Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea (7 page)

“I remember her saying that Mildred Barclay’s fondest wish was to unite our two families one day.”

“Really?”

The older woman sighed. “They would both be so happy if they could only see my daughter and Kress here tonight.”

“In raptures,” Roxanne agreed. She really wished she had more control of that fiendish side of her that made its appearance at the worst of times. “And it is so convenient, really.”

The lady looked at her expectantly.

Roxanne smiled. “That both your daughter and Kress adore horses above anything else. My cousin has the most wonderful stallion stabled here—smoothest of gaits, even temper, except when he encounters water, if you can imagine. You must tell your daughter to ask Kress to show her the animal.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear,” the overly eager mother replied. “I shall do precisely that. Perhaps he will give her the horse as a wedding gift.”

There was nothing like a mother on the make, unless of course you had a second like-minded mother on the other side of you.

“Well, the duke asked my Susan to stroll the portrait gallery with him after supper,” the other lady said—she of the odd French accent and the ostrich feather in her headpiece, which swung triumphantly.

“He asked all the ladies to do that,” the other mother replied tartly.

“Perhaps, but he asked Susan
first,
” she purred.

At that moment Roxanne’s attention, which had been bouncing between the pair of clucking hens, was snagged by the visage of the Duke of Sussex who was grinning at her. Well, at least one person was enjoying the show.

He winked at her. His eyes were so very green against his sun-bronzed complexion, and his hair was like a lion’s mane of rich golden hues.

She brought her napkin to her lips to hide her smile.

“I say, Miss Barclay, would you be so kind as to inform what we are all to do after gazing at the generations of your family in the gallery? Do say there is more than a show of dearly departed Kresses to entertain us.”

“I understand, Your Grace, that there is to be cards.”

“What? No dancing?”

“Not tonight. No musicians have been engaged as of yet.”

“Pity,” Sussex replied. “I, for one, prefer dancing to cards.”

“I do, too,” she whispered, biting her lips not to return his grin.

“Well, then it is settled.”

“What is settled?”

“I claim the first dance on your card, wherever and whenever your cousin plans the first soirée.”

She should know better than to be charmed by this obvious dandy. But she could not help herself. “Delighted, Your Grace.” She was obviously fated to make bad choices in all her partners.

Surprisingly, the two mothers had not a single thing to say on the subject of dancing.

An hour later, as the guests strolled into the cardroom, Kress had plenty to say on the subject to her. Who knew dukes had such excellent hearing?

T
he next morning, Roxanne could not manage the idea of facing the hordes again so soon. Her head reeled at the prospect of the mindless, idle chatter. And so, after a tray was delivered to her chamber, which had finally been emptied of a decade’s worth of dust due to her own handiwork, she escaped to explore the upper reaches of the castle, where she hoped to ponder her predicament in peace.

There was so much to consider. First, she had to mull over the best fashion to unearth the fortune her intelligent father had secreted for her. This would not be easy to accomplish all alone. Second, she had to figure out how and when she would go away to live out the rest of her life, in the village in Scotland where her ancestors had lived. And lastly, she had to determine exactly how far she was willing to go to risk exposure all in the name of petty, useless, but delicious revenge.

Oh, she knew she was never going to have complete satisfaction. And she wouldn’t risk discovery since then she would become the infamous tin miner countess whose husband had loathed her so much that he had tried to murder her. But there had to be a reason he had done it.

Perhaps it would not have happened if she had had a child. She would have liked a child . . . She would have
loved
a child with all the devotion she was capable of giving. But then, Lawrence had never shown any strong desire for an heir. He had adored his younger brother before the latter died, and he equally adored his nephew, who was his heir. The two gentlemen—the older and the younger—were of one mind. Theodore Vanderhaven loved horticulture every bit as much as his doting uncle. Their only difference concerned their sub interests. Lawrence preferred flowering plants and bulbs second to his lawn, while Theo preferred shrubbery and trees. Even now, his nephew was in Ireland, searching for rare shrubs.

As she crossed a vast expanse of fraying carpet covering an endless series of long passages, Roxanne stumbled upon a curving staircase and heard male voices in the distance. She advanced to the next story and turned a corner only to find a treacherous break in the castle wall and flooring.

Two men and a younger one in ragged clothing were deep in conversation.

“I’m telling you that it can’t be done,” said the older tradesman, he of the bulging belly.

“And I’m saying it can,” the middle-aged thinner man insisted. “Provided similar stone can be found. What do you say, young man?”

“There is a stone quarry northwest of here, in a place called the Lizard. You’ll find stone very like this there.” He could not have been more than eight and ten. His clothes spoke of humble origins, but his face spoke of something more. The two older men looked at him with doubt.

The younger one suddenly turned to find her before she could back away in her quest for privacy.

He tugged on his dark forelock. “Ma’am.”

The other two London tradesmen instantly removed their hats and bowed while echoing the greeting.

“So sorry to interrupt,” she said in the cramped hallway. “I should—” she started to turn away from the group.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” the thin tradesman begged.

She slowly turned back ’round. “Yes?”

“Would you happen to know about stone quarries in the area?”

She tried to bite her tongue. Really she did. But it was that innate desire to please that always reared its ugly head at the wrong moment, as well as the fact that she knew the county better than almost anyone. It was where she’d lived all of her life. “Um, well, you see . . . I’m not really from this neighborhood. But, I do believe that His Grace mentioned during the tour here that there are two excellent stone quarries. The first is in the Lizard as was just mentioned, and the second—”

“Was almost three miles farther north,” a familiar voice said behind her.

She whirled around only to find Alexander Barclay looking at her, with an arched brow.

“It is excellent to know that you paid such careful attention to my ramblings, cousin,” he continued.

“How could I not?” She tried not to laugh.

The three men behind her hemmed and hawed.

“Good day, Mr. Wooling, Mr. Townson.” Kress nodded.

The tradesmen bowed deeply.

Kress studied the ruined, unstable hallway. “Please tell me you are not relying on my dearest cousin, who knows nothing about rebuilding castles, to find materials?”

The larger of the two gathered up his nerve. “But you told us you, uh, you, uh . . .”

“Yes?” he insisted.

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but you said you didn’t give a fig about how or where we found the stone, or how we were to go about it.”

Roxanne bit her lower lip to keep from smiling.

“You’re correct, Wooling. But you’re leaving out the most important part. I want to see your plans, your estimates, and in a timely fashion. Indeed, the Prince Regent insists upon it. I had hoped,” he paused for effect, “that this would be a test—or bid—between the two of you to see how you each
independently
would suggest a plan to restore this pile of rubble.” He looked at her from his heavy-lidded eyes. “Come along, my dear. Mémé insists you join the ladies on some sort of wild mushroom gathering expedition. Lord only knows how she thinks she’ll find mushrooms in her condition.”

The two men nearly fell to their knees in an effort to get back into the duke’s good graces. He tolerated their jumble of apologies for only so long before he escorted her out of their hearing.

“There is no other stone quarry within three miles of the one on the Lizard.”

“And how was I to know that?” he replied indignantly.

“Well, then why did you say there was?”

“Because you told them I knew of two stone quarries. I didn’t want to make a liar out of you.”

She inhaled. “So you lied instead.”

“Precisely. And why do I not hear you thanking me?”

“I’m supposed to thank you for misleading those two men?”

“Not at all. Everyone should be thanking me. That young man, John Goodsmith, is the only person they will need to turn to for help. I just ensured that they would.”

She paused. “Wild mushroom hunting?”

“Something like that,” he murmured, looking down at her from his greater height. “Or perhaps something else.”

Suddenly, Roxanne Vanderhaven, the not-so-deceased wife of the Earl of Paxton, felt as if most of the air had left the narrow passageway. He was standing far too close to her, and she was not backing away. His voice was far too rough and tumble, and his eyes were intoxicating in the way of fine wine.

The thought reminded her of Lawrence and the pride he took in his wine cellar—the one she had organized for him using his vast stores of smuggled goods.

She stepped back.

“Coward,” he whispered.

“Devil,” she hissed.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “You are ruining the moment.”

“What moment?”

“The moment when I was going to find out what sort of courage you really had.”

“Courage?” She widened her eyes in astonishment. “Courage? Why, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What has this to do with courage? You were about to take liberties.”

He stepped closer. “Liberties? I’ve never heard it called that before. Only an Englishwoman would call it
liberties
.” He made a funny face when he said the word. “Sounds almost revolutionary.”

“And only a Frenchman would suggest a kiss was courageous.”

“So you think I was about to kiss you?” He said it with such innocence on his face that now she was the one who felt like a fool.

Perhaps he hadn’t meant to kiss her at all.

“Not that I think it would be a bad idea,” he continued dispassionately. “Not a bad idea at all. While I’ll not risk stealing a kiss from any of the simpering virgins setting their sights on me here, you are different. And both of us know nothing can come of it. But I think it’s obvious that there is a certain attraction between us and—”

“So you admit you like me,” she interrupted.

“Of course, who could not admire an irregular woman such as you?”

“So I’m irregular? Sounds singularly unattractive. Like a grammatical problem actually.”

“Not at all. Your face is a symphony of features blended to perfection, and your manner? Nothing but pluck mixed with verve.”

“I’ve never liked compliments.”

He laughed. “Of course you don’t.”

She tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Well, I’m married.”

“No,” he said slowly. “You’re dead.”

“And that makes it better?” she blustered and then changed course. “You know, perhaps I like Sussex more.”

“Impossible.”
The slight French accent made her all the more nervous.

Ah, but there was a spark of worry in his eyes, she was certain.

“He at least had the decency to ask me to dance before he might try to kiss me.”

“So you will kiss a man who you dance with but not the man who saved you, and also took the trouble to attend your funeral? Not to mention housing and clothing you without anything more than an ugly ring in return?”

“Exactly,” she retorted.

“Then I claim the second dance.”

“You haven’t even named the date of a soirée.”

“But, of course, I did. If you hadn’t left your funeral early . . . It’s June twenty-sixth, at the ungodly early hour of seven o’clock for those we must feed, nine o’clock for those we must water.”

“Well, perhaps I will be too hot from dancing the first with Sussex.”

“Then, perhaps I should warn you that your husband has invited himself, so you might want to reconsider dancing altogether.”

She suddenly felt deflated.

The duke paused, and then tilted up her chin to examine her face.

“You’re not going to cry are you?”

“Absolutely not. I’m not the sort who cries about being an idiot for marrying a man who tried to kill me.”