A Duke Changes Everything (The Duke's Den #1)

by Christy Carlyle

  “If you’d ever left Enderley, you might have made a different sort of life. One with dancing in ballrooms and strolls on parapet walks that aren’t crumbling.”

  Throaty laughter burst from her. Nick liked seeing her smile almost as much as discovering the single dimple at the corner of her mouth.

  “Is that the choice you think I made? Dancing at balls or the drudgery of managing an estate.” She lifted a finger, like a governess scolding him. “Mind you, I’m not saying it is drudgery.”

  “Was there never a suitor?” The question was brazen. Entirely inappropriate. He wouldn’t have dreamed of asking Spencer or Iverson about affairs of the heart. He dearly wished Huntley would brag less about his conquests.

  But she was different.

  That was the trouble with Miss Mina Thorne. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met, and his feelings for her were a disturbing ferment of conflicting impulses. He swung between wanting to avoid the woman and aching to kiss her.

  Both of which were ridiculous, inappropriate, and not at all what he’d come to Enderley to do.

  Her fingers worked the fringe of her shawl, winding and unwinding the strands of yarn. She hadn’t looked his way since he’d asked his impertinent question.

  “There was someone.”

  “He must have been terribly smitten.” Nick regretted asking the question. He didn’t want to know some other man had wooed her, loved her.

  “No, I don’t think he was.” She shifted uncomfortably on the seat and swallowed. “I was a fool.”

  “He hurt you?” He saw the answer in the way she tensed, the way she averted her gaze out the window. Nick wanted to find the man and pummel him.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She gazed at him a moment, and then shook her head as if pushing way old memories. Then she lifted a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket. “We’ll be meeting in the public hall,” she said, straightening her skirt and employing her no-nonsense tone. “The vicar has arranged for some refreshments, and I’ve prepared a list of villagers I know will wish to speak with you.”

  Nick reached out to retrieve her folded list. She let go too quickly and the paper fluttered down between them. Mina reached out to catch it and her bare hand closed over his thigh.

  She jerked her hand back, curling her gloved palm into a fist. Her breaths came fast and her eyes widened. But it wasn’t horror or regret he saw in her gaze.

  Nick saw the same spark of desire he felt sizzling in his blood. The brand of five small gloved fingers and a heated palm warmed the top of his thigh.

  He wanted her, and it took every ounce of self-control not to reach for her before the carriage stopped in front of the vicarage.

  This was madness, and he was already in far too deep.

  As soon as the duke took his seat at a long table the vicar had set out, Mina positioned herself off to the side where she could watch his interactions but go largely unnoticed.

  The duke appeared wary, almost as if he had something to fear from the villagers. The truth was that all of them were coming weighed down with their own fears. He possessed the power to reject their petitions. Many probably worried he’d be like his brother, or worse, his father.

  Rowena Belknap approached first. An elderly widow with four grown children and two still at home, she boasted half a dozen grandchildren too. Her late husband had been a longtime tenant on Tremayne lands, but she was struggling to pay her rent and produce enough to feed her family.

  The duke listened intently as she made her plea, asking for mercy, for aid if it could be had. With more care than he’d treated Lady Claxton, he nodded and smiled at the older woman, even standing to take her hand as they spoke quietly to one another.

  Mina leaned closer to hear.

  “It will be done,” she heard him say in his low baritone.

  Mrs. Belknap beamed, her face transformed. She looked half her age and as if her burdens had been lifted.

  The duke turned back to look for her, his brow pinched and jaw tense. The moment their gazes locked, his expression eased, as if he was relieved to find her close. But there was more. An energy passed between them, somehow soothing and disturbing at the same time. The others in the room faded, and for a moment, he was all Mina could see.

  When Magistrate Hardbrook stepped up to meet Nicholas, his arrival broke the spell between them.

  Mina dipped her head to make a notation in the notebook she’d brought along, a reminder to ask Nick what he’d promised Widow Belknap. But it was a long while before her heart beat steadily again. Something in the way Nick looked at her stripped all pretense away.

  “Finally come to take up your birthright. ’Tis good to see a Tremayne at Enderley, Your Grace.” The magistrate didn’t bow, but he removed his hat and clutched the weathered headgear to his chest. “Might I have a word about some tasks that need doing round around Barrowmere?”

  “Do you have a list, Hardbrook?” Nicholas stood, though he didn’t reach out to shake the magistrate’s hand. “My steward likes lists.”

  Hardbrook had no trouble finding Mina in the corner of the room. He stared straight at her and told the duke, “Thought you might have found yourself a proper steward, Your Grace. She’s naught but a girl.” Leaning in, he spoke low, though not quietly enough to be unheard. “Mean to match her to my boy if she’ll have him.”

  The two men gazed at her, and Mina’s skin itched. It was disconcerting to have both of them watching her, debating her fate. She realized she was holding her breath, waiting to hear what the duke would say.

  “Miss Thorne is an efficient steward. Loyal to the estate. Clever and stubborn.”

  Mina gulped and swallowed hard.

  “I’m not sure I could stomach a proper steward now.”

  Hardbrook’s frown was priceless. In fact, the duke had struck him speechless and the grizzle-haired man backed away like a stunned deer.

  Mrs. Shepard approached next. Of all the ladies of the village, Mina thought her one of the kindest, and her eldest daughter had become Mina’s dearest friend before leaving Sussex to take a position as governess in Hampstead.

  “Your Grace.” Mrs. Shepard bent a flawless curtsy. “I do not come to petition for anything more than your attendance at our Christmas dance.”

  The duke cast Mina an over-the-shoulder look again, but this one was full of misery that signaled the lady’s request was not one he welcomed. “I’m afraid I’m not skilled at dancing, Mrs. Shepard.”

  The older woman’s face fell. Mina knew she and a group of villagers worked for months planning their country dance. After the death of Eustace Lyon, they’d expressed hope that the new duke might grace them with his presence. It was a precedent his grandfather had started, though his brother had rarely been in Sussex in the winter to carry on the tradition.

  Mina approached. “You needn’t dance, Your Grace. The tradition is that the Duke of Tremayne visits the dance and supplies a gift of food or drink as a kind of blessing over the festivities.”

  “The celebration is so large that we must secure the upstairs of the village inn, and festivities spill over into the vicarage. We would be deeply honored by your presence.” Mrs. Shepard extended a cream-colored envelope decorated with calligraphic swirls and carefully painted holly leaves and berries. “The dance is the Sunday before Christmas, Your Grace.”

  Nicholas looked up at Mina. She wasn’t sure whether or not he expected her to save him as she had with Lady Claxton.

  “Most of the staff members at Enderley will attend,” she told him. “Even Mrs. Scribb and Mr. Wilder.”

  One dark brow inched up. “Will you attend, Miss Thorne?”

  “You’re invited, of course, Miss Thorne.” Mrs. Shepard offered a kindly smile. “I recall how you used to like the Christmas dance.”

  Mina used to, but that had been shattered two years earlier.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Shepard,” the duke said warmly. “I would be delighted to attend.”

  Delighted?

&nb
sp; The man hadn’t been delighted with anything since his arrival. Except for when she’d saved him from hosting a ball. He gave every indication that he loathed dancing and frivolity, and now he was delighted? About a dance that was to take place long after the three weeks when he vowed to depart Enderley forever.

  After bidding Mrs. Shepard farewell, he resumed his seat and waited for the next villager to approach. They came in a ceaseless line, and the duke spoke to each of them with kindness and interest. Some came only to meet the new master of Enderley, but most asked for some favor or repair or consideration that only the Duke of Tremayne might grant.

  Mina had filled several pages with notes and had her head bowed when a voice called to her from the rear of the vicarage. “Mina, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  She stood and barely had time to turn before two thin arms embraced her in a hug. Her cousin, Colin, was five years younger and two heads taller, nearly as towering a figure as Nicholas Lyon. Since her father’s death, he was her only family residing in Barrowmere. The rest of her mother’s relatives were scattered in the north, while her father’s people hailed from a village an hour’s drive away.

  “The duke asked me to accompany him. I’m taking notes on what he’s promised to each villager.” Harder to explain was how much the duke’s kindness and generosity shocked her.

  “What’s he like?” Colin pushed a wave of sandy overlong hair off his forehead. Under one arm, he clutched a messy pile of papers, their edges bent and frayed. “Could you get me an introduction? I wish to show him my designs.”

  “Anyone the vicar invited may approach,” she told him. “Go and introduce yourself. He doesn’t bite.” He snarled once in a while, but Mina was increasingly convinced the man’s heart wasn’t as black as he wished others to believe.

  Mina took a step closer to the duke. Two men were presenting him with the details of an ongoing fight over a disputed hedgerow and apparently expected him to serve as arbiter.

  “Aye, but you know him.” Colin followed close on her heels. “You could smooth the way.” He drew up beside her and offered one of his crooked grins, suddenly every inch the boy she’d taught to climb trees and fish in the mill pond. Pointing to his sheaf of papers, he added quietly, “I intend to ask him for funding. The London papers say he’s invested in the railroad.”

  Mina tried to get a look at the sketches. “Tell me this isn’t your sock-removal device. Or the mechanism that turns the pages of a book with a metal arm.”

  Colin rolled his eyes. “I’ve grown up since those days.” He patted his collection of papers. “This idea has merit. A steam-powered thresher. Better than the one I designed for Wilcox farm. Smaller, faster, and more efficient than any ever conceived. If I can secure funding, this device could aid the entire village.”

  “Are you ready to depart, Miss Thorne?”

  Mina jumped at the sound of the duke’s voice. She turned to find him casting a curious stare at Colin. “There’s one visitor you’ve yet to meet, Your Grace. My cousin, Colin Fairchild.”

  “Mr. Fairchild, you should have come earlier.” The duke gave him a firm handshake and then turned his attention her way. “We agreed to two hours.” He flicked the chain dangling from his waistcoat and caught his pocket watch in his palm. “It’s a quarter past. I fear if I stay longer, I’ll be invited to more dances and asked to judge the flower show in the spring.”

  Behind her, Colin poked gently at her elbow.

  Mina turned to whisper, “Call at Enderley tomorrow. I’ll get you in to see him.”

  “Thank you.” Colin bent to peck a kiss on her cheek before heading off to speak to the youngest Shepard sister.

  “Shall we?” The duke gestured toward the carriage circle and then headed out the door of the vicarage.

  Mina was at a loss. The man changed too quickly, zigzagging like the path of Enderley’s hedge maze. One minute kind and benevolent, as she’d seen him today with the neediest of Barrowmere’s tenants. The next, utterly inscrutable.

  Mina found him inside the carriage, dominating his bench, thighs spread, his gaze fixed toward the carriage window. When she climbed inside, he moved his legs aside to give her room.

  Another reason she loathed skirts. Too much fabric that took up far too much space.

  His silence gave her another opportunity to study him.

  He was blessed with an extraordinary profile. Pensive brow, square chin, and a large, sharp nose that dominated his face, but also lent him a strikingly noble air. If only she could see beyond those glossy dark locks, into his head. What thoughts compelled him? What burdens knotted his brow in lines of worry?

  “You made many people happy today.”

  He looked at her, a questioning expression in his gaze, then down at the notebook she held tucked in her lap.

  “Mrs. Shepard was beaming, and I think Mrs. Belknap will sleep more soundly tonight. What did you promise her?” Mina lifted her notebook and readied her pencil over a blank page. “I’ll make a note and see that it’s done.”

  “A reprieve from rent until the summer and repairs to her cottage by year’s end.” He shifted on his seat. “Did the day please you, Mina?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her voice had gone scratchy.

  He sat tensely on the bench, shoulders squared and arms crossed, but his eyes were full of longing. The man possessed exquisite eyes, not because they were different colors, but because of what she saw in them. His gaze gave every emotion away.

  What she saw now was need, and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to reach for him. When she didn’t, he turned to look out onto the passing countryside.

  “Tell me about your cousin, Miss Thorne.”

  Mina swallowed down the irritation of being addressed formally again. She told herself it was better. Proper. Exactly how a duke and his steward should speak to one another.

  “He wishes to call on you tomorrow, Your Grace. He fancies himself an inventor and wants to talk to you about a thresher.”

  “So he wants my money.”

  “His idea sounds like useful invention. Do you not invest in new inventions?”

  “On occasion. Usually at the behest of my friend, Iverson. He’s the champion of inventors.”

  “You helped people today. An invention like Colin’s would be another way of doing so. If you’ve decided to stay longer—”

  “I haven’t.”

  His brow was smooth now, but she felt her own pinch in lines of worry. “But you told Mrs. Shepard—”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  “In the last half an hour?”

  Before he could answer, the carriage stopped in front of Enderley. The duke jumped out first and began striding away. Then he seemed to remember chivalry and turned back to offer his hand and help her down.

  Mina didn’t need his assistance, but she wanted the opportunity to press him. “Why have you changed your mind about staying for the Christmas dance?”

  He came one step closer, and Mina found the carriage at her back and Nicholas Lyon towering in front of her, his body a few inches away.

  “There are good people here. I do see that. But what I feel for Enderley will never change.” He swallowed and lifted a hand as if he might touch her face, but instead he rested his palm on the stretch of carriage next to her head. “I’ve become distracted. I came here with a plan, and I intend to see it through. When the three weeks is over, I need to be able to leave all this behind.”

  She knew he meant the estate, his duty to the villagers, whatever blighted history he had with his father. But he was looking at her face intently, his gaze shifting from her eyes to her mouth.

  He leaned in, until his nose brushed the edge of her face. His breath came fast and hot against her cheek. “I need to be able to leave you behind.” The low husky timbre of his voice ignited shivers across skin. “Every day that gets harder to do.”

  He dipped his head and placed a tender kiss the corner of her mouth. Then he stepped back, t
urned on his boot heel, and started away. Not to the house, but toward the field beyond the stable.

  “Where are you going?” Mina called after him.

  He clenched his fists, increasing his stride as he strode into the distance. “I need a walk.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hours later, Mina lay in her bed and stared up at the ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster and shadowy smoke stains she knew by heart. In the two years she’d slept in this room, she’d identified various geometric shapes—a sphere here, an ellipse there, a hat-shaped trapezoid in the far corner.

  Tonight, all her thoughts pulled her toward the man sleeping one floor below. He couldn’t know that the guest room Mrs. Scribb had set aside for him was directly under her bedchamber. And, of course, she’d never confess to anyone that she listened to him moving around in the wee hours of night.

  A faint creaking noise sounded in the darkness and she held her breath. She recognized the groan of the bed frame and imagined Nicholas settling onto the guest chamber mattress.

  Minutes later another sound echoed up. A moan? A murmur? She couldn’t quite make it out.

  Then quiet descended again. Mina pressed two fingers against her breastbone. A familiar ache pinched there, a sense of emptiness that always seemed to plague her at night.

  She reached the copy of Aesop’s Fables she kept on her bedside table. When she opened the familiar pages, words melded into a blur. The outlines of a sharp, straight nose, full lips, and a prominent brow emerged from the blob of ink.

  Stop thinking about the man.

  He wasn’t her problem to solve. Let him keep his mysteries. Soon, he’d return to London and Enderley would be peaceful and quiet. They’d made do between Eustace’s death and Nicholas Lyon’s arrival, and they’d carry on after he’d gone.

  Of course, her mornings would seem oddly empty without the sounds of his murmured curses as he wandered his father’s study. In less than a fortnight, she’d gotten used to glancing out her office door and catching a glimpse of him pacing a path in the carpet in front of his father’s desk.