Lady Vivian Defies a Duke (7 page)

Setting his plate on the blanket, he stood then offered her a hand up. “Today is meant to be fun. No more gloomy talk.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, come along. I wish to take home a ribbon, but I need your assistance.”

Vivi set her food aside and took his hand. How could she deny him when he needed her?

Mr. Fry put his fingers in his mouth and let loose a sharp whistle. Most conversations halted as heads turned toward the deacon.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the three-legged race is about to begin. Come this way and select a partner.”

She and Foxhaven were the first competitors to step up to the line, but other participants soon joined them. Lastly, the reluctant stragglers came forward. Miss Heaton blushed as red as Christmas when Lord Goodrich pulled her toward the starting line, paying no notice to her fiercely whispered protests.

Mr. Fry marched down the line handing out strips of cloth. Foxhaven knelt beside Vivi and lashed their ankles together. When he stood, he slipped his arm around her waist. Her body tingled from her ankle to her hip where his hand rested lightly.

“You must hold on too,” he murmured in her ear. “You did promise to touch me back if I touched you.”

Heat flashed up her neck, but she placed her arm around his waist.

His fingers coiled into a fist against her hip and pulled her against him. She had never considered the scandalous nature of this particular race until that moment. It was a wonder the vicar and deacons allowed such goings-on. Perhaps they were unaware of the delicious sensations generated by the close proximity of a man and woman, their hips pressed together.

“Let’s try to walk,” he said. “Middle leg first. One, two, three.”

They stepped together, circling around some of the other couples for practice.

Mr. Fry waved everyone to the starting line. “On the count of three. The first team to cross the line is the winner.”

Foxhaven’s muscles shifted and tensed. Vivi glanced up at him. His jaw was set in a determined line, his gaze focused on their destination. In that moment, she recognized nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted. A ripple of unease went through her, but she set it aside. Today she wanted what he desired, and she would help him achieve it. Tomorrow was another story.

Mr. Fry held his brown beaver hat aloft. “One, two, three.” He swung his arm down. “Go!”

Two young boys lurched ahead, their screeches making her laugh. Foxhaven hugged her and matched her pace. The leaders missed a step and fell in a tangle of legs. She and Foxhaven angled away from them and continued at a steady run. Each footfall landed at the same time and they surged ahead.

Looking to her right, she caught sight of Miss Heaton and Lord Goodrich.

“Faster!” the baron shouted as if he drove a team of horses.

Vivi focused on the string a few feet ahead. She couldn’t observe the competition if she wished to see where she was going.

“Just a little farther, my dear. You’re doing magnificent.” Foxhaven’s compliment boosted her spirits. Truly, she could run like this forever at his side.

Lord Goodrich continued to shout behind them, his voice taking on an angry edge. Miss Heaton cried out in despair as they fell farther behind.

Vivi and Foxhaven crossed the line first, laughing and a little out of breath.

“Brava, Lady Vivian!” He hugged her once more then bent to sever the tie binding them.

***

Vivi fanned the winning ribbons out on her lap. There were three in total: the one she and Foxhaven had earned in the three-legged race and two the duke had won for shooting and archery.

She squinted against the blazing afternoon sun when Foxhaven steered the curricle up the lane leading to Brighthurst House. He had a comfortable confidence about him in the way he handled the grays, his legs propped wide and his hat tipped at a jaunty angle. He possessed all the self-assurance of nobility and yet surprisingly little arrogance.

She liked his nose. Not too commanding and not too perfect with a raised ridge that spoke of a past trauma. “You lost the footrace on purpose, did you not?”

He kept his eyes on the lane in front of them. A corner of his lips twitched. “What makes you think I would lose on purpose?”

“I outran Adam Randolph three summers past when he challenged me to a race at Dottie Kennicot’s garden party.” How she missed her dearest friend, Dottie. She shook off her sadness. She hadn’t had fun in a long while, and she wouldn’t spoil the moment thinking on things that couldn’t be changed. “Mr. Randolph was in a sulk for two weeks afterward. He refused all but the curtest acknowledgment of me at church.”

Foxhaven laughed. “Poor Mr. Randolph wasn’t allowed to claim his prize. It is no wonder he was brooding.”

“What prize? There were no stakes involved.”

Foxhaven must have a fountain of happiness inside him for he never seemed to run out of smiles. “A kiss, Lady Vivian. That’s what I would have demanded in his position.”

She swung away before he spotted the telling flush searing her cheeks. “You would not, Your Grace. What a terrible tease you are.”

“I assure you, I would have.”

Gathering the ribbons in a pile, she lined up the edges. Vivi didn’t know how to respond. In the art of coquettishness, she had always remained an observer. She settled for practicality. “If you kissed me, you would feel honor bound to marry me, and we both know you desire no such association.”

He pulled the carriage off the lane and parked under a tree. Brighthurst House remained in the distance, its pitched roof peeking over a hill.

Grabbing her hand, he scooted from the seat. “Come with me.”

“Why?” Vivi’s voice squeaked. She scrambled to follow lest he drag her. Good heavens, he didn’t intend to prove himself, did he?

His hands circled her waist before she tumbled from the carriage and lowered her to the ground. But even after her half boots were securely on the grass, he held on.

Oh, my molasse
s
!
She had never been kissed and she didn’t know what to do. Her eyes drifted shut, but she wasn’t sure what to do with her mouth. She licked her lips then puckered up, waiting.

A woodpecker’s rapid hammering sounded from a nearby tree. A breeze ruffled the sleeves of her gown. His fingers tightened on her waist and urged her closer.

“Blast it all.” He released her.

She blinked into the empty space where he had just been. She spotted him rounding the horses and stared as he approached an ancient, gnarled oak. Its branches twisted like arthritic fingers with unsightly knots like swollen knuckles. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he blew out a noisy breath but said nothing.

“That is a good climbing tree,” she said in place of witty repartee, anything to fill the strained silence.

He looked up at the branches. “Do you climb trees?”

She trailed after him. Admitting to yet another unladylike habit would prove how unsuited she was to be his duchess, but it wasn’t her odd endeavors that seemed to bother him.

“I have been known on occasion to climb a tree, but only if I’m wearing trousers.”

His eyes lit when he looked at her. “You’re nothing like I anticipated.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I think.” She lowered to the grass, tucked her knees up under her skirts, and rested her forearms across her knees.

“You may refer to me as Luke if you wish, Foxhaven if my Christian name feels too familiar and offends your sensibilities. But our association warrants discarding such formalities as Your Grace.”

She looked up at him with a cautious slant of her head. “And what is the nature of our association?”

He crouched down in front of her as if indulging a child. “We are becoming fast friends, I believe.”

“You want something from me I can’t give you. I expect our friendship will be short-lived. Perhaps we shouldn’t abandon our manners too hastily.”

Plucking a blade of grass, he twirled it between his fingers. His lips thinned briefly, but then he bestowed another generous smile. His smile dazzled and did something unsettling to her insides, but she was beginning to distrust it. He used his smile as a cloak, she suspected, to hide what stirred behind his serious eyes.

“Tell me how you envision your future,” he said. “Not the one you are willing to settle for in order to avoid the convent, but the one you truly desire.”

She could easily desire what knelt in front of her. Foxhaven seemed kind and tolerant. She could grow to love him, to be a good wife, to honor him. But she couldn’t admit this to him.

“I’m no different from most ladies. I wish to make a good match. If my husband is smart with his money, not too strict, and possesses all his teeth, I will be happy.”

Foxhaven tossed his head back with a hearty, openmouthed laugh, proving he met her last requirement nicely. “Is that
all
? I find it hard to believe you wouldn’t want more.”

“I am hardly in a position to ask for more. You must know a woman has little say in such matters.”

He sobered and nodded thoughtfully. “What about children? You mentioned providing an heir, but don’t you wish for a family life?”

She studied the blade of grass he wound around his finger. The tip turned scarlet then bordered on plum before he released it. Did he feel like his finger, bound tightly and dying off inch by inch? She knew the pressures his station in life carried with it. Her brother often suffered under the weight of his responsibilities, and then there was Muriel. His wife’s periodic bouts of illness were a leash ’round her brother’s neck. What if Vivi’s dreams of family were a burden to Foxhaven like Muriel’s illness was to Ash?

“You don’t desire a family life, do you?” she said. “You might have a need for an heir, but you do not want a family.”

He rocked back on his heels. “I haven’t given the possibility much consideration, truthfully.”

Vivi bit her bottom lip. She could release him. The act would cost her a great deal, but being the cause of another’s suffering seemed worse than enduring misery she had brought on herself.

She swallowed hard and wished she were braver.

“I have a proposition, Lady Vivian. A solution, perhaps. I want to escort you to a house party in Northumberland.”

“A house party?” What type of daft solution was he proposing?

“My mother hosts a party every year. The entire affair is respectable and more than suited for our purpose.”

“Forgive me if I sound ungrateful. I do appreciate the invitation, but how is a house party suited to our purpose?” And what purpose would that be?

“There will be many eligible bachelors attending.” He raised his eyebrows and gestured to her as if to ask,
isn’t it obvious?

It wasn’t, at least not to her.

When she didn’t respond, he sighed. “I could provide information about each gentleman—his disposition, family, financial standing—then facilitate an introduction. You could find a replacement husband then break off our agreement without anyone knowing we never intended to marry.”

“I see you have given this thought.” He may have meant no harm, but his desire to foist her off onto another gent stung. Especially after the lovely day they had shared.

He smiled broadly, appearing proud. “A respectable match should keep your brother happy and you out of the convent, and I would be released from my father’s promise without breaking his word or tarnishing your reputation. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”

Tightness coiled in her chest, and she absently smoothed a hand over her heart. “I’m not sure Ash would grant his permission. He thought it best to secure a betrothal without presenting me.”

“Did he now?” Foxhaven’s intense blue eyes bore into her. “For what reason?”

She shrugged one shoulder and looked away. It was wrong to hide the truth, but she had been unfairly judged and she needed this match with him. “You must admit I am different from other young ladies. I could never expect to have a successful Season with my tendency to act before thinking.”

This had been a problem for her since she was a child. Patrice had promised she would outgrow it, but she never had.

His jaw lost its hard edge and warmth radiated from his smile. “You are a breath of fresh air, Lady Vivian. Gentlemen will issue challenges to win your favor.”

“Liar,” she teased, her cheeks flushing with pleasure despite knowing he falsely flattered her. “When it comes to a choice between death and marriage to a hoyden, no one is winning in this scenario.”

“You underestimate your charms.”

And he underestimated other gentlemen’s ability to be like him. He might not run away in horror, but that didn’t mean other men wouldn’t.

“Perhaps I could persuade your brother to allow you to attend the party, but only if you give your consent. I won’t ask you to do this if it isn’t what you want.”

“Oh.” No one had ever requested her opinion on anything pertaining to her future, and she had certainly never been asked to give her permission. Tears stung the back of her eyes.

“What is your answer, my lady? Will you allow me to find a husband for you?”

She nodded slowly, repressing her silly sentiments. It meant nothing that he was showing her kindness. He still wanted to be rid of her.

“Splendid,” he said. “I will dictate a letter to your brother this evening.”

She accepted his outstretched hand and climbed to her feet. His fingers linked with hers, and he held on as they strolled to the curricle. She glanced sideways at him, trying to puzzle him out. With every word, he said he wanted to be free of her, but his actions conveyed his reluctance.

A stirring began in her heart; a question. What if he wasn’t yet aware he wanted her for his wife?

Her relentless imagination refused to slumber as he lifted her into the carriage, his touch lingering on her waist. Courtship of a man—a duke—required bravery and more than a trace of foolishness. Fortunately, she possessed the later in abundance.

“Thank you, Luke.”

His nostrils flared briefly before his neutral mask slipped back in place. Now that he wasn’t attempting to persuade her, perhaps he wanted to retract the offer to further their intimacy.