The Perfect Duke (5 page)

They came to the entrance of the storage room and Cara dug the key from her pocket. “Isabel, would you still like to be a weaver?”

The poor girl nearly dropped her burden. “Oh, yes, Miss.” Her smile turned to a frown. “But Mrs. Shaw would never allow it. She were right stubborn when Mr. Timmons asked her.”

“You leave Mrs. Shaw to me.” Cara fit the key into the lock and twisted until she heard a
click
, then shoved the heavy wooden door open. Mustiness surrounded them like a cloud as she turned back to the servant. “It may take some time, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh, thank you, miss.” Isabel started to leave, then stopped. “The other servants is right about you. You’re more of a lady than any o’ the fancy-dressed women that visit.”

“Thank you.” Cara felt heat in her face as she replaced the key, and by the time she glanced up, the servant had left. She hoped she’d be able to help her, but in order to do so she’d have to get the duke’s approval. Perhaps the servants had decided she was a lady, but he hadn’t.

Cara grazed her bottom lip with her teeth. The memory of the duke’s hand on her face still struck chords of longing in her. She’d tried to avoid him ever since that day in the nursery but he’d popped up at the oddest moments, rarely saying anything, simply watching her. She’d felt as if he were a specter, sent to foreshadow her doom. This would be the first time she’d sought him out.

She admitted to feeling apprehensive. Tess said that if you were afraid of something, you should make light of it.

So, where would she find a ghost in the middle of the day? Either in a dungeon or in a tower, and as the duke’s study graced the top of the west-most tower that would be her next stop after she checked the wine. Hopefully, he’d be there.

She smiled. If not, she refused to poke around in Belcraven’s dungeon. Besides, she couldn’t imagine her “perfect duke” allowing himself to trail through centuries of grime and cobwebs. Although, judging from everything else around here, the dungeon had probably been swept clean long ago. Cara felt laughter bubble up as she entered the well-organized wine room. They probably oiled the torture devices, just in case.

Snow White longed for the perfect apple. But once she’d taken a bite, she discovered her mistake.

Snow White

Garret worked at concealing his impatience as he splashed scotch into his glass and contemplated the man who stood staring out one of the study windows. He knew better than to hurry Lord Bradford. His friend rarely answered a direct question.

Bradford’s angular features appeared more pronounced in the sunlight, giving him a predatory air. It amused Garret that many in society considered this man an enigma, but he supposed Bradford’s progressive methods of gathering information, as well as his influence with the king, fostered fear and distrust.

He replaced the decanter’s glass stopper. People were fools, wary of what they didn’t understand. Bradford chose to remain on the fringes of society for his own reasons. Garret didn’t care why. During their long acquaintance, his friend had never failed him, even after the accident.

His guest joined him at the sideboard and poured soda water into a cut crystal goblet. “The cooper told the truth, but I suspect you knew that.” He picked up a lemon slice and squeezed the fruit slightly, releasing its clean pungent smell before adding it to his drink. “By all accounts, Miss McClure resembles her mother, and her mother’s beauty is legendary among the Ton. You’re a lucky man.” He took a sip, his heavy-lidded gaze never leaving Garret’s face.

Garret shrugged. “Her appearance is acceptable, but it does not concern me.” Then why did her image plague him at odd times during the day? He’d sought her out on several occasions, only to watch her unawares. Garret’s hand tightened on his glass.

“I assume her conduct has been above reproach.” Bradford took the seat next to the fireplace and stretched his legs out toward the fire. “Madame Hasting is one of the finest etiquette instructors in London.”

“Miss McClure is . . .” Garret pictured Cara as he’d last seen her, laughing with his niece. Since she’d arrived, even the servants appeared happier. He downed the last of his Scotch, set the glass on the table, then sank into a chair across from his friend. “I find her adequate, but she has only been here a fortnight. It is still too early to tell.” He found Bradford’s hint of a smile annoying. “Have you discovered who paid for her fine education?”

The question erased Bradford’s smile. “No one knows. An unmarked coach came for her on two separate occasions. From what I gather, Miss McClure was sworn to secrecy”—he stared at Garret with disapproval—“and her ability to keep a secret seems equal to yours.”

Garret refused to be baited, but couldn’t help shifting in his chair. He hadn’t thought keeping the truth from Cara would be so difficult. If only she hadn’t been so damn accommodating.

Bradford rubbed his thumb along the edge of his glass. “I’ll discover her benefactor, eventually.”

From anyone else, Garret would have considered the comment boastful. A sharp rap reverberated on the study door.

His guest set down his drink and stood. “Visitors?”

“I’m not expecting anyone.” Garret got up and crossed to the door. “Enter.”

One of the liveried servants came into the room and gave a slight bow. “Pardon, Your Grace, but Miss McClure is requesting a moment of your time.”

Garret masked his surprise. Why had she sought him out? It must be important. During the last week she’d seemed uncomfortable in his presence. But after the incident in the nursery, he understood. He’d been appalled at his own lack of restraint. “Show her in.”

“How fortunate. I’d hoped to meet her.” Bradford’s eyes narrowed.

Garret knew that expression. Cara’s secret presented a challenge.

Cara entered the room, then stopped. “Oh. Excuse me, I didn’t realize you had a guest.”

Her dark green gown brought out the golden highlights in her hair. She’d secured her tresses into a bun at her nape, accentuating her large eyes and elegant neck. Everything about her appeared fragile. That must be why he had this uncharacteristic urge to protect her.

He turned toward Bradford, then back to Cara. “Lord Bradford, may I present Miss Cara McClure, the governess attending my niece during her stay.”

The visitor was . . .
compelling
. That was the only way Cara could describe him. After several moments, she realized she’d forgotten to curtsey, and hurriedly did so, mortified by the slight curve of Bradford’s mouth. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Bradford. I hope I didn’t interrupt.”

“Hardly. As a matter of fact, Kendal and I were discussing the wonderful reputation of your school, and the admirable work you’re doing there.” Bradford indicated the chair he’d vacated. “Please, join us.”

“No, thank you. I had a question for His Grace, but it can wait.” Lord Bradford’s oddly direct gaze held Cara captive. She suspected most women would find him appealing. His striking white-blond hair didn’t need powder and his features, though angular, were handsome enough. He radiated an air of dangerous power that was almost tangible. She gathered her skirts in a tight grasp and took a small step backward.

For some reason, the man seemed to have chosen her as his focus. The assessing gleam in Bradford’s eyes gave her the feeling his physical attributes were equaled only by his intellect. It was as if he could see all her secrets, not that she had many. In spite of the invitation to join them, she had a strong urge to escape.

When Bradford turned away, she edged toward the door. The duke’s voice stopped her. “No. Miss McClure, I would like you to remain. Lord Bradford was just leaving.”

A look passed between the two men. Lord Bradford appeared annoyed, then a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “It seems we’ll have to get better acquainted at some other time, Miss McClure.” He crossed to her and raised her hand to his lips. “I happily anticipate our next meeting.” With a slight inclination of his head to the duke, he left, the
click
of the door echoing in the silence.

Now that they were alone, Cara had no choice but to turn her attention to the duke. He didn’t seem menacing, yet she’d almost called Lord Bradford back.

She’d been a fool to hope that she could pretend their last encounter hadn’t happened. Simply being in the room with the duke reminded her of the warmth of his hand on her face. How could a man’s touch cause her throat to go dry?

He
didn’t appear at all affected. As usual, he stood very still, a slightly quizzical expression on his face. It occurred to her that he must be waiting to hear what she had to say, so she launched into her request before she could reconsider.

“I hoped you might allow Mr. Timmons and Mrs. Shaw to work together. I realize they have their own responsibilities, but as Papa always says ‘a challenge never hurt anyone.’” At the duke’s expression of amused surprise, she squared her shoulders and used what Tess referred to as her “prim” voice. “I’d like to suggest some changes.” She counted them off on each finger. “First, I would like Timmons and Mrs. Shaw to determine which tasks the servants excel in. Second, they would prioritize their duties. And, third, they would share some of the staff when needed.”

The duke raised one winged brow. “Are you sure they would not kill each other?”

Something in the tone of his voice made her think he was teasing her, but she couldn’t be sure, so she answered him in all earnestness. “Of course not, in all actuality I suspect . . .”

“Suspect what, Miss McClure?”

“I . . . suspect . . .” She worried at her bottom lip until it hurt. It wouldn’t do to tell him she thought they were in love. She doubted he understood love. Not that she would be considered an expert, but at least she’d read countless stories about what happened between a man and woman. “I suspect the two would come to like each other, and the household would benefit.” There, he couldn’t find fault with that statement.

“I see. The staff coming to ‘like’ each other seems to be important to you. However, you do realize a lady should not concern herself with the affairs of the servants.”

“I’m not.” Cara tried to appear as innocent as possible. “If I make their lives easier because I’m improving the way things are done, what harm is there in that?”

“What harm, indeed.” He crossed to the grouping of chairs before the fire and she followed, taking the chair he indicated. “I’m not sure what to do with you, Miss McClure.” He moved away a few steps, then turned and peered down at her. “I asked Timmons to refrain from telling you about the servants’ lives, but you insist on getting personally involved.”

“You told him what?” Cara stood. “You had no right.”

“Actually, I have every right.”

For the first time in her life, Cara wanted to throw something at another human being. Fortunately, the oriental vase on the table closest to her was out of reach. “Tell me something. Do you relish being feared by your staff?”

He took a backward step. “That is ridiculous. They do not fear me.”

“Don’t they? And what makes you so sure?” Cara could not believe the man had no idea how he treated others. “When did you last speak to a footman?”

“I speak with them daily.”

“Don’t you mean ‘command’ them daily?” Over the last fortnight, she’d witnessed the impersonal way he treated his staff. “I’m willing to wager you don’t even know one of their names.”

“Charles.”

Cara crossed to within inches of him. Staring up into his frigid green eyes, she enunciated every word. “There is not one footman named ‘Charles.’ It’s the name
you
give them, like referring to all dogs as ‘dog.’”

“You would not understand. That is the way things are done. It would be impossible for me to learn every footman’s name.”

“Impossible, or tiresome?”

The duke took her arms in a firm hold and Cara had the impression he wanted to shake her. “
My
conduct is not your concern. You need to prove to me that you can be a lady in every sense of the word.”

“Why?”

He stared at his hands in disbelief, then dropped his hold on her. “Because, it is a requirement of your employment.”

Cara saw the frustration in his eyes before he moved to the window.

“To that end, I intend to host a ball in a week’s time. You are expected to handle the arrangements, and will act as my hostess.”

“A week?” She took a breath, ashamed that the question had come out as a startled croak. “How am I to do everything in a week?”

“I suggest you advise Timmons and Cook of your
improvements
.” The duke faced her, his expression unreadable. “The ball will test your theory of increased efficiency.”

Cara felt as if she’d been given an apple, only to discover its beauty cloaked a poison heart.

The Prince’s kiss awakened her. Though they’d never met, he felt familiar, and she found herself drawn to him as if he were her destiny.

Sleeping Beauty

Cara climbed yet another set of stairs, wishing she’d taken the opportunity before this to explore Belcraven’s northern tower. As of late, all her energy had been centered on the ball. The preparations had turned into a disaster and she’d barely spent any time with Rachel.

Perhaps that was just as well. If the duke ever found out she’d been giving his niece lessons in the stable, he’d dismiss her immediately. Her sigh was barely audible, soaked up by the thick carpets and colorful tapestries in the hallway. Why couldn’t he pay more attention to Rachel? Then he would have known she adored horses. What was so unladylike about spending time in the stable?

Propriety shouldn’t rule your life. Her coldly handsome duke didn’t seem to understand that simple fact and it was becoming more and more difficult to be charitable toward him. Not that he was
her
duke, thank heaven.

At least he’d stayed away from her since his ridiculous request for the ball. Three days without seeing him, not that she was counting.

A footman approached and she struggled to remember his name. William or Stephen? She couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t matter as he inclined his head without meeting her gaze, then continued on.

“Can you tell me how to find the attic?” She doubted he would stop, but her feet hurt and she didn’t want to wander any more hallways.

He hesitated, then finally turned, still not meeting her gaze. “You’ll find a set of stairs at the end of the hallway. Follow them up to the door.” With a curt nod, he hurried off.

She tried not to be hurt, but she hated being an outsider. All this, because she’d suggested Mr. Timmons and Mrs. Shaw work together. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that they would resent her interference?

After a few minutes, she came to a narrow staircase that ascended into the shadows. It certainly didn’t appear inviting, but then the attic would be little used. She climbed about ten steps before noticing a door on the landing. The stairs continued to wind upward, but this door hadn’t been maintained. The wood lacked the polished sheen of everything else in the manor. Surely it belonged to the attic?

The knob turned easily and the door swung open, it’s creak loud in the oppressive quiet. She took a step back as the heavenly smell of flowers and evening light cascaded over her, dispelling the gloom on the landing.

Her mouth fell open at the sight before her.
How wonderful
. A glass-enclosed room sheltered exotic plants of all shapes and sizes. The tangle of growth and vivid flowers in startling colors called to her, like a child drawn to an unexpected sweet.

A smile touched her lips. She leaned forward, and rested one palm against the doorjamb. This must be the conservatory. If she remembered right, she’d seen the odd glass structure on the roof between two of the north towers.

Surely no one would mind if she took a brief peek? She stepped through the doorway, and shivered with delight at the enchanted world surrounding her. No other place in the manor could begin to compare with this. Orderliness did not rule here, and it occurred to her how much she’d missed the chaos of her life in London. Longing wrapped its arms around her until she felt tears threaten. Papa would love this singular display of God’s beauty.

Flowers like nothing she’d ever seen vied for attention against the backdrop of a peach and pink sunset. Not only the beauty of the blooms, but the plants themselves caught her eye. They were amazing in their form and leaf structure. Some stood half again as tall as her, with branches that reached to the floor. The pots had been randomly bunched onto tables, carpets, and even some atop the back of a stone elephant in the corner.

She shut the door and leaned back against it, enjoying the warmth of the room. With her eyes closed, she allowed the fragrance and quiet of the place to soothe the anxiety she’d been feeling since the duke’s request for a ball.

“What are you doing here?” The coldness of the duke’s voice washed away her feeling of peace.

Her eyelids snapped open and she straightened until the edges of the wooden door panels dug into her shoulders. He stood not five feet from her, almost hidden amongst the foliage. “Your Grace.” She raised a hand to her throat. “I was looking for the attic.”

He studied her with the same green eyes, but this wasn’t the duke she’d come to know. He no longer wore his waistcoat or vest, and the sleeves of his fine lawn shirt had been rolled to expose muscular forearms. His wary stance held nothing of the rigid stillness she’d observed at other times. “The attic is further up the stairs.” Even though his comment implied he wanted her to leave, there was something in the way he gazed at her . . .

She suddenly felt ill at ease with this new, more accessible lord. “I’m sorry to have intruded.” Warmth infused her face and she turned to leave.

“Wait.”

With her forehead resting against the door, she tried to collect her scattered wits. The duke was her employer. What was she afraid of? She took a deep breath, then turned to face him.

The duke came to stand in front of her. “What did you hope to find in the attic?”

“Furniture.”

“For what?”

“I need more chairs for the ballroom.”

His brow furrowed. “Why did you not ask the servants for help?”

“I was going to, but . . .” She dropped her gaze and swallowed. What could she say? There was a certain justice in the irony of the situation. The duke had ordered her to limit her involvement with the servants, but it had been her own meddling that caused the rift. She didn’t want to set herself above the staff, but it was becoming apparent she would have to.

He lifted her chin with his fingertip and she met his gaze. “They will not do as you ask?”

“No, that’s not it.” She broke the warm contact of his fingers and brushed by him, not sure where she wanted to go. “I didn’t request their assistance. It’s not their fault.” A pale pink orchid with darker pink veins stood closest to her. She bent over and sniffed the heavy sweetness for several moments before turning back to him. “You were right.”

“About?”

“I should never have interfered with Timmons and Mrs. Shaw. I truly thought they would benefit from working together.” She studied his face. “You knew how they would respond. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Would you have believed what I said?”

She smiled. “I suppose not. I never intended to insult them. It’s hard for me to understand, and yet it’s really not so different from the working class in London. Every person needs to feel pride in something they do well.”

He moved to within inches of her. “And what do you do well?”

“I teach children.” She looked up. His nearness caused her to shiver. Everything around them faded. His eyes, no longer cold, held an intensity that drew her into their depths.

“And?”

How could she think with him distracting her? She struggled to remember the question. “I sew.”

“What else?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for many other entertainments.” He’d probably be appalled to know she enjoyed sneaking into the theatre with Tess or reading all manner of romantic tales.

His breath grazed her face. “I suspect there are other things you do well.”

With difficulty, she broke his gaze and stepped away from him. Her fingers trembled as she brushed several of the plants with the pads of her fingers. “What is this place?” Most of the leaves were smooth and plump, but some felt furry, like the nap on velvet. “I’ve never seen such a great variety of flowers. Your gardener must be more skilled than I imagined.”

“He is. However, these plants are not under his care.”

“No? Then who looks after them?”

“I do.”

“It’s obviously one of the things
you
do well.”
So, you had to be a plant to get his attention.
How could he put such care into his flowers, but be so indifferent to the people around him?

“I dabble with horticulture.” He gave a slight shrug. “I enjoy having exotic plants around me. They evoke images of distant lands. Have you ever wanted to see far off places, Miss McClure?”

“Yes, but a vicar’s daughter is not likely to see much beyond her own front door.”

“I, also, am limited in where I may go.” The bitterness in his voice surprised her. “A duke must take his responsibilities seriously. Estates do not run by themselves.” He made it sound like a litany. “I’d like to show you something. Follow me.”

He led the way, weaving around plants as he moved toward the sun side of the conservatory. The pink-edged orb had nearly dropped below the horizon, deepening the twilight. What would this place be like at night?

She hurried after him, then stopped. Nestled amongst the greenery stood a table littered with instruments and charts. The clutter reminded her of her father’s desk at home. She ran her finger over the odd markings on what she assumed was a map of some kind.

Garret finished tinkering with a smooth tube that stood on a tripod, then raised his head, a scorching desire in his eyes making her stomach flutter. “You’ll need to come closer.”

Cara inched as close as she dared, then reached out to touch the cool metal. “I’ve never seen anything like this. What’s it for?”

“I use it to magnify objects in the night sky.” He picked up one of the vellum sheets and studied it, then swiveled the metal tube and made some adjustments. “This instrument is called a telescope. It allows you to see the heavens in a different way. For instance, Venus should be visible on the horizon. Would you like to see?” At her nod, he took her elbow and guided her until she stood behind the instrument. “Place one eye behind this piece and close the other.”

She bent slightly and peered through the glass. “There's a fuzzy light. Is that what I’m supposed to see?”

“No.” He moved behind her. “Let me.” She leaned to the side and he took over. Her hip pressed against him and his warmth seeped into her, a reminder that he was truly flesh and blood, not “The Marble Duke” others had dubbed him.

He fiddled with something on the instrument. “Ah, there it is.” When he stepped back to allow her access, she felt bereft. A part of her wanted him to touch her again. It was a dangerous desire, so she gazed through the telescope, attempting to concentrate on the image.

A globe, Venus, hung in the semi-darkness of the faintly pinkened sky. It was just as she’d imagined a fairy light might be, twinkling with magic and joy. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered the words. How she’d like to reach out and capture it in her hand.

The duke edged closer to her back, and she sensed that he stood inches from her. “Did you know that the Latin word for Venus is Lucifer? It means ‘light-bringing.’”. His voice became smooth darkness, surrounding her. “Poor Venus starts out as the morning star and falls from grace to become the evening star at this time of year. Have you ever thought about the phrase ‘falls from grace?’ It implies that someone has set standards and imposes those rules to live by on others.” His breath disturbed the curls at the nap of her neck, causing her skin to tingle. “The question is, are they right to gauge another person by their rules?”

Guilt edged his voice and she turned to peer up into his face, but it was obscured by shadows. “I believe each man should set his own standards about how he lives, based on what’s in his heart. It’s wrong to judge another. No one can know everything about someone else, so how can you make an assessment?”

He brushed his fingers against her cheek. “You make is sound so simple.”

She suddenly felt sorry for him. He reminded her of a prince who had locked himself away in a glass tower. Only a shell of the duke walked the halls of Belcraven.

She’d been taught that it was her responsibility to aid those who couldn’t help themselves. But could she set him free?

The duke’s hand trailed from her cheek to her neck. He used his thumb to caress the area below her ear, sending shivers of anticipation through her body. The wonder of the moment robbed her of resistance. With his other arm, he drew her against his solid length and rested his hand in the hollow of her back, pressing them closer.

She shouldn’t be doing this, but then the warmth of his breath bathed her face and his lips claimed hers. He tasted of brandy and honey as he coaxed her mouth open. His exploration left her feeling disconnected from her body, and yet yearning for more.

She’d never really been kissed. At least, not unless you counted the awkward attempt by the blacksmith’s son when she was ten. The duke’s kiss had the oddest effect on her. She felt . . .
right
. As if this were the man she’d been waiting for.

Of course, he couldn’t be.

Her fingers splayed on his solid chest, and with a merest amount of pressure, she broke the contact. He let her go at once, almost as if he’d been expecting her reaction. His shadowy features told her nothing, but his rapid breathing matched the cadence of her own.

He was a duke. Not just any duke, but a man who believed his duchess should be above reproach, and should have suitable bloodlines. She could aspire to learning society’s rules, but her birth . . . “I’m sorry, Your Grace.” She stepped past him.

“Garret.”

Startled, she turned to him. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Garret.” He leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. “It would please me if you would use my given name when we are alone.”

“I don’t think . . .” A flicker of what might have been hurt flashed in his eyes, then disappeared. What did he expect from her? His actions didn’t make sense, but he
was
reaching out. If she refused him now, she might never be able to make him see how different his life could be. “Fine, Your Grace. Garret.” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and took a few halting steps backward. “I have much to do before the ball. Excuse me.” It’s not that she ran from the room. That wouldn’t be ladylike. But she had to admit to more speed than decorum allowed.

As she began the long walk to her room, she questioned her resolve to break down Garret’s barriers. He seemed to cause her best intentions to disappear. But just as she sensed which of her students would aspire to something better, she knew he could be a truly admirable duke.