The Confessions of a Duchess (15 page)

“Touché,”
Dexter murmured, as Sir Montague spluttered ineffectually. He met Laura’s gaze and she gave him a small smile of triumph, her beautiful, generous mouth turning up irresistibly. Dexter felt the impact of it like a kick in the gut. He found himself thinking of what it would be like to kiss her. He had already taken a step toward her before he managed to kill the urge and get himself back under control. But Miles had noticed and cast him a curious glance. Dexter shifted uncomfortably, aware of his body’s growing arousal and his utter inability to prevent it. This passion for Laura had to be conquered before it led him from his rational path for a second time. He did not need to understand why it kept happening. All he needed to do was vanquish it. The difficulty was that he had no idea how.

“I do not think you should be too sure of victory yet, your grace,” he said slowly.

“The game has only just begun.”

He saw Laura’s smile fade to be replaced by a look of cool, steely determination.

Unfortunately he found her sternness equally arousing. There was something about Laura being strict, as she had been with Miles in the ballroom on the night of the assembly, something that made him think of her bed and twisted satin bonds. Her voice dragged his imagination back from the brink of erotic chaos.

“Well,” she said, in clipped tones, “we shall leave you to your brandy and return to our council of war. Good luck, gentlemen.”

Dexter watched her slender figure stalk away through the gate with Elizabeth and Alice following along behind.

“There go three women intent on causing havoc,” Miles Vickery muttered.

“In more ways than one,” Dexter agreed. He was amused to see that Miles could not stop staring at Alice Lister, who had turned to latch the gate and had given Miles an extremely quelling look when she caught him watching her.

“I think you might be wasting your time there, old chap,” Dexter said. “Miss Lister seems refreshingly immune to your so-called charm.”

“We’ll see,” Miles said. He smiled. “You know I relish a challenge, Dexter. The greater the difficulty the more pleasure in the game and—” his smile grew “—I do find Miss Lister well-nigh irresistible.”

“Thirty guineas says you won’t succeed,” Tom Fortune said cheerfully.

“In seducing her or marrying her?” Miles questioned.

“Both,” Tom said. “Either. Monty, will you sub me thirty guineas?”

“Done,” Miles said. “You might as well hand the money over now, Fortune.”

“Show some respect,” Dexter snapped.

“What, you think the wager should be higher?” Miles questioned. He looked at Tom.

“He could be right, you know, Fortune. Thirty guineas seems a bit paltry for a lady’s virtue.”

Dexter made a sound of disgust. “You’re a scoundrel, Miles. Nat—” He appealed to Nat Waterhouse. “You’ve known Miles the longest. For pity’s sake talk some sense into him.”

Nat shook his head. “I’m just waiting to see him fall, Dexter, and I have a feeling—”

“Never mind the women,” Sir Montague interrupted, grabbing Dexter’s arm. “My garden is far more important! What am I to do, Dexter?” He wrung his plump hands as a sheep demolished the last of his late-flowering honeysuckle. “This is a disaster!”

“Send for a shepherd, round them up and take them back to the fells,” Dexter said.

“It’s simple, Monty.”

“Not to me,” Sir Montague wailed. “Elizabeth will never permit it.”

“Come on, Monty,” Nat Waterhouse said. “Brace up. What we need to do is plan our response. More brandy for you first, though. You look as though you need it.” Once he had been revived with another glass and was installed in front of the fire, Monty Fortune seemed to take strength.

“It is all the fault of the Dowager Duchess of Cole,” he grumbled. “You all saw that she was the ringleader. Miles,” he appealed to Vickery, “her grace is your cousin. Can you not prevail upon her to desist?”

Miles shook his head. There was a rueful smile on his lips. “I don’t think so, Monty.

As you said, Laura is a dowager duchess. One doesn’t tell dowagers what to do.” Nor highwaywomen, Dexter thought, even retired ones. Not if one valued one’s life.

“Nonsense! She should do as she is bid,” Sir Montague said sharply. “Disobedience is most unbecoming in any female, regardless of rank.”

Looking at the others, Dexter could tell that they were all thinking of Lady Elizabeth, whom Sir Montague had so spectacularly failed to keep in check himself. Sir Montague was singularly incapable of practicing what he preached.

“If you would like to tell the dowager duchess of your feelings on the subject, Monty,” Dexter said dryly, “I am sure she would give you a fair hearing.” Sir Montague subsided, grumbling. “Perhaps I could exempt her from the Dames’

Tax and then she might be prevailed upon to see sense,” he suggested.

“Wouldn’t make any odds,” Miles said. He sighed. “Laura hasn’t any money of her own, anyway. She’s doing this for the others, Monty, not for herself. She always was one to embrace a cause.” He lay back in his chair, hands behind his head. “Even when she was a child I remember her campaigning for days off for the servants and fairer wages for the farm laborers. She was a wild child. She could ride any horse in the stables and she drove my aunt and uncle to distraction. All they wanted was for her to be a proper lady.” There was no doubt, Dexter thought, that on the surface at least the Earl and Countess of Burlington had succeeded in shaping Laura into the perfect, proper lady. It was only beneath that surface that she was very improper indeed, as Dexter knew. But Miles’s insight into Laura’s character was interesting. It underlined the fact that she was passionate about causes and about helping people. She
cared.
It was the justification she had given him for her work as Glory—the need to right the wrongs that society could not address.

Once again he felt admiration for her and repressed it ruthlessly.

A frown of perplexity was wrinkling Sir Monty’s forehead, suggesting to Dexter that he did not really understand the concept of people who acted out of altruism.

“And so she should be a proper lady,” Sir Monty said piously. “Days off for the servants? Dangerous, seditious ideas! Devilishly inappropriate.” Dexter shifted a little in his chair. He realized that Sir Montague’s dismissal of Laura’s philanthropy made him feel surprisingly angry and protective. He had seen for himself all that Laura had done for the poorest of tenants and workers at Cole. Her generosity had been well known and she had had no ulterior motive.

Ignoring Sir Monty, he turned directly to Miles.

“You sound as though you admire your cousin,” he said.

“I do,” Miles admitted. “There aren’t many members of our family who have any principles.”

“I do not think it very principled to ruin my garden,” Sir Montague grumbled. He appealed to the others. “Tell me what I am to do, gentlemen. My flowers! My beautiful lawn! They will all be destroyed!”

“Well,” Dexter said, his patience deserting him, “I suspect that there are those who would say that it is fairly unprincipled of you to instigate the Dames’ Tax, Monty, and now you are getting what you deserve.” He saw Miles, Nat and even Tom hide their grins at the bald truth of this statement. There was no sympathy for Sir Monty, even from his own brother.

“But I am within my rights in enforcing the Dames’ Tax!” Sir Montague’s double chin quivered indignantly. “It is the law.”

“So is foldage, apparently,” Nat said, his gaze on the slender figure of Lady Elizabeth as she came back through the gate into the gardens with a bucket of feed for the sheep.

“As I see it,” Dexter said, “you have two alternatives, Monty. Either you back down now and repeal the Dames’ Tax—”

“Never! I will lose too much money.”

“—or you fight fire with fire.”

“But how?” Sir Montague wailed piteously. “Those dashed females!” Nat was laughing. “Invoke some more of your powers as lord of the manor, Monty.”

“There’s always the
droit de seigneur,
” Sir Montague said eagerly.

Miles spluttered into his brandy. “Steady on, Monty, you can’t do that! You’d get arrested if you abducted all the brides on their wedding nights. Sounds like the kind of thing I would do,” he added thoughtfully. “Dashed tempting idea.” Dexter thought so, too. The idea of carrying off Laura Cole and having his wicked way with her was temptation incarnate.

“Forget the
droit de seigneur,
” he said testily, trying to concentrate. “Monty, you need to exploit the other tithes at your disposal.”

“What I really need is for some of my tenants to die,” Sir Montague said thoughtfully. “That way I would be entitled to the Soul’s Scot and could take their second-best chattel in lieu of a tithe.”

“Would that be their wife or their horse?” Tom murmured.

“That depends on the tenant,” Miles said, with a wicked grin. “And the wife.”

“And the horse,” Tom said, laughing.

Dexter put down his coffee cup with a snap. He had had enough of Sir Montague’s self-inflicted problems and the endless debate they were causing. He had no desire to help the man cheat half the population of Fortune’s Folly out of their inheritance.

“I will see you all later, gentlemen,” he said abruptly. “I have bespoken dinner at the Morris Clown and then I am to attend the harp recital at the assembly rooms.”

“No doubt in company with the charming Miss Cole,” Tom said. “Such virginal innocence, Dexter, and allied to money, too! How very tempting.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Dexter said coldly. He deplored the other man’s crass assessment but could hardly cut him dead whilst accepting his brother’s hospitality.

“And her less than charming mama,” Nat added. “I admire you enormously, Dex.”

“To knowingly tie yourself for life to Faye Cole as well as her daughter takes extreme courage,” Miles agreed.

His friends’ mockery did nothing to soothe Dexter’s irritation. As he walked back into the village, across the bridge over the River Tune, he reflected that Nat and Miles were full of congratulations for him on making such good progress in capturing his heiress—and equally glad that they were not the ones heading for the altar with Lydia Cole.

Thoughts of Lydia inevitably made him think of Laura. He was obsessed, infuriated.

She had done this to him in the space of a week. Within a fortnight he would be in shreds, mind and body. It was no way for a man of sense to conduct himself.

He wondered if he was really cad enough to marry Lydia when all he wanted was to make love to Laura. Many men would not see the problem, would not even hesitate, but he was not one of them. He had the unnerving feeling that he would be in bed with Lydia on their wedding night and be totally unmanned, unable to make love to her because she was the wrong woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either that, or he would be fantasizing about Laura when he was with her cousin. Damn it, he had too much conscience to be a true rake. He had realized that years before when his angry passion for Laura had led him into more bedrooms and boudoirs than a man had a right to see in a lifetime. That was not his true nature. For the first time in his life he wished he were more like Miles Vickery, whose sense of honor seemed to be permanently missing when it came to women.

Yet what choice did he have but make Lydia Cole an offer? His entire family depended on him making a good match. He had no realistic alternative. And Lord Liverpool had as good as given him an ultimatum to find a rich wife or find another job. He could not fail in this.

Swearing under his breath, he crossed the street into the market square. It was a cold night with the wind howling in from the north, but the village was still bustling with activity even though dusk was falling now. The flower sellers, who had been doing a roaring trade from the moment so many London gentlemen had arrived in Fortune’s Folly a-courting, were starting to pack up their stalls. There was a delicious smell of roasting meat floating toward Dexter from the inn, reminding him that his dinner would soon be ready.

He was crossing the cobbled square to the inn when he saw Laura disappearing along the lane that led toward the priory ruins and The Old Palace. The green of her gown paled to gray in the dusk. She was holding her bonnet firmly to prevent it blowing away. Dexter hesitated, turning away toward the inn, but even as he did he saw that someone had fallen into step behind Laura and started after her down the lane. They looked furtive and they kept in the shadows. The hair on the back of Dexter’s neck prickled and stood up on end.

His professional instinct took over. Without further thought he slid into the shade and followed the figures into the dark.

LAURA PLACED HER LANTERN
carefully on a stone slab and reached up to retrieve a bottle from the shelf. She kept all her wine here in the cellars of the ruined priory, preferring it to The Old Palace where the steps down to the basement were dangerously steep and Carrington had almost fallen on more than one occasion. Here she kept her own recipes that brewed and bubbled gently in the corner and also the remnants of her grandfather’s collection of fine wines. Laura seldom had cause to entertain these days and usually ended up drinking on her own, which she thought was no doubt the last resort of a sad old dowager duchess, sipping her sherry in the armchair before the fire, like an old soak. Tonight there was a harp concert in the village but she had had no wish to attend to see Dexter Anstruther and her cousin Miles and their friends fawning over the Fortune’s Folly heiresses. Instead she would sit at home with a glass of wine, read a good book—not an improving one but something amusing—and plan further vengeance for Sir Montague Fortune. The sheep plan had worked rather well and now it was time for something new.

Laura selected a bottle of her elderflower champagne and looked at it critically. In the flickering lantern light it glowed as golden as straw in the sun. It was definitely ready to drink. Next to it on the shelf was a space and a dusty smear where it looked as though something had recently been removed. Laura frowned. She also kept her sloe marmalade and her jams in the cellar because the fruit was preserved for longer in the cool room. She was certain that she had not taken any of the pots away recently but she could not imagine who else had been down in the priory ruins looking for marmalade.