The Confessions of a Duchess (14 page)

“I have work to do and no intention of inflicting the spring waters on anyone,” she said. She gestured to Faye. “I am sure, however, that her grace and Miss Cole would be delighted to accompany you.”

Faye looked torn between disapproval of Laura’s cavalier dismissal of the benefits of Fortune’s Waters and gratification that she and Lydia would have both gentlemen to themselves. Her smile faded, though, as Nat ushered her up the steps to the pump room but Dexter fell back, catching Laura’s arm.

“You returned safely from our meeting at Half Moon Inn the other night, I hope,” he murmured. His touch on her arm was firm. Laura felt a shiver of response that was impossible to deny.

“As you see,” Laura said coolly. “And you, Mr. Anstruther. Have you had chance yet to call at the Red Lion on Stainmoor?”

“I have,” Dexter said. He smiled ruefully. “I thought Half Moon Inn was rough but the Red Lion was another matter again. I was lucky to escape with my life—and that was before they knew why I was there.”

Laura looked at him. He did not look to have suffered much by the experience. There was something tough, durable and dangerous about Dexter Anstruther that suggested that he would be a good man in a tight corner, and not at all disadvantaged in a fight with Warren Sampson’s thugs.

“I did warn you,” she said. “I hope it was worth it.”

“You did,” Dexter agreed, “and I fear it was not. I gained no useful information.” He looked at her. “It reminded me of when I was hunting Glory. No one would talk to me.”

“No one spoke of Glory through loyalty,” Laura said. “No one speaks of Sampson through fear, Mr. Anstruther. There is a difference.” She removed her arm from his grip with deliberation. “Excuse me. I must not keep you from your pursuit of Miss Cole’s money—I beg your pardon—from your courtship of Miss Cole.” Dexter smiled. “What can be so pressing that it has you hurrying off with those papers?” he inquired.

“Nothing in particular,” Laura said. “You have a suspicious mind, Mr. Anstruther, which I suppose is no surprise in your line of work, but I assure you there is nothing more interesting here than legal business.” She gave him a mocking look. “I hope you do not find it too lowering that I infinitely prefer my papers to the company of yourself and Lord Waterhouse.”

A stray gust of wind caught the edge of the file and Laura jumped and dropped the papers on the ground. They scattered across the cobbles of the market square, catching the breeze and fluttering in all directions. As she ran about trying to recapture them, Dexter stooped and picked some up, his keen blue gaze scanning the pages.

“Medieval laws and taxes…Foldage…Pannage…”

“Give those back!” Laura said, dignity abandoned, making a grab for the papers in his hand. Infuriatingly Dexter held them out of her reach and smiled patronizingly down at her. It made her want to stamp her foot, preferably on his toes.

“So you are playing Sir Montague at his own game,” he said slowly. “Now that is very clever of you.”

“I
am
clever,” Laura said, flustered. The last thing she wanted was to give away secrets to the enemy. She could imagine Dexter going to Fortune Hall and telling Monty Fortune everything that they planned, ruining their revenge.

“Yes,” Dexter said. “You are.” He looked at her appraisingly. “It would be a foolish adversary who underestimated you, as I did.” He handed the file to her with exemplary courtesy. “You do appreciate, though, that if you declare war on the gentlemen of the town they will respond in full measure?”

“I can hardly wait,” Laura said truthfully. “The ladies of Fortune’s Folly are ready to do battle.”

A smile that was not in the least comfortable curved Dexter’s lips. “It will be battle royal,” he promised. “You may regret engaging us.” His voice fell. “Speaking for myself, I can be very determined when I want something. I do feel the need to even the score with you…”

“Do you indeed,” Laura snapped, ignoring the flutter his words sent along her nerves.

“Trust a man to be unable to accept when he was bested fair and square.” She gestured toward the long picture windows of the pump house, through which Faye Cole could be seen holding court. “May I encourage you to go and be determined with Miss Cole and her mother? I must be getting back.”

“To put your plans into action?”

“Precisely.”

“But if I tell Sir Montague what you intend that will spike your guns.” It was exactly what Laura had feared. She met his eyes. Beneath the challenge in them she saw the same heat as before. It turned her stomach inside out.

“Tell him and be damned to you,” she said.

Dexter laughed. “Sweet of you.”

Laura shrugged. “You can deal with it, Mr. Anstruther. I am sure you do not need kind words from me.”

“What I need from you…” Dexter mused. The expression in his eyes made explicit just what it was he wanted from her. The flame in them scorched her. “Just now,” Dexter said thoughtfully, “what I need is to kiss you to within an inch of your life.” The door of the pump rooms slammed as a couple of ladies came out and glanced at them with curiosity. Laura jumped and turned away from their inquiring glance. Her expression felt too naked.

The interruption had evidently recalled Dexter to his senses, too.

“Are you sure you will not join us for a glass?” he asked, gesturing toward the pump room door. “We could raise a toast to the impending hostilities between the fortune hunters and the ladies of Fortune’s Folly.”

“No, thank you,” Laura said. “The sulphur water is vile stuff and guaranteed to kill off anyone of weakened temperament.”

Dexter laughed. “Then I am surprised you do not encourage me to take it by the gallon.” He bowed. “Good day then, your grace.” He turned away, but paused before he had gone more than a few paces.

“Had you thought of pontage?” he asked. “The right to charge a fee for crossing the bridge over the River Tune? I think that you will find that the bridge belongs to the town rather than the lord of the manor because it was paid for by public subscription. And Monty has to cross the river every time he comes into Fortune’s Folly from the Court. You could make a lot of money out of him and annoy him intensely into the bargain….” Laura narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And why would you be giving me this advantage, Mr. Anstruther?”

Dexter shrugged easily. “I thought it would make the conflict more even,” he said.

Indignation bubbled within Laura. “Because females do not have as much cunning and duplicity as males?” she inquired sweetly.

“Not at all.” Dexter thrust his hands into his pockets. “I have observed that the female mind can be unmatched in guile and deceit.”

That, Laura thought, was undoubtedly aimed at her. She would do well never to forget that he had an opinion of her that was so low.

“I do believe, however,” Dexter continued, “that men are far better at organizing and carrying through a plan. We have the cool heads, the strength and the determination to succeed.”

“And the conceit,” Laura snapped, still smarting. “You have just provided the best reason yet to rout the men of Fortune’s Folly. We shall puncture that insufferable arrogance of yours. We will see who triumphs, Mr. Anstruther.”

DEXTER SAMPLED ANOTHER MOUTHFUL of coffee and reflected that Laura had been right about one thing; it was a great deal more palatable than the spa water on offer at the pump room. He had spent an excruciating hour there earlier in the day paying court to Miss Lydia Cole and almost choking on both the platitudes he was mouthing to her and the sulphur water he was drinking. He was convinced that the famous Fortune Waters were deleterious to the health and probably carried plenty of diseases. If the visitors to the spa started to drop like flies he would know where to begin his investigation.

Meanwhile, it had seemed apparent to Dexter that Lydia had been as unwilling to accept his compliments as he had been to offer them, with the distressing effect that the two of them had struggled to maintain a stilted conversation under Nat’s sardonic eye and Faye Cole’s indulgent one. Seeing Laura again had undermined him completely and made him see his courtship of Lydia for the hollow sham it was. He hungered for Laura in a way that he did not like, did not understand and could barely restrain. The fact that she had been Glory, the infamous highwaywoman, only seemed to inflame him. It tore his much-vaunted reason and self-control to shreds to be lusting after a woman he did not like and could not have. But then liking had precious little to do with his desire for Laura. His feelings for her were primitive and intense and angry, far stronger than mere liking or disliking, and far too foreign to him to be at all comfortable. He had sought to master that wild side of his character for so long. He
would not
permit it to dictate to him now.

The others—Sir Montague Fortune and his brother, Tom, Nathaniel Waterhouse and Miles Vickery—were all drinking wine or brandy that afternoon but it was too early for Dexter, who only ever drank in moderation. His father had listed gambling, smoking and drinking amongst his many vices and Dexter had kept away from them as he would the plague. Even in the days of his worst excesses he had not been drawn to the brandy bottle.

It seemed that it was only Laura Cole to whom he was attracted with intemperance and excess. Even now he could not keep his mind from her.

“So how goes your plan, Monty?” Miles inquired of their host. “Fleeced any ladies of their fortunes yet? Have there yet been any hastily announced plans to wed?”

“It goes very well indeed,” Sir Monty said, rubbing his hands. “My agent is visiting all the properties in the village covered by the Dames’ Tax to work out the value of the estate that is due to me.

“The ladies have a year to wed or give me their money, and with the Christmas festivities upon us in a couple months’ time there should be ample opportunity for the gentlemen to press their suit—” He stopped, staring out through the library windows. “I say, is that a
sheep
grazing my lawn?”

“There’s a whole flock of them,” Tom responded helpfully. “Look, they’re coming through the paddock gate—” But Sir Montague had already leaped to his feet and hurried out the door, bellowing for his estate manager as he went.

The others exchanged a look and followed in more leisurely fashion and by the time they had reached the terrace they found Lady Elizabeth Scarlet, Laura Cole and Alice Lister shepherding the last of the flock through the gate and into the gardens.

As soon as he saw Laura, Dexter felt the same slam of awareness that he experienced whenever he was in her presence. She looked every inch his most secret and forbidden temptation. She was dressed very simply in a green gown that brought out the bright hazel of her eyes. Her face was pink from the fresh breeze, her hair escaping its confinement under a bonnet to curl about her face. She was avoiding his gaze and her evasion felt like a challenge. Dexter deliberately kept his eyes on her and saw her glance flicker to him, brief and betraying, before she looked away. The color in her cheeks deepened and he felt a savage surge of satisfaction that she was as aware of him as he was of her, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

“Have you forgotten that you do not even like me…”

Laura’s question prickled at his conscience just as her presence chafed at him. His feelings were tangled, lust and caution, sense and desire at war within him. He found it intensely frustrating to be faced with a situation he did not appear to be able to control.

“This is trespass!” Sir Montague shouted, purpling in the face as he ran down the terrace steps. “Stop it at once!”

“Don’t be silly, Monty,” Lady Elizabeth said. “How can I be trespassing on my own lawn?” She nodded to the others and smiled at Nat Waterhouse. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. So you are here, as well, Nat! Fortune’s Folly is positively stuffed with paupers these days. Are you looking for a pea-brain to marry, too?”

“Better a pea-brain than a termagant,” Nat said. “How are you, Lizzie?”

“Still too wild for your taste,” Lady Elizabeth said. “But rich, Nat, very rich! Isn’t it sickening?”

“It’s certainly not remotely tempting,” Nat said, smiling.

“You may not be trespassing, Lizzie, but the sheep are!” Sir Montague intervened.

“Get rid of them!”

“Alas, we cannot, Sir Montague,” Laura said, with every appearance of regret. “Not if we are to conform to the law. This is foldage, you see. You will find the details on the same page of the parish history as the Dames’ Tax.” Dexter saw her check the sheet of paper in her hand, and saw the word
strategy
written in large letters at the top. Laura caught him watching and whisked the paper out of his line of sight. Dexter grinned at her and she glared back.

“The sheep are permitted to graze your land in return for their manure,” Laura continued, gesturing to the nearest sheep, which was neatly illustrating her point on the lawn.

“But I don’t want their ordure!” Sir Montague lamented. “Stop them!”

“I don’t think one can stop a sheep doing what comes naturally,” Tom said, grinning.

Dexter saw him give Laura a look of pure appreciation and wanted to take the other man by the scruff of his neck and kick him out of his own garden.

“They are destroying my Michaelmas daisies,” Sir Monty wailed, as another of the flock enthusiastically chewed the violet flowers from a nearby bush. “And my late roses!

This is appalling!”

“Just like the Dames’ Tax,” Laura agreed. “Quite appalling.”

“And the grass!” Sir Montague ran a shaking hand over his brow. “My gardeners have tended it carefully to prepare it for the winter!”

“It is so much richer than the grass on the fells,” Laura agreed. “The sheep will enjoy it very much.” She smiled warmly at Sir Montague. “Now that the nights are starting to draw in they will also benefit from having a proper fold.”

“In the stables,” Lady Elizabeth added helpfully.

“But I keep my hunters in there!” Sir Montague expostulated. “I can’t have sheep in with my horses!”

“I am sure they will get along famously,” Laura said. She smiled impartially at the group, her gaze lingering on the brandy glass in Nat’s hand. “Do not let us keep you from your entertainments, gentlemen. What is it this afternoon? Dreaming up new taxes with which to cheat the ladies of Fortune’s Folly?”