She wasn’t exactly a wallflower, but she was realistic enough to know what enticed a gentleman to ask her for a dance. However, the thought of herself as a potential partner for the Duke of Scuffold was almost ridiculous. He was rich; he did not need to marry a wealthy woman. And, he was so very different from the other gentlemen in her circle that Minerva was unable to figure out his reasoning. He truly was a strange man.
Minerva sat down on the stone bench and could not avoid noticing that someone had cleaned off most of the dirt. Had he ordered this?
She could almost imagine what the pavilion must have looked like in its glory days. It was a beautifully secluded and romantic place – ideal for a rendezvous between two lovers. The crying woman had, when she was still amongst the living, waited here for her love, Minerva was certain of that. Maybe her husband had caught her as she kissed someone else, and he had killed her in a rage of jealousy. She would only find eternal rest when justice had been served on her murderer.
A soft rustling caught Minerva’s attention, and she had to reassure herself that ghosts did not exist. The noise was nothing but the wind moving some of the fallen leaves along. Or it was the duke, sneaking up on her. She peeked out, but she could see nothing but the trees, the grass, and the scattered rays of the afternoon sun. Unfortunately, today it was too dark to write. Minerva could do nothing but wait for his lordship to pay his respects. She wondered how he planned to simultaneously keep his appointment with the Buckleys and meet her in the woods. She imagined how he would be subjected to Aunt Catherine’s disapproving looks, which made her laugh out loud. Her aunt had only agreed to go with her husband under great objection, which had been evident in the stiff way she had climbed into the carriage.
“I am happy to see that you are perfectly content in entertaining yourself without me,” a voice said directly behind her.
Minerva suppressed a small yelp. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having startled her a second time. She straightened her back and turned around towards him. The Duke of Scuffold stood outside, in front of the pavilion, and stared at her with sinister eyes. “What were you laughing about?”
Minerva got up and walked outside. She only had to take a few steps around the small building, before she reached him. He looked to her like a gamekeeper, she thought, with his dirty boots and coat, which had started to show signs of wear and tear. Breathe, she ordered herself and remembered that Sally was nearby. He leaned his shoulder against the stone wall and seemed calm. The initially harsh expression on his face had been replaced by a rather amused superiority, which enraged Minerva beyond all measure. Before she could think of a fitting answer, she said the first thing that was going through her mind.
“I was laughing at you,” came over her lips.
Shocked, she slapped her hand over her mouth, then lowered it again. It was the duke who prompted contradictory emotions within her. She felt fear for this man, who rumour had was responsible for his wife’s… oh no. How could she have been so stupid!
For the very first time since yesterday, she actually saw a connection between the man standing in front of her and the allegations she had heard, straight from her aunt’s mouth. “It was… I apologise,” she stammered and avoided his direct gaze. For a short moment, something flashed across the duke’s eyes, which looked strange on his face, and it was something Minerva could not put her finger on. But the unexpected look vanished again as quickly as it had appeared.
“If you are incapable of speaking in whole sentences, how are you going to write a full novel?” His deep voice sounded gentle, and it stood in contrast to his harsh words.
“That is entirely different,” she said, mustering up all of her courage. She needed to think about how to get out of the forest, unharmed. Calling for Sally was pointless, as she now had to admit. There was no chance that she would put her new maid in danger.
She had to take full responsibility for this dangerous situation.
“How so?” He did not leave her time to think, so quickly did his impertinent questions come. “Explain it to me.”
“When I write, I can slip into someone else’s skin,” she admitted. She had often thought about what it meant to her, to imagine things and to write them down. “I can live through their adventures, and I alone decide how my story will end.”
During the time it took her to answer, the duke had not moved, and he stood still like an animal, even as he spoke.
“You are yearning for adventure,” he repeated, “... and you would like to be someone else. Is this the reason why you are secretly meeting a man, whom they say killed his own wife out of jealousy?”
“May I remind you that it was you who forced me to come back here today?”
“Miss Honeyfield, you are a liar,” the duke said peremptorily. There it was again, that shimmering in his eyes, like a lightning strike flickering across the black night sky. “I am certain that your relatives wouldn’t have punished you too strictly, had you told them the truth about everything that happened here, earlier. Instead you prefer to come back into these woods, accompanied by a servant, who is currently sleeping blissfully. Have your parents never told you the story of Red Riding Hood, who encounters the big bad wolf in the forest?”
“You are no wolf,” Minerva said, but for reasons of safety she took a step away from him. “You are just a man.”
So, Sally had fallen asleep, instead of listening out for her call. What a wonderful accomplice she had chosen to bring with her.
“Just – a – man,” the duke repeated her words and said each one of them individually. It seemed as if he was savouring every syllable on his tongue. Then it came back with a force – the fear she had managed to keep subdued with her chitchat. She opened her mouth to call for Sally, but it was already too late. The duke had pushed himself off the wall and closed the distance between them in two long strides. Now, he stood in front of her, much too close in fact, which took her breath away. With a possessive gesture, he grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips. The blood was rushing through her veins and all Minerva could hear was the hollow sound of her own beating heart.
For too long, his cool lips rested on her hand. His unruly, tawny hair tickled the back of her hand. But the worst was that he was still looking at her from his half-bowed position. She forgot the danger she had thought she was in. At that moment, nothing else existed apart from him and her.
“Was this an adventure to your liking, Miss Honeyfield?” Even her name sounded different when he said it and was transformed into something new, and she was not sure whether she liked it or not.
However, his words had broken the magic of the moment.
Abruptly, Minerva pulled her hand back, and for a second, she stared at the part of her body, which seemed no longer to belong to her – and realised what had just happened.
As if that was not bad enough, her legs now started to shake terribly, and there was nothing she could do to make them stop.
“You are playing a game with me, which is not appropriate for a man of your standing. It is not very difficult for the notorious Duke of Scuffold to scare a young woman, as you are doing now. Are you not ashamed of yourself?” The more words poured out of her mouth, the safer Minerva felt in her outrage.
“You are scared of another kiss,” he determined and smiled victoriously, as if her words meant nothing.
“Oh no, you are mistaken, I am not afraid of a kiss,” she emphasised the last word and realised that this was the most inappropriate and peculiar conversation she had ever had. It was also the most intoxicating, because never before had Minerva felt as alive as she did in that very moment, when her heart was filled with fighting spirit and fear. “I did fear you. I feared the liberties you might take. But I was wrong. You are nothing but a man who is bored and who doesn’t know what else to do with his time, other than to delight in the sheer helplessness of a defenceless woman.”
“Do you really call yourself defenceless?” Something in his eyes s
parkled, and Minerva took it for joy that captivated his face in a fascinating way. “In that case, you should put aside your quill, or even better – burn it. A bunny-heart like you will never have the courage to write a book that will fascinate its readers.”
“That… you can’t possibly know. You have not even read anything I have written.”
Ironically, he raised his eyebrows, and Minerva would have liked to take her words back. Once again, she had followed him right into the trap he had laid out for her. “What makes you so proficient to think that you can pass judgement on me?”
The duke smiled, satisfied. “Well, I read,” he answered simply and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I would dare to say that Beaufort Castle is the home of the most extensive library in the entire county, maybe even in all of England.”
Stars danced in front of Minerva’s eyes as she absorbed his statement. Her face must have openly revealed her deep yearning for such a treasure, because he started to laugh. It was a surprisingly friendly laugh, which for a moment made her forget to whom she was speaking.
“Why don’t you come by one day and have some tea,” he suggested, as if they had been properly introduced by society, in the manner that it was supposed to happen. “You read to me from your book, and in turn, I will show you my library.”
Minerva had not even noticed that he had drawn closer to her again, but this time she did not retreat from him. His wide, masculine mouth twitched ominously, and she felt an uncontrollable giggle start to rise up inside her chest, as she tried to answer.
“You know that that is impossible. My aunt and uncle would never allow us… I mean, me… to visit you.”
“I have noticed that you are not exactly the most obedient young woman,” he said deliberately. “... but, as I have already determined, you lack courage.” He shook his head and looked at Minerva with a look of regret, before he turned around and left her standing without saying another word.
Minerva fought to suppress the disappointment and the urge to prove to him just how courageous she really could be. In vain. The Duke of Scuffold was about to leave the clearing, when she gathered her skirts and ran after him. “Wait!” She was well aware that this kind of behaviour was more than indecent, and yet there was nothing she could do. She did not even want to do something about it. The duke stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around towards her.
“I will visit you,” she said breathlessly.
“You will visit me,” he repeated quietly.
Hearing his echo created the biggest tingling inside her chest, half fearful and half anticipating. For the first time, the duke looked at her seriously, and she thought she saw something in his eyes that resembled yearning. Then he blinked and the notion was gone. “I shall expect you tomorrow for tea.”
Only after he had disappeared, did Minerva realise that her fear of him had also vanished.
Chapter 8
What kind of secret was hiding behind those dark eyebrows, those mocking lips and those gleaming eyes of the man who had taken her captive against her will?
Minerva woke Sally up, and she was grateful that the young woman was much too tired to ask any questions, that she didn’t even reprimand her. Minerva’s mind turned around the one question, over and over, and to which she didn’t know the answer: Why would a man such as the Duke of Scuffold seek her company?
Surely, it was not just her appearance and even less her considerable dowry. The duke owned vast tracts of land, and Beaufort Castle had an estate, which allegedly was not inferior to any of the castles of the royal family, in terms of luxury and splendour. With a painful stab in her heart, she remembered the conversation she had had with her Aunt Catherine, who had hinted more than once about the glamorous balls and dinners that had been held at Beaufort Castle. The female guests included visitors from France and Russia – beautiful and experienced women, who were of his age group and more suitable for him than a young girl such as herself. Maybe there was a tantalising widow who had lost her husband… no. She had started to concoct stories again, instead of focussing on the here and now.
What exactly had he meant by saying that she needed courage to write?
Minerva felt unbearably young and inexperienced. Unfortunately, she could not shake that feeling, all the way back to the Buckleys’ house. Her aunt was already waiting for her in the salon, and she noted the sturdy boots and mildly soiled hem of her dress, with only a restrained shake of her head. Apparently, something far more important than Minerva’s appearance occupied her aunt’s thoughts, and Minerva’s knees almost buckled with relief.
“Mr Benjamin Nicholls has announced that he will call tomorrow afternoon for tea,” she began the conversation. Minerva tried, in vain, to wrack her brains to remember a gentleman with this name, whilst her aunt smiled at her expectantly. The more time passed with no response, the more her smile faded, until nothing but two laboriously held up corners of her mouth remained.
“How lovely,” Minerva said, which earned her a chiding look. Her aunt had figured out her little manoeuvre.
“Mr Nicholls is the young gentleman who will pay his respects, with the approval of your parents,” Aunt Catherine reminded Minerva. “Surely you remember our conversation?” Her voice had changed to a much more disapproving tone and was a sign of her tense nerves. “Your uncle has to speak to him about a business proposition, and once the two gentlemen have finished their discussion, the young man will keep you company for a while, whilst you both enjoy a cup of tea.”
Minerva knew her aunt well and assumed that in place of a simple “cup of tea”, the cook was already preparing an opulent meal with Anna’s help.
“How lovely,” Minerva repeated, somewhat absentmindedly, just to gain more time. The Duke of Scuffold and his impertinent, yet compelling proposal took up so much space in her mind, that there was little room left for anything else, in particular another unwanted marriage candidate. On top of that, tomorrow the duke had ordered her to come to Beaufort Castle, of all days! If she were to pretend that she was indisposed, then it would be impossible for her to sneak out of the house unnoticed. His lordship would have to wait for her, whether he liked it or not. It would do him good, but regardless of that, Minerva felt a touch of disappointment. She would have loved to see his magnificent library. But no, it was simply not possible to avoid this forced tête-à-tête with Mr Nicholls. “How was your visit at the duke’s castle?” she asked, to distract her aunt.
The answer was rather evident, judging by her aunt’s harshly pressed lips, and at first, Minerva expected her aunt to brush her off by merely pointing out that this was not an appropriate topic for a young lady like her. But to her surprise, Aunt Catherine answered, only after a short moment of hesitation. “Oh child,” she sighed. “We did not even get to see him for very long. He pretty much instructed your uncle to help him with the writing of a contract, which your uncle will conclude with Mr Nicholls, and he gave him all the relevant paperwork. After that, he asked me,” her voice sounded incredulous, “... to help him choose new servants.” She frowned and ran her fingertips across her forehead to smooth the deep lines, as if she wanted to wipe her insubordinate thoughts away behind them. “Shortly afterwards, he excused himself and did not return.”
“Uncle James must be very pleased to be able to work for such a wealthy man,” Minerva offered, hesitantly. At least she now knew how the duke had managed to get away during the afternoon and to make it possible for her to escape the house. He had arranged for her aunt and uncle to be occupied for as long as had been necessary, without having to be present himself.
“Yes, you are right,” her aunt replied. Her gaze fell upon Minerva’s hands, lying idle in her lap. Without uttering a word, she grabbed the needlework basket and handed her the maltreated embroidery she had been working on earlier. Minerva took it and stared at it with little hope that she would ever be able to produce a satisfying result. Aunt Catherine’s nimble hand, even with her slightly swollen fingers, was faste
r and more skilful than Minerva ever expected hers to be.
“Have you agreed to help him?”
Aunt Catherine snorted. “Your uncle assured him of my help,” she said sharply. Sudden sympathy with her older relatives made her heart feel tight.
“I could help you with your task,” she suggested, which earned her a sharp look from the piercing blue eyes.
“No,” her aunt denied her completely. “I do not want you to spend even one minute in the same room as that rotten and corrupt man. Your opportunity for a marriage with Mr Nicholls would be ruined, even before he had a chance to propose to you.”
“But…” Minerva began – she wanted to say that she and Mr Nicholls had not even met each other yet, let alone talked to each other. It was not only very premature, but indeed outright hasty to be speaking about marriage so soon. Then she had another thought.
“Since Mr Nicholls also has business dealings with the Duke of Scuffold, he can’t possibly have any objections if I come and support you during your uncomfortable task.”
“You really are still a child, Minerva. Have you not learned yet that there are different rules for men than there are for women?”
“But Uncle James doesn’t seem to mind that you are seen in the company of the duke.” She did not add that she was very well aware of the difference in treatment between men and women, even though it was only a few days ago that she had begun to accept these observations as actual facts.
“Nobody, who has their five senses together, could assume there was anything disreputable between me and the duke.” Her aunt replied coldly. “It almost seems as if you are trying to completely ruin your chances of getting married.” She paused for a moment and began to stab at her own needlework. “Or is there another reason for your behaviour?” She let the hand that was holding the needle and thread sink into her lap. “Should I find out that you are associating with this man behind my… behind our, backs, I will notify your parents immediately. Do I make myself clear?”
Miss Honeyfield and the Dark Duke: A Regency Romance Novel Page 8