Enchanting the Duke

by Patricia Grasso

  By the time the waltz ended, John and Lily were laughing. He bowed to her again. “Mistress Dupre, that waltz was the best of my life.”

  “I liked it too,” Lily said, smiling up at him.

  “What shall we do now? Isabelle asked, when they joined her on the blanket.

  “Eat,” Lily answered.

  “Let’s see what Cook prepared for us,” John said, peeking beneath the cloth covering the food basket. “Why, I believe it’s grilled trout.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Lily said.

  “Neither am I,” Isabelle added. “Besides, I would feel as if I were eating a friend.”

  “I’m teasing.” John took a platter of cold roasted chicken from the basket.

  “Do you have a drumstick for me?” Lily asked.

  “I do,” John said, passing her the drumstick.

  Lily took a bite, but as she broke a piece off with her tiny teeth, the chicken flew out of her hand and landed on the grass. “Oops,” she said, reaching for it.

  John was faster and scooped it up. “I don’t want you to eat dirt.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse about dirt,” Lily told him.

  John turned his dark gaze on his wife. “I never imagined she would imitate me,” Isabelle said, by way of an apology.

  Passing Lily another piece of chicken, John asked, “What would you like to do before we return home?”

  “Let’s catch frogs.”

  “Frogs?” Isabelle echoed.

  “Juniper told me if I kiss a frog, he’ll turn into a handsome prince,” Lily said. “Do you want to kiss one too?”

  “I’d rather tickle a trout,” Isabelle said. “I have a wonderful idea. I’ll play my flute while you lie back on the blanket and watch the clouds make pictures.”

  Lily nodded and lay back on the blanket between Isabelle and John, who also lay back with his arms behind his head. Isabelle played a lullaby, and within minutes the girl was asleep. She shifted her gaze to her husband and smiled. John was asleep too.

  A week passed. During those seven idyllic days, Isabelle savored the family life for which she’d always yearned.

  Pony-riding lessons, picking early berries, wading in the loch’s shallows, watching the cloud formations, and rolling down the sides of hills filled the sunny days. Rainy days passed quickly because of Isabelle’s flute playing and John’s tales of wild Highland adventures and local ghost stories.

  On the tenth morning in the Highlands, Isabelle stood in front of the looking glass in her dressing room and inspected herself. Excitement flushed her cheeks with a rosy hue and brought a glitter to her violet gaze. She’d just finished plaiting her blond hair into two thick braids, and she wore her oldest clothing—a lightweight woolen skirt and scooped-neck blouse. Over her arm she had slung a hooded cloak.

  Lifting her hands, Isabelle stared at the two rings her husband had given her. She wore her violets-in-the-snow betrothal ring, its sentiment signifying that he was the dark prince of prophecy. Then she shifted her gaze to her scrolled wedding band. Its heartening message—joy without end—tempted her to trust him.

  John Saint-Germain, the fifth Duke of Avon, the tenth Marquess of Grafton, and the twelfth Earl of Kilchurn, was her lawful husband. For better or for worse. They had exchanged their sacred vows before God.

  She loved him.

  She desired him.

  She intended to seduce him.

  Isabelle knew she needed to accept her husband as she expected him to accept the little girl. True, John had warmed to the idea of being Lily’s father and had even begun to treat the little girl as if she belonged to him.

  No matter the final outcome, John Saint-Germain was her husband. When he invited her to ride alone with him to his hunting lodge to pass a few days together, Isabelle had accepted his invitation.

  Now that the moment of their departure had arrived. Isabelle felt uncertain as she stared down at her wedding ring. Was she doing the right thing? What if he rejected Lily in the end? Yes, she loved him, but could she forgive him if he hurt that lonely child?

  “His Grace loves you, child.

  Isabelle saw Giselle sitting in the chair in front of the hearth. “John has never told me so.”

  “Listen with your heart and hear what his true feelings are,” Giselle said.

  “But how do I—”

  The door opened, drawing their attention. Seeing her husband, Isabelle flicked a quick glance at the old woman, but she wasn’t there.

  “I hope you’re ready,” John said, crossing the chamber. “Why are you sitting there?”

  “I’m counting my blessings.”

  Isabelle couldn’t help but admire her husband. She could well understand the reason so many women found him irresistible. How much inner strength could a woman possess? Hence, his tarnished reputation with the ladies.

  “I want to go too,” Lily cried, running into the chamber and straight into Isabelle’s arms. “Myrtle is afraid you won’t come back.”

  “How could we stay away from you?” Isabelle asked, her heart wrenching at the girl’s stricken expression. The poor child feared being abandoned again.

  Isabelle looked to John for help, sitting in the chair vacated by Giselle. “Come and sit on my lap.”

  Lily crossed the distance between them and sat on his lap. John put his arm around her and gave her an encouraging smile.

  “The day you arrived to live with Lady Belle and me was our wedding day,” John explained. “We haven’t had any time to enjoy a honeymoon like all married couples do. Can you understand that?”

  Lily nodded.

  “Lady Belle and I are riding to my hunting lodge to enjoy a short honeymoon,” John continued. “I promise we’ll return to Kilchurn in a few days. Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “Will you trust me about this?”

  Lily nodded.

  “How about an ‘I’ll-see-you-in-a-few-days’ kiss?”

  Lily giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. Then she planted a noisy, wet kiss on each of his cheeks.

  “Mistress Dupre, I will forever cherish your kiss,” John teased her. “Give Lady Belle a kiss.”

  The little girl scooted over to Isabelle and threw her arms around her. She kissed each of Isabelle’s cheeks and then gazed into her eyes, announcing, “I love you, Lady Belle.”

  “I love you more,” Isabelle told her.

  Leaving Lily in the main foyer with Mrs. Juniper, John and Isabelle walked outside into the bright sunlight. Two saddled horses awaited them, while a third carried saddlebags and baskets filled with supplies.

  “Are you ready?” John tugged one of her braids.

  Isabelle laughed at his boyish gesture, so incongruous with the darkly sophisticated man. “I’m ready.”

  John and Isabelle rode at a leisurely pace down the path that would lead them into the upper pastures. The rich blue of the sky and the lush green of the trees dominated the area, and the various hues of wildflowers garnished the entire landscape.

  Isabelle felt optimism swelling within her soul. Her husband, the dark prince of prophecy, had warmed to his daughter, and she would resume her most enjoyable wifely duty. The three of them would live happily ever after, and all of her lonely girlhood dreams would become a reality.

  At the far end of the moors, the trees grew taller and thicker. Rabbits scampered across the road, and grouse whirred away before their approaching horses. John and Isabelle passed through the glades and entered a forest of pine, spruce, birch, and larch. Ancient beeches reached out with their gnarled branches over beds of bracken.

  “We’re here.” John halted his horse when they reached a clearing in the woodland.

  A small lodge and a stable stood in the clearing. A stone well perched on the opposite side of the area between the two buildings, saving the occupants from walking to a stream.

  “After settling, we’ll walk down that path to the valley of Glen Aray,” John said, help
ing her off the horse. “Come, I’ll show you the lodge.”

  John unlocked the lodge’s door and then, surprising her, scooped her into his arms to carry her across the threshold. “Highland tradition requires that the man carry his bride across the threshold. Doing so ensures them a happy marriage.”

  “I hope that proves true.”

  “Joy without end, darling.” He lifted her hand to press a kiss on its palm, sending a delicious shiver racing down her spine.

  The first floor of the lodge was one enormous chamber. An unmade bed, the most commanding presence in the room, stood along the wall on her right. Linens and a fur throw had been slung across it. Between the bed and the wall, a stairway led to a second level.

  “What’s up there?” Isabelle asked.

  “A loft of bedchambers,” John answered. “I prefer sleeping down here, though.”

  Isabelle continued inspecting her surroundings. A privacy screen stood in the corner to the right of the bed. Pots and pans hung on the wall to the left of the hearth, which was built into the wall on the left side of the chamber, and shelves on that wall contained an ample supply of crockery and nonperishable supplies.

  “Give me a few minutes to bring the supplies inside,” John said, turning away. “Then we’ll put the bed in order.”

  As soon as he left, Isabelle shook the linens out and started to make the bed. Did her husband think she was incapable of menial chores? If so, he had a surprise coming his way. True, she was an earl’s daughter, but a friendless young girl sought companionship with whomever she could, including an aging majordomo, a superstitious cook, and kindly maids who’d taught her to do minor tasks.

  The door opened. Laden like a pack horse, John walked in and set the satchels down in the center of the floor and the baskets on top of the table. Then he walked across the room to help her.

  Standing on opposite sides of the bed, John and Isabelle touched each other with their gazes. Captured by the tender expression in his eyes, Isabelle felt a melting sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  Would John want to make love immediately? Or would he wait until evening?

  “Cook packed us a pot of stew,” John said, “but we’ll save it for supper. I’d like to show you the glen if you’re not too tired.”

  “I’m fine,” Isabelle replied. “What about the horses?”

  “We’ll take care of them before we go.”

  After the horses had been fed and watered, John and Isabelle started down the path to the glen. With her spirits soaring, Isabelle fairly skipped along beside him. She was young and in love and alone with her husband.

  They walked into the silent grandeur of Glen Aray surrounded by massive peaks. The afternoon sun sparkled across the top of a serene pool of water formed by two mingling streams. All around them summer’s lushness colored the valley.

  “What are those?” Isabelle asked, pointing at the yellow flowers with red tendrils.

  “Glenside sundew,” John answered. “The sweet-smelling tendrils attract and then ensnare insects, which the plant eats.”

  Isabelle grimaced. “That’s worse than tickling a trout to death.”

  Reaching the pool, Isabelle plopped down on the ground and removed her boots and her stockings. Then she hiked her skirt up and dipped her toes into the water.

  “Oh, it’s cold.”

  “The water will warm as the summer progresses.”

  Isabelle sat on a large boulder and gazed at the awe-inspiring scenery. Stealing a peek at her husband, Isabelle found him watching her as if she were more interesting than the spectacular setting. His gaze on her brought a blush to her cheeks.

  “The solitude of these mountains always rejuvenates me,” John said. “I feel more human away from London society.”

  “I feel the same way about Stratford and my beloved Avon River,” Isabelle replied.

  “Stratford is cosmopolitan when compared with this,” John said, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.

  “I agree.” Isabelle pointed toward the water. “Look, two streams form the pool.”

  “Sorrow and Care—the Campbells’ names for those streams—mingle in the pool and then separate again to continue their journeys to Loch Fyne and Inverary Castle,” John told her. “Inverary belongs to my cousin, the Duke of Argyll.”

  “Did I meet him at our wedding?” Isabelle asked.

  “He sent his regrets, but his son attended.”

  “Which one was he?”

  John tapped the tip of her nose. “You are shockingly ignorant of London’s elite. His son is the Marquess of Inverary.” He pointed to the tiny hovels of stone and turf dotting the sides of the hills around them. “In the olden days before the Clearances, the Campbell women and the children would pass the summer in this valley. They’d sleep in those hovels while their men slept outside in their plaids.”

  “How sad that people should lose their ancestral homes.”

  “The world’s ways can be cruel,” John agreed, and then gave her one of his devastating smiles. “Next month we’ll return here with Lily. For a few days each year during August, showers of falling stars race across the night sky.”

  “Lily will love it.” That her husband was beginning to think of Lily as part of their family pleased Isabelle.

  “Put on your boots.” John rose from his perch on the boulder. “Let’s go home and eat.”

  Making its descent in the west, the sun cast long shadows as John and Isabelle retraced their path through the glen. The forest was cooler without the sun’s strong rays overhead.

  Inside the lodge, Isabelle watched John start the fire in the hearth, and she marveled that a man at ease in London’s most exclusive drawing rooms would relish menial chores like lighting fires and tending horses. She stopped him when he pulled the covered pot from one of the baskets and retraced his steps toward the hearth.

  “I can do that.” Isabelle lifted the pot out of his hands. “Fetch us a couple of buckets of water.”

  “Are you certain?” A doubtful expression appeared on his face.

  “I promise I won’t poison you.”

  He inclined his head. “The kitchen is yours.”

  Isabelle set the pot of stew on the hook over the hearth and stirred with a ladle. Then she crossed the chamber to the crockery shelves. Lifting two bowls, she used the bottom edge of her skirt to wipe the dust from them and then searched the food baskets for bread. She placed the loaf of bread on the table between their bowls. After stirring the stew again, she began unpacking their belongings.

  “It smells delicious,” John said, walking into the lodge. He set the buckets of water down near the hearth.

  Isabelle ladled stew into their bowls and set them down on the table. “Your Grace, I give you the first meal I almost cooked for you.”

  “I do believe that warming counts the same as cooking.”

  “Is warming the extent of your culinary skills?” she asked.

  “Actually, no, usually I fend for myself here,” he answered, surprising her. “Though, I’d never consider myself a culinary artist. What about you?”

  “Old Cook taught me everything she knew.” Seeing his incredulous expression, Isabelle amended herself. “Oh, very well. I know enough to keep myself from starving.”

  John smiled at her confession. “Anything more is unnecessary.”

  Isabelle carried their empty bowls to the water buckets. Then she returned to clear the table.

  “You’ll need a lady’s maid when we return to London,” John said.

  Isabelle stopped and looked at him. “Why?”

  “All ladies of breeding have a personal maid,” he said. “You’re a duchess now.”

  “I don’t feel like a duchess,” she said. “I feel like me.”

  “Nevertheless, you will employ a lady’s maid,” John told her. “To do otherwise would be an embarrassment to me. Mother will help you with the interviews.”

  Isabelle returned to sit across from him at the table. “What about M
olly?”

  “Who?”

  “You know, the girl who sells flowers in Berkeley Square,” she reminded him.

  John shook his head. “Molly would be inappropriate.”

  “Your mother will help me train her,” Isabelle argued.

  “We’ll see,” John smiled at her. “I’d bet my last shilling Molly is missing your business.”

  “And you would lose, Your Grace,” Isabelle said, her violet eyes gleaming like amethysts. “I left enough money with Pebbles to purchase her flowers every day until the first of October.”

  Her husband looked stunned. “You did what?”

  “I didn’t want her to starve so I left money with Pebbles to purchase her flowers.”

  “Isabelle Saint-Germain, you are a constant source of amazement.”

  Isabelle smiled. Isabelle Saint-Germain. She liked the sound of those words.

  “I’m going to bed the horses down for the night,” John said. “Use this time for your private needs.”

  Isabelle blushed, embarrassed that he would speak intimately with her. True, they’d been sharing a bed for a couple of weeks, but he’d always returned to their bedchamber after she’d retired for the night. He had left the chamber in the morning before she awakened. Except for the morning she’d caught him wearing his black silk underdrawers.

  “What a blusher you are,” John said, laughter lurking in his voice.

  Isabelle saw the tender amusement in his dark gaze when he leaned close to caress her cheek with one hand. John pulled her out of the chair and into his embrace. His lips swooped down to capture her mouth in a lingering kiss that held the sweet promise of love.

  “I do love kissing you,” he murmured, his voice husky.

  “More than eating early berries?”

  His lips twitched as if itching to smile, but his expression remained solemn. “Even more than rolling down the sides of hills.”

  Chapter 16

  His wife wanted him as much as he wanted her.

  John saw that as soon as he opened the door and stepped inside the lodge. Isabelle had changed into the ridiculously sheer nightgown that she’d worn on their wedding night. The gown had been designed to entice, and John was so damn enticed he thought he might embarrass himself.