did the conveyance slow. Antonia’s annoyance increased. Was the man deaf? They could end up miles out of their way and the shadows were lengthening. She dropped the window and, clutching her hat firmly, leant out.

  ‘Blake! Stop the carriage. You are going the wrong way.’ To her relief she felt the pace ease off and saw a clearing ahead with a barn beside it. At least he could turn the carriage there.

  As they drew up, she opened the door without waiting for him to descend and jumped down on to the grass. ‘Really, Blake, this will not do. Heavens knows where we are.’

  He had turned and was climbing down from the box, his back to her. Antonia waited impatiently. ‘There is no need to get down. Just turn the carriage…’ The rest of the sentence died on her lips as the man reached the ground and turned to face her.
‘Marcus? What are you doing here?’

  He shrugged off the heavy greatcoat and tossed the battered beaver hat up on to the coachman’s seat. ‘I am abducting you, of course.’ His manner was so matter of fact he might have been offering her a cup of tea.

  The shock left her standing there gaping at him, unable to find the words, even if she could work out what she felt.

  Marcus led the horses over to the barn and began to unbuckle the harness. ‘Will you come and hold their heads for a moment while I drop the shafts?’

  Mutely Antonia complied, wondering if it were he or she who had lost their senses. Finally Marcus loosed the animals into a nearby meadow, took Antonia by the hand and led her unresisting into the barn. Her brain was beginning to work again, she realised, but she still had no idea how she wanted to respond to this.

  It was a small building as barns went, but clean and dry and smelling sweetly of hay. The floor was swept clean to the beaten earth and pitchforks were propped against the walls. Only a small pile of hay remained, and that was incongruously heaped with rugs and pillows.

  Even more astounding was the sight of a table and two chairs, the board set with a white cloth and various covered dishes laid out. Marcus crossed and struck flint to light the candles which, in their fine candelabra, added the final touch of unreality to the scene.

  ‘Are you run mad? What can you hope to achieve by this?’

  Marcus came and untied the ribbons of her bonnet and took it from her head. He undid the buttons of her pelisse and handed her into the nearest chair, then reached for a bottle of wine. ‘Here, you must be in need of something to eat and drink.’

  Antonia took a reviving gulp of wine. ‘What do you mean to do with me?’

  ‘Why, ruin you, of course.' Marcus raised his glass in a toast and drank.

  Antonia put down the glass, sending the red liquid splashing on to the white cloth. ‘How can you be so vindictive? I have thought many things of you over these past months, but not that you would seek revenge for a humiliation last night that was at least as much your fault as mine.’

  Marcus smiled. His teeth gleamed white, and almost menacing in the shadows, and she shivered. ‘I can assure you, revenge does not come into it. Admittedly, I do not relish having to apologise to Lady Jersey, and many mamas have had their opinion of me as a rakehell confirmed. On the other hand, the odds on our marriage have shortened in most of the betting books of the clubs. I am glad I placed my bet when I did.’

  ‘You…You… You are no gentleman, to bet on such a thing, to bandy my name about like that. I’ll never be able to show my face again.’ She was on her feet now, heading for the door, quite certain what she wanted: to get out of there. If she had to walk to Berkhamsted – whichever direction it lay in – she would do so, however long it took her.

  ‘Come back, Antonia. Where do you think you are going? It is nearly dark. I was only teasing. I swear l have never so much as whispered your name in my club or any other. I cannot resist making your eyes flash with temper, they are so beautiful.’

  Antonia hesitated. It was dark out there now, and the woods were pressing in on all sides. In the distance a vixen screamed and the sky was cloudy without even a star to give her a sense of direction.

  She turned from the door and saw Marcus had taken off his coat, tugged his neckcloth loose and was lounging easily in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The candlelight glanced gold from his hair and shadowed the dangerous, mocking mouth. But his eyes were warm, his smile held no threat. When he stretched out a hand she walked uncertainly towards him.

  As she reached her chair, he caught her hand and pulled her on to his lap, settling her comfortably in the crook of his arm. Struggling was not going to do her any good and at least this close she could read his mood, his intentions, better. ‘You do not really intend to ruin me, do you?’ she asked, suddenly certain she knew the answer.

  ‘You are ruined, anyway, by the very act of being alone with me, here, all night. Antonia, you must know how I feel about you and I swear Claudia is not my mistress, was not at Brightshill by my invitation. I know what you saw that afternoon at the summer house, but I swear, on my honour, I did not instigate it, nor follow through on it. I kissed her in the conservatory to distract her and to bring her to my room where I made it very clear it was all over between us.

  ‘We are here now – shall we be hanged for the sheep, not the lamb?’ As he spoke he stood up, lifted her easily in his arms and walked slowly to the hay bed where he laid her on a rug.

  She looked up at him, almost certain, wanting him so much. You must know how I feel about you, Marcus had said. Do I? Why doesn’t he say it?

  He loomed above her. He seemed very large and all the humour had fled from the dark eyes. ‘Antonia? One word from you and I will take a rug to the far side of this barn and stay there all night. I swear I will not touch you until you say I may. But, as a result of this night you are ruined in the sight of Society. You must marry me, you have no choice.’

  She understood him well enough, and believed him. If she told him to, he would take himself off and not trouble her. But she loved him, and if she were never to see him again for the rest of her life, she would at least have this night.

  Wordlessly Antonia held up her arms to him and he came down to his knees on the soft bed beside her. Marcus ran is his fingers through her hair, tossed aside pins, fanned out her curls against the blanket. ‘You are so beautiful, you take my breath away,’ he murmured, his voice curiously husky. His finger traced the line of her jaw then moved to map the curve of her upper lip.

  Antonia shivered in delicious anticipation, shot through with apprehension. Instinctively her teeth fastened on his fingertip and she saw his eyes close momentarily. It seemed the power was not all with him…

  She tugged at his shirt and he bent his head so she could pull it over and throw it aside. When she ran her palms flat across the planes of his chest he shuddered. The heat of him shocked her, but even more shocking was the realisation of the effect that her touch had on him.

  It was silent in the barn except for his ragged breathing. To her surprise, he did not kiss her, seemed willing to let her set the pace.

  Exploring, giving way entirely to instinct, Antonia let her mouth trail kisses down his muscular shoulder before hesitating for only a heart beat as her lips moved across to his chest. They fastened on his nipple and she heard him gasp as her tongue flicked out and over the sensitive tip.

  Startled by her own temerity and the effect she was having on him, Antonia stopped, confused, hiding her hot face against him. Marcus caressed her neck, then lifted her towards him so that she was sitting, her brow against his bare shoulder as he unfastened the row of pearl buttons securing her bodice at the back. The gauzy muslin seemed to float from her shoulders and she felt her naked breast against his bare chest, cool against the hot, hard planes.

  He rolled her gently over on to her back, deftly freeing the rest of the gown, then unlacing her stays, leaving her in only her stockings and chemise. He got to his feet and Antonia closed her eyes, listening as the rest of his clothes fell to the floor.

  Antonia opened her eyes again as she felt his weight shift the hay beside her and found herself looking into his intent, serious face. ‘Antonia, my darling, are you sure?’ For the first time she saw uncertainty in his face.

  She was apprehensive, scared a little, but that weighed very little set against her longing and her love for him. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘But kiss me, Marcus.’

  That was all he needed to hear, it seemed. His mouth possessed hers, his tongue invading sweetly so that she was scarcely aware at first of his weight on her. His hands moved, caressed, tore gasps and sighs and trembling pleasure from her. When that other totally intimate invasion came, she cried out against his mouth, then she was carried on a tide of sensation with him, taken away by the pleasure of joining, of the rightness of this. That pleasure alarmed her even more than the momentary pain,
but she gave herself up to it, trusting him to guide her.

  Then came a moment when Marcus became still above her, his body rigid as he groaned deep in his throat and then he cried out, a shout of triumph as she too arched against him, her cry of ecstasy muffled against his mouth.

  Marcus pulled her into the curve of his shoulder as he fell back on to the bed and she let him hold her, holding on to him in turn as though she would never let him go. They slept wrapped in each other’s arms, oblivious to the noises of the night.

  They awoke at dawn, Antonia blissfully becoming aware of the movement of Marcus’s mouth on the swell of her breast.

  ‘Mmm,’ she murmured sleepily as she rolled over to wrap her arms and legs possessively around his naked body. This time it was she who set the pace, urgent in her need for him, revelling in his strength, his power.

  At length he propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her flushed face. ‘And how do you feel this morning, my beauty?’ he enquired softly.

  ‘Quite, quite ruined,’ she confessed, praying that he would not say the words that would destroy this dream of happiness. It was a futile hope.

  ‘And how long are you going to make me wait until we marry?’ Marcus asked as he stood up and reached for his shirt.

  Antonia was struck silent by seeing him standing there, naked, so close, so real, so very masculine. Then she reached for her chemise. Somehow she felt the need for clothes before she could continue this.

  ‘l am not going to marry you,’ she said as she stood, her back to him for Marcus to fasten the ties of her stays.

  His lips grazed down her nape. ‘Tease.’

  ‘No, I mean it.’ She stepped away and turned to face him. ‘l never said I would marry you.’

  ‘But you have no choice.’ He gestured to the rumpled hay bed with its eloquent impression of two bodies.

  ‘I will not marry you. If anyone realises that we have been here all night, then yes, I am ruined. But I will have to live with that.’