This Duke is Mine (16 page)

“All right, Miss Acorn,” Olivia said, flashing the duke a surprised smile. “May I introduce Miss Lucy?”

Lucy had been sitting close to Olivia’s ankle, but on hearing her name she stepped forward, her tail wagging madly.

The children clustered around her, squealing. Olivia held out Lucy’s ribbon. “Would anyone like to take Lucy for a little walk?” A moment later Avery and Audrey headed to the village square, Lucy prancing before.

Olivia looked at the three remaining children. “So what is new and exciting in the village?”

“ ’Zekiel Edgeworth bought a new mare!” Acorn exclaimed.

“Goodness me. And where does Mr. Edgeworth stable his horse?”

“Right there!” they squealed. Sure enough, there was a chestnut mare off in a corner of the yard.

“We’re taking care of her,” Ant said importantly.

Olivia held out her hand, looked down, and then stripped off her glove. “What
was
I thinking?” she said, causing another storm of giggles as she held out her hand again to Ant. “Now, Master Ant, will you introduce me to the fine steed living in your garden?”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ant breathed, a moment later.

“She has some interesting aspects,” Olivia acknowledged. “What’s her name?”

“Well,” Arrow said importantly, “Mr. Edgeworth likes to call her Starstruck. But we think that’s a rackety name. So we call her Alice. See, she already knows her name.
Alice
!”

Sure enough, the mare looked up at that shriek, causing great gales of laughter. Olivia was trying her best to ignore the man at her shoulder. He was
Georgiana
’s future husband, for goodness’ sake.

“Alice has a bad case of pigeon toes—or hooves, to be exact,” the duke observed, coming even closer to her.

Olivia and children frowned at him. “We all agree that hooves like hers are very becoming in a horse,” she announced.

There was a chorus of agreement.

“I certainly didn’t mean to diminish her strong points,” the duke said. He reached out and patted the mare’s neck. He had removed his gloves as well. “For example, she has a large forehead and a long neck.”

“A
very
long neck,” Acorn agreed. “And a long back too, because we’ve all climbed on it once or twice. At the same time, I mean.”

“That must account for the sway,” Olivia murmured to the duke. He was looking at her in that intent way again, so she moved a step away under the guise of examining the mare’s back.

“She has even better points than her neck,” the duke said, his voice taking on a curiously innocent tone. “Any man would be lucky to have this mare.”

Arrow seemed a little suspicious. “My pa doesn’t say the same as you. He says as how Mr. Edgeworth threw away his coin when he bought Alice. He doesn’t like Alice.” He stroked the mare’s nose consolingly.

“I was referring to her dark chestnut coat, of course,” the duke said. “Soft eyes, a delicate mouth, and such long eyelashes.” He too was stroking the mare—but he was looking straight at Olivia.

She had never heard a horse described in quite those words before. She stole another glance at his face. The duke did not seem the type of person who would engage in wordplay. Though at lunch . . . He’d certainly mentioned Lady Godiva in a suggestive manner.

“Her coat is extraordinarily velvety,” he said to Ant. “Don’t you all think so?” Six dirty hands patted the mare’s belly, and a chorus of voices agreed with him. “One wants to keep touching her,” he said. The laughter in his voice was positively wicked.

“And she has
very
smooth hooves,” he continued, pointing down. “Nice and round in the front. Light on her heels, no doubt.” The mare had succumbed to his blandishments and was bumping his shoulder, begging for more attention.

“Are you saying that she’s light-heeled?” Olivia asked, still trying to figure out exactly how far his wordplay was meant to go. “Because she most certainly is
not
.”

“That would mean our Alice was a hussy,” Avery said disapprovingly. “You don’t say that about a horse.”

“You’re absolutely right,” the duke said. “I stand corrected. Alice is clearly a creature of virtue.”

“You make very little sense,” Olivia observed. “One would almost—almost!—think you implied that Alice is a high-flier.”

“And she’s not,” Avery put in. “Mr. Edgeworth says she won’t even jump the stile.”

“We think it’s because she’s got such a round belly,” Acorn put in.

“Indeed.” The duke smiled again, and Olivia was furious to feel warmth creeping up in her cheeks. He couldn’t be referring to her.

“Everything a man could desire,” he said. “A lovely, plump buttock, too.”

Yes, he
could
be referring to her. She stood taller, fiercely resisting the impulse to back her plump buttock out of sight. Maybe into the next county.

“It’s because of all the grass we give her,” Ant said importantly. “We tear it up on the Common and we bring her handfuls.”

“What a lucky animal,” the duke murmured. He was a devil . . . unless she was completely misunderstanding him.

How could he possibly mean what she—

“Well, Miss Lytton? Don’t you agree with our assessment of this exquisite beast?”

The words jumped out of her mouth before she thought. “A plump
buttock
? Since when is that something a man desires in his mount?”

Stupidly, she caught the double entendre only after she herself made it. But the duke didn’t miss the intimation. His eyes lit up with an unholy, smoldering light, a secret promise that made fire pool in her body.

“Why, Miss Lytton,” he said, his voice a deep purr, “you surprise me.”

It forcibly occurred to her that he had deliberately brought Lady Godiva into the conversation at luncheon. “Um,” she fumbled. “I surprise myself.” There was something hungry in his eyes that wasn’t for her—couldn’t be for her. She could never have what he was offering.

That hunger should be for Georgiana. From the time she was ten years old she’d known that her future didn’t include . . .
this
.

She couldn’t think what to say.

The children had no such hesitation. “You’re looking at Miss Lytton like the way our Annie looks at Bean,” Apple told the duke.

“I expect you’re walking out,” Apricot chimed in. “Ma did say as how the duke was like to marry, remember?”

The duke didn’t seem to be inclined to respond. One moment he had looked unemotionally
ducal
, for lack of a better word, and the next his face was transformed by a kind of rough sensuality.

“That’s just how Bean looks back at Annie, too,” Acorn put in, apparently taking silence as encouragement. “Like trouble, that’s what Mum says.” She turned to Olivia. “That’s why Annie won’t come out of the house. Because those purple bumps are all over her bottom, and how did they get there?”

Olivia frowned.

“Iffen she had had her clothes on,” Acorn explained.

“See, Bean is the butcher’s son, and they’re walking out,” Apricot added. “Though you shouldn’t be saying things like that to fine folk,” she told her brother with a poke to his middle. “This is a lady, and ladies don’t know anything about their own clothes.”

“We don’t?” Olivia asked.

“You can’t take ’em off yourself, can you? That’s what Mum says. Though it could be she’s wrong.”

Alas, Olivia had to confirm. “You’re right. My gowns are all buttoned up the back and I do need someone to help me undress.”

“Well, the good news is that you won’t get the purple itch, then, at least not on your bottom.”

“
That
is very good to know,” the duke said, gravely.

But he would never fool Olivia again. This particular duke may look as stiff as a poker, but there was something quite different inside.

A smile, a hidden smile.

Twelve

The Merits of Scrambled Custards and Gooseberries

I
mmediately upon the little band’s return to Littlebourne Manor—the unfortunate Annie’s rash having been inspected, diagnosed, and treated—the dowager waved all the ladies off to their chambers to change their clothing, then raised a finger at Quin.

“Accompany me, if you please, Duke,” she said. “I should be grateful for the support of your arm while I take a brief turn around the gardens.”

The moment they were out of earshot of their guests, she stopped. “Tarquin, I am not enjoying Miss Lytton’s company.”

“Yes,” Quin agreed.

“Yet her sister Miss Georgiana appears to be a most suitable candidate for your duchess. She was remarkable when talking to Mrs. Knockem and her wagtail of a daughter—whose rash, by the way, is no more than she deserves, given her loose behavior. At any rate, Miss Georgiana evinced compassion for the invalid, along with a kind, yet reserved attitude toward the family as a whole. She kept her distance, yet was never disdainful. I thoroughly approved.”

Quin murmured something, thinking that Olivia didn’t seem to care in the least about maintaining her distance from the Knockem family.

“In fact, the only drawback I can identify to the match,” his mother continued, “is the elder sister. Yet since Miss Lytton will be married as soon as that young fool comes back from France, the pleasure of her company—or its opposite—hardly matters.”

“Young fool?” Quin inquired.

“Montsurrey.” His mother waved her hand impatiently. “Miss Lytton seems to have reconciled herself to the matter; I must credit her with that. And she was right about my slip of the tongue: I should not have maligned a peer of the realm, no matter what I may have heard about the future duke. Though,” she added, “his own father described him as having brains more scrambled than an egg custard.”

“An egg custard,” Quin repeated.

“Irrelevant,” the dowager said. “My point is that you must keep Miss Lytton and her dog out of my sight, Tarquin. As you know, I consider it very important that I carry out my tests in a judicious manner. I can hardly do so if I am engaged in fencing with a chit half my age.”

“She held her own,” Quin said, making quite certain that satisfaction did not leak into his voice.

“I am aware of that,” his mother replied, rather grimly. “For my peace of mind, then, I would ask that you occupy the young virago and her mongrel while I continue to explore the characters of Lady Althea and Miss Georgiana.”

“All right,” Quin said.

His mother tightened her grip on his arm. “I do realize that Miss Lytton is a challenging and rather tiresome companion, and I apologize for burdening you with her company. At least I need have no worries that you will succumb to
her
charms. Her figure, for one, renders her most unattractive. What can she be thinking, wearing such a revealing costume when she carries all that extra flesh?”

Quin said nothing.

“Besides,” his mother continued, talking to herself as she often did, “Miss Lytton seems admirably devoted to Montsurrey. Therefore, amongst ourselves,
en famille
, I believe we may dispense with a chaperone. Really, I have to credit Canterwick. I can see that she’s just right for his boy.”

“Boy?”

“Montsurrey must be five years younger than she is at the very least,” her mother said, turning so they could stroll back to the house. “I find it amusing that both Canterwick and myself have looked to the Lytton family for a possible alliance with our children. It is true that the Lyttons are well connected on both sides, but they are hardly aristocracy. It is a tribute to . . .”

But Quin had stopped listening. Olivia was betrothed to a boy, a bird-witted boy, if he believed his mother.

Olivia—wry, witty Olivia?

Impossible.

“Don’t you agree, Tarquin?” his mother asked sharply.

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid that I lost track of the conversation.”

“I said that Miss Lytton was remarkably fortunate to have been chosen by the Duke of Canterwick to marry his son. Her birth is negligible, her figure forgettable, and her manner impertinent.”

Quin stared down at his mother. “But she’s beautiful.”

“Beautiful? Beautiful? Certainly
not
. She’s round as a gooseberry, which bespeaks a gluttonous turn of mind. And I don’t care for her eyes.”

“Actually, they are the color of gooseberries,” Quin said. “A green such as I have never seen in a pair of eyes before.”

“Unusual,” his mother said. She didn’t mean it as a compliment. “But her sister’s eyes are entirely acceptable. And her figure is lovely. I find it odd that one sister should have such a squabby shape while the other is elegant in every respect. I expect it’s a matter of self-control, always a lady’s best weapon against the world’s tribulations. Miss Georgiana obviously has excellent self-control.”

“Yes,” Quin agreed.

“She’ll throw you no tantrums,” his mother continued. A smile curled up the corner of her mouth. “I can see the two of you now, presiding over a cluster of small children. You would like that, wouldn’t you, Tarquin?”

Black ice seized his heart; he didn’t reply, but it didn’t matter.

His mother went on, all the way back to the house, painting a picture of Quin and Georgiana, smiling affectionately at their brown-eyed children.

Thirteen

What It Means to Lead an Army

The next afternoon

O
livia’s new riding habit had regimental flair: braid marched up the cunning little jacket and then down the skirt; there were tiny epaulets on the shoulders. Even the fetching little hat was not a bonnet, but a rakish version of a lieutenant’s cap in dark crimson that flattered her hair and skin.

The costume made her feel as if her figure wasn’t too plump, as if she wasn’t too saucy (as her mother would put it). As if everything was right in the world, and she was the general of her own personal army.

A perfect illustration of the fundamental pettiness of her brain, she thought, walking slowly along the path to the stables. Georgiana felt happiest after she had cooked up some noxious brew that might—or might not—cure the second footman’s baby of red blotches on its bum. Whereas Olivia felt happiest when she liked what she saw in the mirror and then headed out to engage in recklessly imprudent flirtation with a duke.