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Authors: Sally MacKenzie

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BOOK: What to Do with a Duke
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She was going to get herself slapped by both women if she continued on this way. At least her uncle and Lord Uppleton were no longer part of the conversation. They were competing with each other to see who could grab the last biscuit.
“I'm afraid I really don't know anything else,” Cat said. “You will just have to ask His Grace if you require more particulars.”
Juliet's eyes lit with unpleasant excitement. “He must have come here because of the scandal, Mama.”
Come
because of a scandal? She must have misheard. The only scandal she knew of had originated in Loves Bridge courtesy of Miss Anne Davenport. “I assure you, the gossip is groundless. Nothing happened.”
Juliet looked at her as if she were daft—but then Juliet often looked at her that way. “How would you know? You haven't been to London.”
“No.” So she had no idea what Juliet was talking about—that also, was quite common. “What I do know is the duke came to Loves Bridge because the Spinster House was empty. By the terms of the curse, he's required to deal with finding a replacement personally.”
She was not going to tell them she was the replacement. They would have to find that out on their own.
Juliet snorted. “You don't believe in that silly curse, do you?”
“Whether I believe in it or not, the duke does.”
The countess sighed and shook her head. “Catherine, dear, you mustn't be so naïve. You don't really think a man of the duke's position, with his education, would be so superstitious as to believe in something as unscientific as a curse, do you? Come now. He may have
said
that's why he came to Loves Bridge, but the truth is something else entirely.”
Juliet nodded. “He compromised poor Miss Rathbone dreadfully, and then refused to do the right thing and marry her. He had to flee London or find all doors shut firmly in his face.”
“Now, Juliet, let's not overstate the matter. No one is going to exclude the Duke of Hart,” the countess said. She leaned closer. “I usually wouldn't sully your virginal ears with such a tale, Catherine, but the duke was found rolling around in Lord Palmerson's shrubbery with poor Miss Rathbone.”
“Passionately kissing her, her dress pulled down to her waist and her hair all undone!” Juliet added with rather unbecoming enthusiasm.
The countess waved her fan as if to cool her face. “We can only be glad he wasn't doing something of an even more intimate nature with her when Lady Dunlee came upon them.”
“Indeed!” Juliet managed to look scandalized and thrilled simultaneously. “And then when Miss Rathbone's father confronted the duke at White's, His Grace not only said he would not marry the girl, he said he couldn't ruin her reputation because she didn't have one.”
“Despicable.” The countess snapped her fan closed. “But then the Dukes of Hart are well known to be womanizers.”
Oh, God! Miss Rathbone. The Boltwood sisters had mentioned her—and bushes—at the fair meeting, the day the duke was hanging the Spinster House notices.
Had Marcus really been on the ground in the shrubbery where anyone might come upon him, kissing a half-naked woman?
Her stomach twisted.
What a fool I've been.
It was all clear now. The duke might have asked Papa for her hand, but he knew she'd never accept his offer. She was the Spinster House spinster, for God's sake! The kisses that had meant so much to her had been nothing to him. He was bored, perhaps lustful, and hoping to use her to satisfy his animal needs.
Well, he'd very much mistaken the matter!
“What's amiss, Catherine?” the countess asked. “You suddenly look out of curl.”
“Surely you didn't form a tendre for the Heartless Duke, did you?” Juliet muffled a giggle.
The countess sighed and shook her head sadly. “That was very foolish of you, Catherine, but I suppose it was to be expected. The duke is a practiced seducer, and you're very green, my dear. No town polish at all, even at your advanced age.”
Her aunt was quite correct about that. Thank God she had no experience with men of the duke's ilk.
“As long as there was no harm done—” The countess's brow rose. “There
was
no harm done, at least of an, er, permanent nature, was there?”
Cat felt her face turn red. “Of course not.”
The countess didn't look as if she quite believed her, but at least she didn't dispute the matter. “Then mark it down to experience, Catherine. You'll be wiser next time.” She tittered. “
If
there is a next time.”
There bloody well would
not
be a next time. She was swearing off men for the rest of her life, which had been her intention all along until a certain snake had slithered down from London.
“Don't look now,” Juliet whispered, “but the Cursed Duke is headed this way.”
She couldn't bear to speak to him now or even stand near him. She would do something she'd regret, like punch him or . . . or break into tears.
“If you'll excuse me, I must go. I find I'm feeling a trifle unwell.”
 
 
Marcus saw Catherine dart away from the Countess of Penland and Lady Uppleton.
Where the hell was she going? He felt as if he'd been chasing after her ever since the day his mother visited, trying to get her alone for a private word—and perhaps something else he didn't wish anyone else to witness. He'd yet to be successful. She always claimed she was busy with some task for Mary's wedding.
Well, Mary and Dunly were well and truly riveted now. He'd be damned if he was going to let Catherine fob him off any longer.
He changed course, trying to follow her without appearing to do so, though certainly the two harpies she'd been talking to made note of his detour.
“Oh, Your Grace. Yoo-hoo! Over here!”
His stomach sank. Could he pretend he hadn't heard Miss Cordelia Boltwood?
No.
The group of men he was passing stopped their conversation about some sheep ailment to snicker.
“I believe Miss Cordelia is trying to get your attention, Your Grace,” Emmett said helpfully. The blackguard's face was perfectly serious, but his damn eyes were laughing.
“Yes. Unfortunately, however, I—”
Miss Gertrude swooped in to grab his arm. He was able to catch a glimpse of Catherine vanishing through the door to the churchyard before he was towed over to see what the other Miss Boltwood wanted.
“You must be the first to taste my gooseberry tart, Your Grace,” Miss Cordelia said when Miss Gertrude deposited him at her side. “I'm accounted quite a dab hand at baking, you know. I believe my gooseberry tart is the best in the village. In fact, I'll wager you've never tasted one better, even in London.” She cut him a generous slice. “You must try some.”
“Miss Cordelia, I'm afraid I—”
Miss Gertrude dug her elbow into his side. “Yes, we know you'd rather run after Miss Hutting, Your Grace, but show a little discretion, if you please. The gossip about your interlude with her in the bushes—”
“—and your scandalous visit to the Spinster House, which Mrs. Greeley witnessed—” Miss Cordelia interjected.
“—has died down. If you insist on pursuing her so obviously, you will blow the dying embers back into a full-fledged conflagration.”
Miss Cordelia shoved a plate with the slice of tart and a fork into his hands. “Yes, indeed. Most people will give Miss Hutting the benefit of the doubt,
if
you leave them any doubt at all. But if you pursue the poor girl so publicly—”
Miss Gertrude giggled. “Oh, I wouldn't say she was a
poor
girl, Cordelia. I think she's quite lucky to have a lusty fellow like the duke here panting over her.” She dug her elbow into his side again.
Damnation. He wasn't blushing, was he?
Miss Cordelia smiled. “Indeed. But as I was saying, duke, if you pursue Miss Hutting with that hungry and rather desperate look on your face, anyone with any imagination will be able to guess exactly what you are up to.”
“Not that the girl couldn't do with a little bit of fun.” Miss Gertrude tried to elbow him again, but he'd learned from his previous encounters and evaded her.
“Yes, indeed.” Miss Cordelia leaned a bit closer. “I'll tell you, duke, that one reason the gossip was so very delectable is that it was so unexpected. Miss Hutting is always very stiff and serious. Why, I'm certain more than half the men in the village are afraid of her.” She shook her head in amazement. “Everyone was flabbergasted that she could be persuaded to do anything at all untoward.”
“Especially with a man,” Miss Gertrude added. “We all were half convinced she didn't like the breed”—she raised her brows significantly—“if you know what I mean.”
He did, but he wasn't going to say so. And how could they believe Catherine was stiff? She might be a little prickly, but that was only to protect her soft heart.
He had better eat the tart if he wanted to get free to follow her. He took a bite. It
was
very good. “This is delicious, Miss Cordelia.”
Cordelia smirked. “I told you it was.”
He took another bite. Fortunately he had a large mouth. One more forkful, and he was done. He handed the plate back to Cordelia.
“All right, off with you now,” she said, putting his empty plate on the table. “But do try to be a bit more circumspect.”
“And give Miss Hutting a kiss for us,” Miss Gertrude said, giggling.
He just smiled and headed for the exit. He did stop to congratulate Mr. and Mrs. Hutting, and he paused to shake Dunly's hand and kiss Mary's, wishing them much happiness and reiterating that Dunly should enjoy his honeymoon without a thought to any of his castle duties. And then he was finally through the door and out into the quiet country afternoon.
Where rational thought at last asserted itself. He should not go to the Spinster House. Catherine clearly did not want to speak to him. She would not have found so many excuses to avoid him the last few days nor fled the reception just now when she'd seen him approaching if she was amenable to any sort of discussion.
The Misses Boltwood said that the gossip had died down. Certainly no one had shunned Catherine today. He could go back to London confident that her reputation was intact. He was a free man with a clean conscience.
His feet ignored his thoughts, carrying him down the hill toward the Spinster House.
Dunly had let drop that his mother had stopped to see Catherine before returning to Ireland. He'd like to know what they'd discussed. And he'd brought the third duke's diary with him. Catherine might wish to see it.
And, yes, he'd admit he wanted to kiss her. Just one kiss to say good-bye. She'd looked so beautiful today, so tall and slender and composed. He couldn't take his eyes off her, as everyone in the church must have noticed. Alex certainly had teased him about it enough.
And she'd looked lonely. He'd swear he'd seen that in her eyes. He should recognize the expression. Loneliness was his constant companion.
He could see the Spinster House clearly now, but there was no sign of Catherine. She must already be inside.
He stopped at the road. This was madness. He should go back to the hall. Miss Hutting had everything she wanted—solitude, quiet, time to write. She'd chosen the life of a spinster. He should let her live it as she wished.
Zeus, wasn't that typical of his luck? The one woman he wanted didn't want him. She was completely unswayed by his wealth and power.
But she
had
been swayed by his kisses. A determined spinster would have pushed him away, slapped him, boxed his ears, but Catherine had clung to him and kissed him back. Her hands had slid over his body—his clothed body, unfortunately—and into his hair.
He started across the road. If she was adamant that she wouldn't marry him, he'd leave Loves Bridge in the morning. Alex and Nate were still planning to go walking in the Lake District. He would join them.
He strode up the walk and rapped on the front door.
No answer.
He knocked again, harder. Still no answer. He tried the latch. Locked. Was Catherine not home, then? But where could she be? Everyone in the village was at the party.
She must have gone walking, though he couldn't say he liked that idea. The country was safer than London, true, but even in the country a woman alone was at risk. He needed to find her, but where should he look? She could have taken off in any direction.
He turned to leave and almost tripped over Poppy.
“Blast it, cat, you nearly caused me to measure my length on that very hard walkway behind you.”
Poppy sat down, tail twitching, and stared at him.
“You don't happen to know where Miss Hutting is, do you?” And now he was talking to a cat. If Poppy replied, he'd know for certain that he'd become completely unhinged.
Poppy blinked and then started round to the back of the house. When he didn't immediately follow, she stopped and looked at him.
“So you want me to come with you?”
“Merrow!”
He glanced around. Thank God no one was nearby to witness this.
The cat set off again. Marcus hesitated.
Oh, hell, what do I have to lose?
He followed Poppy, who led him past a lean-to that looked like it might once have stabled a single horse and through a gate into the garden—where he nearly pitched headlong into an overgrown bush.
“Bloody ivy.” Miss Franklin had allowed the creeping plant to run amok so that it almost completely obscured the path. He made a mental note to have Emmett send someone over to tidy up as he stooped to untangle his feet. Once free, he looked for Poppy—she was sitting by the back door, grooming her paws.
BOOK: What to Do with a Duke
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