by Gill, Tamara
He didn’t love her past that of a passing acquaintance, no more than a friend.
The image of Miss Evie Milton flittered through his mind, and his blood stirred. He’d not thought to see her so soon, having expected her to stay in London. The fact that she’d returned home early to partake in her sister’s wedding preparations hadn’t occurred to him.
Stupid mistake and now one that haunted his dreams.
Evie was a little older than Lucy. Part of a friend set of some of the most powerful and influential women in the ton. And damn it all to hell, she was beautiful. Had she been a little younger, he would’ve courted her instead of her sister, but she was nearly thirty by his calculations—her breeding years long behind her.
She was not for him.
He needed a wife who would give him sons. A young wife was more suitable for that position. If he had to marry at all, he at least would ensure he had children and soon. To have an heir would at least be one thing less that he had to concern himself.
Finn jumped down and handed his horse to a waiting stable lad, throwing the boy a ha’penny for his trouble. The boy thanked him profusely, and Finn walked to the door, steeling himself to act the besotted fiancée that he was anything but.
The door opened, and he glanced up, expecting to see the young footman who also served as the butler. The person before him was most certainly not a man. Miss Evie Milton was all woman. Voluptuous, and curved in all the right places. His hands started to sweat in his gloves at the thought of running them over every portion of her body he could. Her cheeks reddened, her eyes wide and bright, and he steeled himself not to act the rouge he was rumored to be, and drag her up against him to kiss her soundly. Take those full lips and meld them with his.
Finn swallowed, remembering to bow. “Miss Milton, good afternoon. I hope I find you well today.”
She stared down her nose at him, her gaze sliding over him like a caress. He shouldn’t be reacting to her in this way. She wasn’t for him, and yet, there was something about Miss Milton that made his blood burn. Had always made him burn even when he’d promised to never act the cad like his sire. He could only guess how many bastards lay littered about London his father had produced before his death last year.
“Your Grace, how very opportune this is for me. I was just about to go for a walk to ensure that my dog is well. She is expecting, you see. Perhaps you’d like to join me,” she asked him, stepping down onto the lower step and closing the door at her back.
Finn ought to move aside to give her space, but he couldn’t budge a foot. He was a bastard and one who may be more like his father than he wanted. “I thank you for the offer, but I must make my addresses to your parents and Miss Lucy.”
“Oh, they’re not home at present. Lucy wished to visit Marlborough, something about acquiring a new hat and traveling case, I believe. So, you see, it’s only me here today.”
She slipped past him with little care as to whether he was following her or not. The sound of her footsteps on the graveled drive loud in his ears as she walked away. Finn stood there a minute, debating his choices and decided a walk would do well enough so long as they stayed within the grounds of the house and were in view of the home. Her lack of chaperone could be overlooked.
“Very well, I shall join you, Miss Milton.”
She stopped and turned, pulling a loose bit of hair out of her eye that had slipped across her face. Finn swallowed. The action should not be seductive at all, nor fill him with a longing to be the one to slip the stray piece of hair behind her ear, but it was.
He was the worst type of fiend and ought to be horsewhipped thinking of his betrothed’s sister in such a way. He’d had the opportunity last year in town to court Miss Milton, and he’d chosen not to. Marriage had not been a thought to trouble him with. Stupidly he’d imagined he had time to choose a wife. While their dance had been memorable, to him at least, it had not caused him to lose his head and declare undying love.
Rallying himself to control wayward thoughts, he clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin, all seriousness for their stroll about the garden. A damned hard feat when Miss Milton strode purposefully down the drive, heading out of sight of the home and at a pace that made it impossible to continue his sedate stride he’d started with.
“What is the rush?” he asked, catching up next to her. A light blush stole over her cheeks, and she pointed ahead of her.
“My wolfhound is in labor, or so Ben our gardener said this morning, and I want to be with her.”
“You have a wolfhound?” Finn asked, his steps faltering. He wasn’t an enthusiast of the canine breed, never trusting the beasts. Small dogs he could tolerate, but a wolfhound, those things were as beastly as they came.
“I do,” she said, gifting him with a smile. “Her name is Sugar.”
Sugar? His lips twitched at the farcical name, and yet he continued to walk with her, curious now to see Miss Milton’s pet. “I’m hoping this Sugar is friendly.”
“Oh, yes. Sugar has the sweetest temperament. She’ll be fine with you since you’re with me, she’ll have no reason to distrust you. Normally she would be with me in the house, but due to her condition, Mama wouldn’t let her stay inside until she’d had her pups.”
“You allow the dog to live inside your home?” Pets were nonexistent in his life growing up. They had the odd barn cat, but they were wild and would leave a respectable scratch if anyone ever tried to catch them. As for dogs, his father had loathed them. Horses were the only animals allowed, and only because they served a purpose.
“Of course. Sugar sleeps on my bed whenever I’m home, and I miss her, but I’m also very excited to see her pups.” She studied him a moment, working her bottom lip between her teeth, and the sight of it sent a bolt of desire to his cock. He clamped his jaw, looking away to remedy his nonsense. What on earth was wrong with him? He’d been away from town too long, and the bed of willing women, or he’d liked Miss Milton more than he’d admitted to himself. Not a helpful revelation since he was about to marry her sister.
“You never had pets as a child, did you, Your Grace?”
He kept his attention straight ahead and spotted a kennel of some sort near a small cottage. “You’re very astute, Miss Milton.”
“We have mutual friends, Your Grace. I do know you a little. Talking of such, would you like to call me Evie? I do prefer it to Miss Milton.”
Pleasure thrummed through him at the thought of such a thing, but he couldn’t allow it. Not until he’d married Miss Lucy, then he could be on more familiar terms with Miss Milton. Until then, he would not be calling her by her given name. “I think it would be best to remain Miss Milton and Your Grace if you do not mind. When I marry Miss Lucy, then I believe we may be on more familiar terms.”
“Out of curiosity, however, what is your first name, Your Grace? If you’re willing to disclose that, of course.”
He cleared his throat, not sure he ought to tell her. To do so really defeated the purpose of his rule only a moment before. “Finlay, but close acquaintances call me Finn.”
“I must admit,” she said, chuckling a little. The sound as sweet as any he’d ever heard. He shouldn’t find it so very carefree and relaxing to be around Miss Milton, and yet he did. More so than when he was with his betrothed. It was blasted inconvenient, and not to mention wrong. “I imagined a much more severe, stern type of name for a duke.”
“My mother named me,” he said without thinking. He rarely spoke of his mama, whom he’d lost when he was young. To think of her always made him melancholy, and yet, with Miss Milton, he seemed to be able to talk of the one parent who showed affection for the short amount of years that he had with her with no melancholy at all. Only pride and love.
“What name do you suppose a duke should have, Miss Milton? I’m curious to know.”
“Hmm,” She threw him a teasing glance and continued toward the kennel. “I do not know. I suppose perhaps George or Arthur, or even William. Finlay
seems a carefree, happy type of name. I think it suits you,” she said, meeting his gaze.
He smiled despite himself, enjoying this little stroll, not to mention her. He was enjoying her so very much as well. More so than he’d enjoyed his many strolls with Miss Lucy Milton. When he’d gone on walks with his betrothed, they would often go minutes at a time without speaking, and sometimes, Finn had to wrack his brain to think of things to talk about. The conversation did not come easy with Miss Lucy. He’d put it down to her being a little shy around him, he was a duke after all, and often brought on such reactions when around the fairer sex. Miss Milton, however, seemed to be a paradox.
Evie was easy to speak to, and a little niggling doubt crept into his mind that he’d made a mistake in choosing the younger sister. That he should have taken more time to see who would suit him as a wife. Instead, he panicked and picked the first gentleman’s daughter in his home country who was appropriate. The debate on the matter reminded him why he’d dismissed Miss Milton in the first place. She was mature of age to be an agreeable wife. He needed a bride who would give him heirs. Miss Lucy would fill the role well. She still had ample years ahead of her to provide him with children.
By the time they arrived at the kennel, a man that Miss Milton introduced as Ben was waiting for them. From his worn clothing, dusted with mud and grime, Finn marked him as the gardener whom she had mentioned before.
Miss Milton went into the kennel, large and undercover, and Finn followed at a slower pace, not wanting to stress the dog at his presence. The enclosure was large, needed to be for a wolfhound, and the brown-haired dog lay on a bed of straw, four little pups suckling milk already from their mother.
“She’s had them already,” he said, kneeling beside Miss Milton, keeping his hands well away from the dog or her puppies.
Miss Milton did not. She slumped onto the floor beside Sugar’s head, patting her face and leaning down to kiss her head before she reached out and ran one finger over the new puppies’ backs. An adoring smile slipped onto her lips, and something inside Finn ached.
What it would be like to be looked upon in such a way. With utter adoration and love. He supposed it was similar to what occurred when a woman had a child of her own. Unconditional love for her offspring the moment she saw her new babe. His father had not cared for him at all. His main priority was who his next bedding partner was to be. His son was the least of his troubles, so long as he was home, healthy, and out of the way, his father was content.
“Let Sugar smell you, and then you can probably sit closer if you like. She knows I’m relaxed with you, and so knows you are not here to harm her or her puppies.”
Finn slowly placed the back of his hand near Sugar’s nose, and she sniffed him a moment before lying back and putting her head on Miss Milton’s lap. Having seemed to pass the little test, he sat on the straw bedding beside Miss Milton, merely watching the little puppies fight for a teat.
“They’re charming, I will admit.”
“When they’re weaned, you may have one if you like. I have several friends who wanted a pup from Sugar when we bred her next, but I can hold one for you if you wish.” She studied him a moment. Her head cocked a little to one side. “I can see you with such a grand dog. A duke should have a wolfhound.”
He glanced at the puppies, having never given the idea much thought, even though he supposed he could have a pet if he wished. His father had not allowed them, but that did not mean that he could not do as he wanted now. Perhaps if he gave the canine breed a chance, he might like them better after all.
A novel thought and one he would consider.
“I shall ponder it,” he found himself saying, reaching forward to run a finger across the back of a black pup that seemed eager for milk. “Do you think Sugar will have any more today?” he asked, having never seen a dog give birth before. That’s what he told himself was the reason he wished to stay in this warm kennel, patting puppies. Though, he knew it was because he wanted to spend more time with Miss Milton, away from her family and society as they had been in London.
His good friend, the Duke of Whitstone spoke highly of her, and he could see why. She was no fuss, intelligent, and sweet. She adored her massive dog and cared for her sister and family. There was little one could not like about her.
The fact that she was beyond pretty also made his time with her easy. To look upon such beauty all day was never a chore.
Evie pulled the duke from the puppies after an hour of cooing, holding, and patting the adorable little mites before they returned to the house. Her family was due home at four, and it was well past three by the time they returned themselves to the house.
They sat in the front parlor, which gave Evie a view of the front drive, taking tea and biscuits that cook had prepared for them on their return.
She studied him as she ate a slice of carrot cake. The Duke of Carlisle sat straight and tall in his chair, all proper again, no longer the relaxed nobleman she had talked to in the kennel only half an hour before.
How she supposed her sister thought that she would be able to seduce such a fine specimen of a man away from his beloved was an absurd notion. While they did get along, seemed on friendly terms, that did not mean he found her handsome as much as she found him.
Why she’d never even kissed a man before, so how was she going to seduce a seasoned rogue? It was an absurd notion that her sister even asked. No, if Lucy’s happiness depended on breaking the understanding with the duke, then Lucy had to tell him the truth. Tell him that she loved another and would not marry him. That was the best course and the one Evie would make her walk when they returned home.
She frowned down in her tea. What would the duke do after the fact? Would he return to town? Marry a woman much closer to him in wealth and situation? The idea left a sour taste in her mouth, and she reached for more sugar to put in her tea.
“I thought to hold an engagement ball in some weeks. Do you think your sister would welcome such an event?”
The question brought her out of her dispirited thoughts and back to the duke. “I think she would like that very much,” Evie lied, knowing her sister would hate that above anything else. To be paraded before all of the duke’s closest friends as if she were in love with the man. No, she could not allow it to get that far. She would make Lucy put a stop to this madness.
“I shall need help in drawing up a list of guests to invite. Would you and Miss Lucy like to call on me tomorrow next, and we shall get a start?”
Evie placed her teacup down on the small table that separated them on the settees. “Perhaps we could join you for luncheon and start collating a list after that.” Not that any lists or balls would be occurring. When Lucy returned home, the duke would be released from his offer, and everything would return to normal. Other than her sister marrying Mr. Brown that was.
“I think that will do very well.” He threw her a small smile, his eyes lingering on her lips a moment before slipping away back to the biscuit he held in his hand.
A flutter of delight thrummed through her at his interest before the sound of carriage wheels on the drive outside caught her attention. Evie glanced at the window and spied her mother and father alight from the vehicle, her mother’s countenance one of distress. Evie stood, the pit of her stomach tightening with impending doom.
Just as the front door swung wide, she met them in the foyer, leaving the duke alone in the drawing room.
“What has happened?” she asked her mother, whose face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed as if she’d been crying for a long time.
The absence of Lucy made her pause. “Is Lucy well, Mama? Where is she?” she asked, turning to her father, who merely stood looking at her as if he’d lost all sense and feeling.
“She’s gone,” her mama screeched, her eyes filling with tears and loud, wailing sobs filled the room.
“What do you mean she’s gone? Tell me!” Evie demanded, shaking her father a little by his arm. “Father, tell me what happened.”
All terrible thoughts entered her mind that her sister had befallen a terrible accident and was no longer alive. Surely not. The idea did not bear thinking about.
“She’s gone,” her mother said again, more wailing that made Evie’s legs start to shake that her little sister had indeed passed away.
“She’s run off. With…with…Mr. Brown! You know, the farmer who lives west of Marlborough. Lucy asked to look at some cloth for a new dress, and I said that I would be along shortly as I had run into Ms. Oyster, my friend. I thought to meet her at the seamstress’ store, run by Ms. Clay, but when I got there, not five minutes later, she was gone. The shopgirl handed me a missive. It was from Lucy and contained her apology and plans for her life.”
“What did the note say exactly?” Evie asked, anger replacing her fear over what her sister had done. How could she do that to their parents, whom she knew would worry no end about her until they saw her again? As for Mr. Brown, he ought to know better than to act in such a selfish way. She would have some very stern words for him, too, when she met with him next.
“Not so very much. She asked us to notify the duke of her change of feelings and told us to release him from his duty to her. To marry another.”
“I beg your pardon, Ms. Milton?” the duke said, striding from the drawing room, frowning down at her parents as if they were wayward children. “What has my betrothed happened to do?”
“It seems Lucy has run off, Your Grace. Run away to be married to a farmer we’re acquainted with here in Marlborough. I’m very sorry,” Evie said, turning back to her parents and leading her mama into the drawing room where she could sit. “At least Lucy intends to marry, Mama. I’m sure all will be fine by the time she returns home.”
“She’s ruined herself, and for what? That Mr. Brown. He’s a farmer, Evie. I had hoped that Lucy’s esteemed marriage would help in settling your private circumstances, but it seems this will not be the case. Mr. Brown has no social standing, and you’ll forever be an old maid.”