“Why wouldn’t I be?” Mrs. Powell leaned toward her. “We can take a hack.” She pointed at a not-terribly-elegant black carriage.
“We’re supposed to go home.”
“You’re right,” Mrs. Powell said.
“But I suppose since the weather is so nice, Papa would hardly be surprised if I take somewhat longer.”
“My thoughts precisely.”
“Very well,” Daisy said, and Mrs. Powell rolled her to the nearest hack.
Mrs. Powell told the driver the destination, and the driver came down from his perch to assist Mrs. Powell in helping Daisy inside. Mrs. Powell carried the Bath chair up, closed the door, and a few moments after that, the carriage began to roll.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Daisy exclaimed and peered out the window.
The hack drove past the honey-colored buildings that lined the street, past the pavement where Daisy and Mrs. Powell should be now.
A delightful scent of flowers and springtime entered the hack. Birds chirped, their sounds not swallowed by the traffic of Bath, and they flitted merrily from branch to branch.
Daisy exhaled. “This is very exciting.”
“Isn’t it?” Mrs. Powell giggled.
Finally, the carriage stopped. They weren’t far from Bath, and technically this was Bathampton, but trees hid the city.
“Do you think the duke will be upset we’re here?” Daisy asked.
“He should be grateful at your presence,” Mrs. Powell said.
“I suppose it shows a professional approach to matchmaking,” Daisy acquiesced easily.
“You can always give him advice if it doesn’t work out.”
“Such as not to overturn the boat.” Daisy giggled.
“Come.” Mrs. Powell carried the Bath chair out, then helped Daisy from the hack with the driver. The driver turned back toward Bath, and Mrs. Powell and Daisy were left in the quasi-countryside. The wind rustled through the trees, which had replaced carriages and clothes as items of importance. Birds continued to chirp, and Daisy inhaled.
Something jolted her chair, and Mrs. Powell leaned down. “Begging your pardon, Miss. It’s difficult to move this.”
Daisy glanced down. The path was muddy. While today the sun shone with vigor, it had all but abandoned Bath earlier in the week.
“I—er—suppose we can stay here,” Daisy said. “We can see the river. Somewhat.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Powell said, also staring at the river. It seemed rather smaller than it had before, and the long strands of grass that swayed in the wind seemed suddenly less romantic and simply more obstructive.
The road, at least, was quiet. No doubt, they would see a boat. Daisy craned her neck to see if she could spot the duke’s carriage.
“Do you see a sign of the duke?” she asked Mrs. Powell.
Mrs. Powell peered about. “I see a carriage with four white horses near the river.”
Daisy gave a relieved sigh. “That will be the princess.”
Mrs. Powell nudged her and pointed toward the river. “Look!”
Daisy peered toward the water. A small boat was making its way down the river.
“He’s here.” Daisy leaned back, smiling.
For a ridiculous moment, Daisy imagined Reggie was rowing her about the river. For a moment, she imagined she could be a marital prospect, and that he would be making awkward conversation with her.
Her heart swelled and soared, until she remembered that was impossible.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Reggie had always suspected, but now he was certain, that boating must be one of the world’s most overrated activities. He steered the oars through the water, moving the boat backward. The sun shone with unnecessary and uncustomary force, but he couldn’t adjust his cravat without dropping an oar into the river. How terrible that people extolled the joys of boating and remained suspicious of the far-greater pleasures of boxing.
He gazed at the princess. “Do you like England?”
Princess Aria scowled briefly and flung her head so that her dark curls collided with her bonnet. “There’s only one correct answer to that question when asked by an Englishman.”
“I suppose so,” Reggie assented. He peered at the princess, but her expression remained stern, as if some local witch had turned her to stone when he was busy managing the oars.
He rowed through the water, concentrating on not losing an oar. Princess Aria sat primly, folding her hands on her lap, despite Reggie’s occasional propensity to tip the rowboat with unnecessary force. She wore a pink muslin gown that glowed against her topaz skin. She was beautiful, certainly. Yet, Reggie’s brief conversation with Miss Holloway had been far more engaging.
Reggie supposed he should be grateful the princess saw no immediate danger that he would capsize the boat. But perhaps she was conscious of the muscular man watching her. The driver also looked useful in a catastrophic situation.
“Who’s that man?” Reggie asked.
“Ah. That’s Demon.”
Reggie darted his eyebrows up.
She shrugged. “He didn’t give a proper name when my father hired him.”
“Ah.” Reggie glanced warily at the bodyguard. “Was that—er—safe to hire someone with a name like that?”
Personally, Reggie doubted he would want his daughter to spend time with a sullen-looking man with arms that could snap a person in two. He’d hardly been delighted when the broadsheets had bestowed him with the name Beast.
“My father’s hope was that it would ensure my safety,” the princess replied.
“I suppose it’s worked so far,” Reggie said, feeling self-conscious as he rowed down the river. Though Reggie had taken men like Demon when he was in the boxing ring, uneasiness prickled his spine. He forced himself to change the topic of the conversation. “How did you become friends with Miss Holloway?”
“She wrote me a letter.”
“Oh?” Reggie smiled. “So you hadn’t been introduced before?”
“No,” the princess said. “Though it was a very nice letter.”
Reggie’s smile broadened. “She can be convincing.”
“Yes.”
“Not all women are like her,” Reggie said.
“No.” The princess cast him a wary glance, and her thick eyelashes fluttered down as she narrowed her eyes. It occurred to Reggie that most women might consider a conversation unappealing if it consisted primarily of complimenting another woman.
He gazed around the river, gazing for something to speak about besides Miss Holloway’s exceptional qualities. “Er—it’s pretty here.”
“Yes.”
“You’re pretty too,” he said gallantly.
The princess narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
Reggie frowned. “Those—er—flowers are pretty.”
The princess followed his gaze. “I believe you English call them weeds, no?”
“Ah, we do,” Reggie admitted reluctantly.
“That would have been more of a compliment if you hadn’t proceeded by complimenting weeds.”
Reggie shifted in his seat, making the boat move. Awkwardness moved through him.
“You’re prettier than weeds,” he said.
The princess’s face remained skeptical.
Blast.
He’d said the wrong thing.
Again.
Awkwardness moved through him. Evidently, he should have asked Miss Holloway for more help speaking with women. It was much easier to speak with her.
At school, he’d always scoffed at his friends who’d sneaked out to attend festivities. Though he liked a good drink and pleasant music as much as the next man, he’d never desired to become overly indulgent. When he was at Harrow, he’d still thought he might attend Cambridge.
That had been before he’d realized the extent of his late father’s gambling debts.
Perhaps his friends had been correct all along. Perhaps they’d been gaining valuable experiences, and he shouldn’t have
dismissed them.
He sighed and looked around, forcing himself to remark on something else he might chat about. Unfortunately, there were no conveniently placed castles, no idyllic mills, no...
He frowned.
On the riverbank was a woman who looked curiously like Miss Holloway. At least, this woman had Miss Holloway’s same golden-blonde hair and she was sitting in a Bath chair. This woman also had a companion who looked curiously like Miss Holloway’s lady’s maid.
He stared. What on earth were they doing there? Blast. He despised being followed. They hadn’t mentioned they were going to follow him. Surely that would have been valuable information. He was being spied upon.
“Damnation,” Reggie muttered.
The princess’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”
“No time to talk.” Reggie firmed his lips and directed the rowboat toward Miss Holloway. He needed to give her a piece of his mind.
“What are you doing?” the princess exclaimed.
“There’s a lady I need to yell at,” Reggie said.
“Pardon?”
“We need to get to the shore.” Reggie stabbed an oar into the river.
“You’re going to tip the boat,” the princess warned.
“Nonsense.” Reggie rowed valiantly to the other side of the bank.
“But there are rocks!”
He blinked. “Rocks?”
“Yes!” She nodded multiple times. “Rocks!”
His eyes widened, and he gazed behind him.
In the next moment, he saw the rocks.
In the moment after that, he heard a crunch.
And in the moment after that, his feet became curiously wet.
The princess screamed. “The boat is broken!”
“Indeed,” he said apologetically, craning his neck to see if Miss Holloway and her maid had scurried away.
He scrambled up. The sudden movement seemed to irritate the boat bottom’s tenuous structure. Then, it collapsed into the river.
The princess screamed again and toppled into the water.
“Damnation.”
Reggie had never been on a boat outing before, but he was certain they were not supposed to end in this manner. He scrambled after the princess, searching for her in the cold water. It seemed a shame the sun should be shining all day and not warm the water more than this.
He grabbed hold of the princess, lifting her from the water. She glared at him angrily.
“I have you,” he said in his most reassuring voice.
“Stop!” A loud voice blared behind him. He turned around, the icy river around his waist.
“Put her down,” the voice said.
“Damnation,” Reggie muttered.
It was the princess’s dratted bodyguard. Unlike before, he no longer seemed like a gargoyle. Now he was all movement. All fast movement. Unfortunately, that movement was directed to him.
Reggie’s throat dried. “I’m rescuing her.”
The fact should be obvious. He was carrying her. He hadn’t left her in the water. Not that she couldn’t eventually have managed to reach the shore herself, but Reggie had neglected to question her on her swimming talents.
The bodyguard did not lessen the speed of his sprint. His dark eyes flashed, and a cut on his neck that Reggie had not previously noticed, appeared most menacing.
“I—er—”
“Please bring me to land,” the princess ordered.
“Of course.” Reggie approached the land, gazing warily at the princess’s bodyguard. He placed her gently on the ground, and she rushed toward the bodyguard.
“Shall I kill him for you?” the bodyguard asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” Princess Aria said. “Let’s return to Bath.”
The bodyguard bowed, but still gazed mistrustfully at Reggie, as if he half-expected him to grab hold of the princess and plunge them both into Bathampton’s not-very-deep river again.
Reggie carried the remnants of the boat up the hill toward Miss Holloway and her maid. His boots clunked and squished with water. Water clung to his shirt. No doubt he looked quite indecent.
Miss Holloway’s cheeks seemed a most curious shade of pink. “Had a pleasant boat ride, Your Grace?”
“Splendid,” Reggie lied, as if he’d meant to take a fifteen-minute boat ride along the river, destroy the boat, and anger a prospective spouse and her bodyguard, and as if that had been worth the journey to Bath’s outskirts.
SIX FEET FOUR INCHES of muscular magnificence moved toward them, and Daisy’s mouth dropped open. Water clung to his shirt, clung to his trousers, clung to—
Daisy decided it was best not to examine too closely all the places his wet attire clung to. An odd heat moved between her legs, and her throat dried.
“What happened?” she finally asked, conscious her voice was squeaking, as if her vocal cords were so shocked by his appearance that they’d arranged themselves poorly.
“Most people don’t destroy their boats in the middle of meetings with women,” Mrs. Powell said.
The duke shot Mrs. Powell a disgruntled look. “I wasn’t planning to destroy the boat.”
Daisy hid her smile at the duke’s mournful tone. “I’m so sorry.”
“You should be,” the duke said. “What are you doing here? I was surprised to see you.”
“I only wanted to make certain everything went well,” Daisy said.
“Well, it went horribly.” The duke rolled his gaze over her. “You were spying on me.”
“Watching,” Daisy said, “is a far nicer word.”
“Watching does not properly convey the magnitude of the inappropriateness of your actions.” The duke’s expression remained dark and dour. “Where’s your carriage?”
“We took a hack,” Mrs. Powell chirped.
“And it abandoned you here?”
“We thought your rowing excursion would take more time,” Daisy said.
The duke glowered. “Safety is vital.”
“I’m certain the princess wishes you’d taken that viewpoint.”
The princess’s carriage approached them quickly. The plumes on the princess’s white horses were practically horizontal as they galloped over the dirt road, trampling dust through the air.
“I should—er—give this boat to the boatman,” the duke said. “I suspect he’ll want some money for it.”
“I should have thought of a better idea,” Daisy said apologetically.
“You shouldn’t have distracted me,” the duke growled, then sauntered off, carrying the remnants of the boat.
Daisy and Mrs. Powell waited for him to return. After a doubtless painful conversation with the boat manager, they watched as the duke stepped into his carriage.
The carriage soon stopped before them, and the duke and Mrs. Powell assisted Daisy into it.
The duke’s face remained stormy. Perhaps he was upset the meeting with the princess had not gone better. Perhaps the duke had found her beautiful and fascinating, and all the things men remarked upon in wonder of the women who intrigued them.
“There’ll be other chances to see the princess,” Daisy reassured him.
“I doubt her bodyguard would like that,” the duke grumbled and wrapped his arms against his chest.
Daisy shrugged. “You’re still not a dreadful marriage prospect.”
“How courteous of you.”
“Besides, I have some other women in mind too.”
“Hmph. But no more meetings in boats.”
“That can be managed,” Daisy promised. “I’ll make certain to introduce to you to someone at the next ball.”
The duke shifted in his seat. Water still splattered from his attire. He had a pained expression on his face.
“I’m sorry,” Daisy said. “You must be freezing.”
“I’m fine,” the duke said. “Naturally.”
Mrs. Powell smirked. “Perhaps you should take off your shirt. We wouldn’t want you to freeze.”
“N-nonsense,” t
he duke sputtered. “That would be indecent. Scandalous.”
For a moment, Daisy imagined the duke without his shirt, without his trousers. Her heartbeat quickened, and she averted her gaze, as if he were actually undressed.
Imagining him without his apparel was most...uncomfortable. It was all too easy to imagine the sturdy planes of his body. An odd urge to trace his perfect features filled her, and she moved her gloved hands hastily toward herself, as if to quell the impulse.
Daisy was certain the duke should remain clothed.
Still, the important thing was his comfort. Daisy eyed him thoughtfully. “But you would be warmer that way.”
“It’s important to be warm,” Mrs. Powell said.
“I agree.”
“Well, I don’t agree,” the duke said, then sneezed.
Daisy removed her shawl and laid it over his lap. Her fingers touched his thighs, and energy swirled through her core. She blinked and pulled her hands back quickly.
The duke’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not supposed to do that.”
“And you’re not supposed to freeze.”
“Well. Thank you,” the duke said gruffly. “I suppose this means I’ll have to see you again to return it.”
“Naturally,” Daisy said. “We have a contract.”
Finally, the carriage entered Bath.
“I’m almost happy to be back here,” the duke said.
“Just avoid the river,” Mrs. Powell suggested.
“I’ll—er—do my best.” The duke’s face reddened.
Daisy leaned against the pillows and smiled.
Even though she should be upset that the duke had most likely ruined things with the princess, her heart felt light. She hadn’t expected Mrs. Powell and she would ride back with him, and despite the frequency with which he shot furious expressions at her, happiness moved through her.
THE CARRIAGE CONTINUED to make its way through Bath, Reggie’s attire continued to form an awkward puddle on the floor, and Miss Holloway’s eyes continued to sparkle.
“I think you should host your own ball,” Miss Holloway said.
“You sound like my manservant,” Reggie grumbled.
“No, truly,” she said. “You’ll be much more at home there.”
The Duke Meets His Matchmaker (The Duke Hunters Club, #5) Page 9