Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (23 page)

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Crista grabbed a shawl and almost ran to the spot where she had agreed to meet Amos. He was already there, leaning against a tree, watching for her. She took a moment to drink in the sight of him before he observed her, and felt breathless with appreciation. He was dressed casually in shirtsleeves and tight-fitting inexpressibles, shiny Hessians on his feet. He wore no hat and a soft breeze stirred his long hair, lifting it away from his head. He stared off into the distance, looking severe, as though he had the weight of the world resting upon his shoulders. She blamed prolonged contact with her mother for his dire mind set.

A twig snapped beneath her foot, causing him to turn in her direction. He saw her and his severe expression gave way to a glorious smile that made Crista’s determination to treat him with detached politeness falter. She would defy any woman who was the recipient of such a riotous smile to remain immune to it. Damn the man, she would bet ten shilling he knew precisely what he was doing to her.

“There you are,” he said.

“I hope I have not kept you waiting,” she said at the same time.

She stopped just out of range of his arms, careful not to give the impression she expected anything from him.

“How was your journey?” she asked.

“It went much as you predicted.”

“Oh dear. As bad as that?”

The sound of his soft chuckle heated her blood. “Your mother and sister are now guests at Farrington House.”

“I hope Lady St. John is in possession of a strong constitution and the patience of Job.”

“I believe she is managing, but I shall take you over there now so you can judge for yourself.”

“Is it safe for us to be seen together?” She glanced at the curricle pulled up beneath a stand of trees, the bit jangling in the horse’s mouth as it cropped at the grass. “Reece has not left me alone at all throughout my work days while you have been gone. Odious man! He has driven me quite demented.”

“He is safely installed at the Crown, but he is unlikely to leave there. He has the diamonds to protect, and we have people watching him. ”

“Yes, the responsibility seems to be making his nervous.”

“Come.”

He took her hand and helped her into the curricle. She felt a searing warmth as his fingers closed around her palm. He held her gaze for a protracted moment, and Crista felt herself slowly drowning in the depths of fathomless eyes that appeared to darken as she beheld them. He opened his mouth, and she thought he was about to speak; but he abruptly snapped it closed again without doing so and walked around to the opposite side of the conveyance.

He didn’t say a word as he drove them at a smart trot towards Farrington House, avoiding the village for fear, presumably, of being seen alone with her. She sensed his glance frequently resting upon her profile, but didn’t trust herself to look at him in case her expression gave her away. If he could remain detached and not refer to the last occasion when they had been alone together so, too, could she.

“I have not told your mother the entire truth about why she needed to come to Winchester,” he said, breaking the silence as Farrington House came into view. “Nor did she ask.”

Crista rolled her eyes. “That does not surprise me.”

“I told her only that she might be in danger. Whenever I referred to the work that caused your father’s death, she changed the subject.”

“Oh, she would. Mama is very good at ignoring that which she does not wish to face.”

“Well, I have left it for you to tell her as much or as little as you think wise.”

“I am sorry my family is such a trial,” she said, turning her face up to the breeze instead of looking at him.

To her astonishment, he removed one hand from the reins and placed it on both of hers. “
You
could never be a trial to me, Crista. Never think that for a moment.”

“I don’t expect you to…I mean…”
Stop being so considerate. It confuses me and is not helping. “
Well, that is−”

“We are here now.” He stopped the curricle at the front steps, where a groom rush up to take the horse. “Are you ready for this?”

Crista grimaced. “You had to endure an entire day of my mother and sister. I dare say I shall survive a half-hour.”

Amos laughed. “You make it sound like a fate worse than death.”

“You have met my family. How would you describe it?”

He winced. “Good point.”

Amos jumped down and came round to help her to the ground. He placed her hand on his sleeve and led her to the front door, which opened before they reached it.

“Good evening, my lord.” The butler inclined his head to Amos and then to her. “Lady St. John and her guests are in the drawing room. Please follow me.”

“Ah, Lord Amos,” Lady St. John stood when they entered the room. “And Miss Brooke. How delightful to see you again.”

“Lady St. John.”

Crista curtsied and was astonished when Lady St. John waved the gesture aside and enveloped Crista in a fierce hug instead.

“I have been taking good care of your relations, as you can see.”

“Thank you.” Crista took a deep breath and then turned to her mother and sister. They had watched her walk in on Amos’s arm, and then be embraced by Lady St. John, with identical expressions of shock. “Mama, Amelia. How are you both?”

“You look well, my dear,” Mama said, recovering her composure. “How have you been?”

“Lady St. John,” Amos said. “I apologise for my attire. I am not fit to be seen in your drawing room. Shall we take a turn in the gardens and leave Miss Brooke to become reacquainted with her family.”

“By all means, Lord Amos.”

“Oh, there is no occasion for you to leave,” Mama said breezily. “We do not in the least mind that you are not formally attired, Lord Amos. Goodness, Crista is not fit to be seen either. She did not even trouble to put on a bonnet.”

“Nor would I have her do so,” Amos replied, his voice tight with controlled anger. “Not if it meant covering all that glorious hair.”

“Oh, well no, I suppose things are different in the country,” Mama said, looking totally perplexed by anyone finding anything to admire about Crista.

“Please excuse us.”

Amos sent Crista a warm smile and left with Lady St. John. It was very quiet in the room once Amos quit it. Crista was too angry at her mother’s callous attack on her appearance to trust herself to speak. Amelia looked oddly discomposed and kept giving Crista accusatory glances.

“What on earth is going on here, Crista?” Mama demanded to know.

“I apologise if sending for you has caused you inconvenience.”

“Remember to whom you are speaking and keep a civil tongue in your head.”

Crista swallowed and did her level best to calm down. Her mother, for all her many faults, was still her mother and deserved a modicum of respect.

“I apologise, Mama.” Crista took a seat beside Amelia. “I came here because the people Papa was working for needed me to continue with that work.”

“Then you ought to have refused,” Mama replied briskly.

“Do you not imagine I would have done so if I could? It was you who encouraged Papa to take the business in the first place.”

“I did not know it would end so badly. I cannot take responsibility.”

When do you ever?
“They threatened to destroy what was left of Papa’s reputation if I did not work for them.” Crista cleared her throat. “Failing that, they threatened the two of you.”

“Mama!” Amelia clutched her throat. “Are we safe? Are we to be murdered in our beds? What would Mr. Devonshire say if he knew?”

“That is another reason why I agreed to help them, Amelia. I did not wish to destroy your happiness. But now, the duke and his brothers have found out about the deception.”

Mama made a strangled noise and looked as though she was about to feint. “And yet you seem to be intimate with Lord Amos.”

“He and his associates are planning to trap the rogues. Lord Romsey works for the government and wants to catch the man behind the scheme, which is why we brought you two to safety.”

“And so the Sheridan family do not think ill of you?” Mama sounded pathetically hopeful. “They realise you were coerced.”

“They know I was. I have told them the complete truth.” Crista fixed her mother with a determined gaze. “They know why Papa did what he did and who persuaded him to do so.”

Mama’s body stiffened. “I suppose you told them it was my doing, when it was no such thing.”

“What is done is done, Mama,” Crista said with a weary sigh. “This all will be over in a day or two, and it will be safe for you to return to London. I shall find work somewhere or other and we need never see one another again.”

“Don’t be so hasty, Crista.” Mama straightened her spine. “Your father did not leave us well provided for and my own Papa is still being incredibly stubborn. He continues to refuse to see me, even though your papa is dead and that chapter of my life has come to an end. I shall…er−” She glanced at her hands, swallowed twice and then looked up at Crista. “I shall need your help to survive.”

“I am sure Amelia and Mr. Devonshire will provide you with a home. You will be more comfortable with your favourite daughter. I cannot keep you in the style to which you would like to become accustomed.”

“Ungrateful child! After all I have done for you.”

Crista sighed. To her precise recollection, her mother had never done anything except complain about her conduct. They had not been together for more than five minutes and already the atmosphere was rife with tension and accusation. She thought of Winchester Hall and how the family there interacted with such casual affection towards one another. Money did not create that sort of ambience. She knew that very well since her maternal grandfather had never laid eyes on her, holding on to a grudge for all these years because his favourite child, his only daughter, had married against his wishes.

“Tell us about Winchester Hall,” Amelia said, her eyes coming alight with interest. “Mama says all four brothers are as handsome as the duke and Lord Amos. It is quite shocking that none of them are married. I should very much like to meet all of them.”

“You are engaged to Mr. Devonshire,” Crista reminded her sister.

“It does not hurt to play the field, at least until one has a ring on one’s finger.” Predictably, Mama sprang to Amelia’s defence. “Mrs. Devonshire is still averse to the match, and if she has her way it will not go ahead.”

“What did Lord Amos talk to you about while he drove you over here?” Amelia asked, standing to admire her reflection in a nearby mirror and patting a stray curl into place. “I think he is quite the most handsome gentleman I have ever seen, and I should like to know what subjects engage his interest.”

It clearly did not occur to Amelia that Crista represented any sort of competition. “I believe he enjoys blood sports,” Crista replied, biting her lip to prevent a smiling from escaping. “He abhors ballrooms, as do all his brothers, and they avoid them whenever they can. They love to play cards and are very good at cricket.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound so very encouraging,” Amelia complained, taking everything Crista said as gospel and wrinkling her nose.

“It probably explains how they have managed to avoid marriage for so long,” Mama added. “But now we have been thrown into their company here in the country, it is an excellent opportunity for you to shine, Amelia.”

Mercifully, the questions thrown at her about the Sheridan family by her mother and sister were brought to an end by the return of Amos and Lady St. John. Crista stood up with alacrity.

“I shall see you again when this is all over, Mama.”

She did not kiss her mother or her sister, but gladly returned Lady St. John’s embrace. She was conscious of her relations watching from the drawing room window as Amos helped her into his curricle and drove away at a brisk trot.

“I am so very sorry,” he said, a flair of anger darkening his eyes. “I should have known better than to put you through that. Are you all right?”

“It is foolish of me to expect my mother to care about anything other than her own comfort, I know that very well,” Crista said, sighing. “But still I always hope for a transformation.”

“
We
, the Sheridans, will take care of you.”
And do a damned sight better job of it
.

“Thank you.” She brushed impatiently at unshed tears with the back of her hand. “I do appreciate your efforts, Lord Amos.”

Lord Amos?

Amos was too angry by what he had overheard of Crista’s interview with her family and the distress it had obviously caused her to say anything more. He concentrated on driving, giving her a moment to recover her composure. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes dull, brimming with tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. Amos seethed when he thought of all she had been put through, all the obstacles she still had to overcome in an effort to aid Romsey, and yet her wretched mother offered not one iota of sympathy or support to her elder child. She seemed particularly anxious to avoid shouldering the blame for her family’s situation when it was her avarice and stark determination to be accepted by society no matter what the cost that had forced them into it.

Crista had been distant with him that evening, which Amos told himself was only to be expected. Not only had there been the reunion with her family to distress her, but also the rather more dangerous matter of bamboozling the villains to occupy her thoughts. Their plan was straightforward, and every aspect of it had been worried over, but it was still Crista who had to put it into operation. One false move and it would end in disaster.

Absolutely determined to protect Crista, Amos cast frequent sideways glances at her as he put distance between them and Farrington House as quickly as he could. Her stiffness might well indicate a change of heart about becoming better acquainted with him. That was her prerogative and was probably the sensible course to take. Even so, the desire to offer her comfort and consolation had never been stronger—hence the destination he had in mind. Besides, she was in no state to return to her uncle’s apartment quite yet, or so he told himself.