by Jaimey Grant
As to the other ladies, he was pleased that they had taken his warning in earnest. He really didn’t think he could be civil to them and he very much preferred not to have to try. He decided not to ponder why he thought he’d have to try.
All that aside, he still hadn’t found his wife. And it appeared that Stark, for whatever reason, was unwilling to divulge her exact whereabouts. It had never occurred to Derringer that his staff would switch their loyalties, but it appeared they had. His bride seemed to have won them over and even added to their ranks those who would have more than one reason to feel grateful to the new Duchess of Derringer.
“Where might I find my wife, Stark?” inquired the duke, his swift loss of patience evident in his silky tone.
“In your study, your grace,” replied the butler with what looked suspiciously like a smirk.
Derringer turned to leave but before he walked away, said, “I want to meet every new servant, Stark. Have them assembled here in one hour.”
“But I don’t understand,” insisted Leandra calmly. “If the workers are properly taken care of, they will work more efficiently, will they not?”
“In theory, Merri, in theory,” replied Martin. “But it could also incite rebellion if the workers feel others are being treated better than themselves. Even if the others are not your tenants or employees and simply the workers on the neighboring estate. And with all due respect,” he added evenly, “we really should confer with Hart since he is here. It would be unconscionable to make these decisions without the permission of the landowner.”
“You are right, of course, Martin, but I cannot believe Hart would not want to treat his workers with the kindness and respect they deserve. Mr. Harper needs a new roof. I rode out to see it myself before you arrived and I would have set the workers to it immediately but then you came and many of my plans were halted.” She scowled ever so slightly. “It is most vexing to have to answer to someone when you truly believe you are in the right and your…master, for lack of a better word, may not agree.”
Martin smiled indulgently at her. “Do you ever think of anything that does not pertain to your husband’s tenants or land?”
For some reason, annoyance flared to life at his innocent question. Did he think she shouldn’t worry her pretty little head over matters that were better left to the gentlemen? Did he think she should fret more about her wardrobe, local gossip, and her own consequence?
Probably not, she told herself. Martin had never suggested that she should be an empty-headed widgeon like her brother’s wife. He’d never been anything other than polite, encouraging, and the proper gentleman. Exactly the type of gentleman Leandra had dreamed about in the brief moments she’d allowed herself to dream of marriage and a family.
But even with all the estate problems Leandra had seemed to automatically acquire with her marriage, she still worried over her dress. It had always been in the back of her mind that the duke could return home at any moment and she wanted to prove to him that she had some sense of style even if it was with the help of her maid.
And now he was home and although she wouldn’t admit it even to herself, Leandra was hiding from him. After last night, she was unsure how to act around him and, worse, she was unsure how she felt about him. He was an uncouth lout, to be sure, one who found unusual pleasure in the discomfort of others, but she’d seen evidence of his goodness in the way his servants spoke of him in his absence, the overheard word here and there when the speaker was unaware of her presence. The people who served him admired him, loved him even, though not all of them understood him. Leandra could hardly blame them. She found herself oddly attracted to him even when his unkindness lashed her like a whip. Perhaps it was a weakness in her. Or perhaps she simply believed there was a better person inside him, a better man who made an occasional appearance.
Michaella walked over to the large desk where Leandra sat with Martin on one side. She smiled sweetly. “There will be quite a lovely view from that window”—she pointed in the direction of the window where she had been standing—“in the spring, I think. Which garden is that?”
“That would be the South Gardens, dear,” Leandra told her.
Michaella nodded and turned toward the door. “I think I will go for a walk on the grounds and…” Her voice trailed off as she passed out of their hearing.
Leandra shook her head fondly at her somewhat featherbrained sister. “She is such a sweet young lady, though,” she murmured to herself.
“What was that, Merri?” asked Martin.
She smiled. “It was of little import, Martin. I was merely thinking aloud.”
The blond gentleman studied Leandra for a long moment. She grew a trifle uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny. It seemed to be a St. Clair family trait to stare a person out of countenance.
“I wonder, Merri, if you would care to go for a stroll through the gardens as well. We can follow Lady Michaella and all the proprieties would be observed,” he suggested, much of the intensity fading from his gaze.
“That sounds lovely, Martin. I must run and get my pelisse and then I will join you…?”
“In the Great Hall after I’ve determined exactly where your sister has gone.”
“Very well,” Leandra replied serenely as she rose to her feet. Martin rose as well and waited until she walked out before he slumped back in his chair with a strange frown on his face.
Leandra grabbed the first pelisse she touched which thankfully was a lovely rose pink that matched her gown of pink sprigged muslin to perfection. She threw it on and buttoned the row of tiny buttons down the front and shoved her feet into some sensible half-boots instead of her soft kid slippers.
She was leaving her dressing room when Liza rushed in out of breath. “Oh, your grace, the duke is looking for you,” gasped the maid. “Mr. Stark said as how his grace has searched all of the morning and he was headed to the study when I saw you running up the stairs and thought to warn you.”
“I was not running, Liza. A lady never runs,” replied Leandra in her best duchess tones.
The little maid grinned. “Of course not, your grace.”
“Thank you for letting me know that his grace is looking for me. I’ll be sure to seek him out…as soon as I return from my walk with Mr. St. Clair.”
The maid gave her mistress a knowing look. “And what shall I tell his grace when he asks me where you have got to?”
Leandra paused in the act of drawing on her gloves and stared at the girl. “Tell him the truth, Liza. I am out walking.” She threw the maid a smile and walked out the door.
Derringer entered the study mere seconds after Martin had left. He stood in the center of the rather small chamber and stared around him with an annoyed frown on his harsh features. He had the feeling that he was being avoided.
Oh, well, he thought in resignation. If his wife wished to avoid him, he’d oblige her. He’d grown weary of the chase. Besides, she couldn’t hide forever, even in a mausoleum like Derringer Crescent.
The study used to be his father’s domain. He remembered coming here once as a very small boy. The old duke had been discussing something with Mr. Comfrey, the man who used to serve as steward. Little Hart had stood patiently waiting for his father to acknowledge him and was disappointed when his father had told him to leave instead and not to enter the study again until he was asked.
Derringer could still remember the feeling he got every time he had been around his father. And for some reason, this room only emphasized the fact that his father had not loved him. Perhaps it was because it still felt and looked so much like the late Duke of Derringer. Except…
Derringer approached the desk and looked down. The top was scattered with sheets of vellum and parchment covered in a delicate feminine hand. His wife’s. He studied the handwriting minutely. He noticed she had a tendency to underline some of her words with the tail of the last letter. Oddly flighty for such a common-sense sort of girl.
Then he realized what he was looking
at. Plans to renovate the dower house that was located on the grounds outside the castle wall. Why the devil did she want to do that?
The suspicion crossed his mind that she might be considering living there herself. He was surprised that he didn’t want her to. But why should he care? He didn’t love her. She was nothing more than a poor abandoned girl he had felt sorry for and married. She was nothing to him. That he got a fortune in the bargain was just a bonus for his act of selflessness.
Selflessness, hah! Even Derringer had to admit that it was his own sense of injustice that he should be denied his rightful inheritance by a father who had more than proven that he had not a speck of regard for his son that had prompted his proposal to Leandra Harcourt. The fact that he actually desired his bride was the bonus, he thought with a wicked smile.
And she desired him, he knew from her reaction last night. Well, part of her reaction anyway. She had definitely responded to his teasing as he had hoped. But the way she so quickly recovered her poise was enough to make him wonder.
Derringer strode from the study in more of a temper than when he had gone in. He wasn’t even planning to quiz her about her behavior of the night before. He only wanted to ask his wife if she knew why her brother would be in France and if she knew Fraser D’Arcy. She probably knew nothing but he had to ask.
Then he had to set sail again and retrieve his cousin before the trail grew cold.
10
“Forgive me for saying this, Merri, but you do not appear to hold Hart in very much affection,” pointed out Martin as they strolled companionably in Michaella’s wake.
The rear gardens were bare of vegetation since it was November and the air was crisp but Leandra found it lovely to walk about outside anyway.
She pondered Martin’s observation and wondered if perhaps she ought to tell him of her odd relationship with her husband. But did Martin have any right to know? If the duke had not seen fit to inform him, why should she?
She was strangely ashamed of herself for leaping at the chance to be married to a duke anyway. She had, of course, actually agreed before she had learned he was a duke, but it had only enhanced the appeal to be rescued by such an attractive man possessed of both title and consequence. Leandra had always known what a plain young woman she was and had never imagined that a handsome man would fall in love with her and insist that she marry him. Derringer had not professed love but how could he when he had only just met her?
She’d not had any romantic notions in regard to the duke because of their unique circumstances, but she was not about to cavil at fate for her marriage. She had taken the leap and she would deal with the consequences even if they were not particularly palatable at the moment. Perhaps things would change and her husband would fall in love with her.
But could she fall in love with him?
“Do I not?” she asked her handsome companion, returning to their conversation. She gave a little shrug. “I am sorry I seem so, but I truly do have a great regard for your cousin,” she told him truthfully. “I am annoyed that he insists on spending so much time away when we are so newly married, but…” She shrugged.
Martin seemed to take this with a grain of salt but he said nothing to that effect. “How soon did he leave after you were married?” He swiped at an overgrown rosebush with his walking stick and turned to gaze at her steadily.
“The day after we married,” she replied. She was definitely not going to tell him that the marriage had yet to be consummated.
“I have to admit I was shocked when Hart told me. I would never have thought he would marry. He had always said he never would.”
“Oh, and he may not have, had circumstances been different,” Leandra said without thought.
Martin seized upon her statement. “Circumstances?” he inquired idly.
“Oh, you know, meeting me and falling in love,” she answered blithely. She cringed inside at her slip and consequent fib. She hoped her husband never heard what she had said.
“Yes, Martin, so I am sure you won’t mind me stealing my bride for a moment,” said a smooth voice behind them.
“Oh, Lord,” the duchess muttered before she turned with a bright smile on her lips and a pleading expression in her eyes.
That was when Derringer realized he could never deny her when she had that particular look in her eyes. He would slay dragons for her just to see that look disappear. He wanted her to truly smile again. Damn, but that was not a feeling with which he was comfortable.
“Hello, Hart,” said Martin, offering his hand.
The duke shook it warmly. “How do you do, Martin? It’s been a while, has it not?”
“Indeed it has,” Martin smiled. “And now I will leave you with your bride. We can catch up later.”
The secretary walked away and Leandra watched him go with something akin to regret. She really did not want to be alone with her husband.
“Leandra.” The duke held out his arm and waited for her to take it.
He was being everything that was polite—a circumstance that made his wife very uneasy. Leandra placed her hand gingerly on his arm and smiled up at him. “How was your morning?” she asked brightly.
They walked for a bit before the duke responded to her question and then in a way she had not expected.
“Doing it a bit too brown, my love,” he murmured with a sharp look at her face.
Her heart skipped a beat at the mocking endearment. He was not being polite then but merely toying with her like a cat toys with a mouse before killing it. She glanced behind her back, saw they were not being observed by Martin or any of the outdoor staff, and dropped her hand from his arm. The duke said nothing and linked his hands behind his back.
“I do not know what you mean,” she said stiffly.
“And I thought your one redeeming quality was honesty.”
She inhaled sharply. “Why don’t you just say what you mean instead of playing games,” she snapped.
He looked at her in amusement. “And I have succeeded in driving away your serenity once again,” he remarked. “And with so little effort on my part.”
She strove for calm. “Nonsense, your grace. I am ever calm.”
“I recall another time in which you were less than serene, my dear. You were in fact quite…bothered,” finished the duke with a wicked smile.
Her heartbeats picked up and color rose to her cheeks. Whether it was from anger or embarrassment or something entirely different was anybody’s guess. “That was a unique situation, your grace. And you are no gentleman to bring it up,” she retorted.
“I never claimed that title, Merri. I only ever claimed to be a duke. And I am that.”
They were silent for several minutes. They had wandered toward the stables without either one of them noticing. Derringer led the way into the stables and to two stalls near the end. Leandra knew that Satan’s Son and Lucifer’s Lady were stabled there. She herself had grown quite fond of Lady.
Derringer was oddly silent as he approached the stallion. He said something low to the animal that made Satan whinny in answer. The duke smiled and reached into his pocket. He held his hand palm-up and gave him a small apple. Satan nodded and whinnied his approval. Then Derringer did the same for Lady. He received much the same reaction he had gotten from Satan.
Leandra stood a little distance away and watched this. She was amazed at how very gentle he was with the animals. He even reached down to pet the huge black dog that trotted up to sit at his feet.
She approached the man and his pets. “Why do you name them so?” she asked with a gesture toward the horses. She had been wondering since she had first come to live at the Crescent.
Derringer smiled. “An affinity with the Dark Prince?” he quipped. “It was an act of rebellion. It helped that they are so black, too.” He pointed at the dog that now lay at his feet and the black cat that had just joined them. “Have you met Cerberus and Beelzebub?”
“Not properly,” she replied with a twinkle. She stooped dow
n to pet the dog and cat who were more than happy to let her. After a few moments of this, she looked up to find the duke’s black eyes trained on her. She couldn’t read the emotion there but it set her heart to beating erratically.
“They don’t like anyone,” he commented. “That’s why I like them. Do you ride?”
“I have enjoyed a few good gallops on Lady. I hope you don’t mind.”
“She didn’t throw you?”
Leandra gave her husband a puzzled frown. “No, why should she? I do know how to ride.”
“She—”
“Doesn’t like anyone,” finished Leandra dryly. “Are all your animals like their master, your grace?”
“No,” he said harshly. “They all seem to like you.”
Leandra didn’t give him the hurt look he had expected. The look she gave him was blank, completely and totally devoid of any expression or emotion. He even searched her eyes but they were equally blank behind her spectacles. She gave him this steady look for a full ten seconds before turning on her heel and walking away with her head held high.
She was twenty feet away before he realized that her eyes had been brown and the gold flecks had disappeared. What that meant, he was unsure. But he was sure that he didn’t want to see it again.
“Tell his grace that I am indisposed and will be unable to join him for dinner,” Leandra instructed Stark as she entered the house and headed in the direction of her room. “If my family goes in to dinner, apologize to them as well.”
The butler bowed and watched her walk away with a concerned frown marring his normally expressionless face.
Leandra dismissed Liza as soon as she entered her dressing room. She slowly unbuttoned her pelisse and carefully removed it, laying it across a chair back for Liza to take care of later. Then she removed her gloves and shoes, laying them neatly by the chair as well. She unwound the ribbon from her hair and shook her head slightly causing the dark brown tresses to bounce around her head and over her shoulders. Her head hurt and she needed no extra stress upon it.