Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Page 7

  “Presumably, as your uncle’s assistant, Reece lives above the shop?”

  “No,” she replied, considerable satisfaction in her tone. “We do not have to endure his presence there.”

  Then why endure it at all? This makes no sense. “I am glad, at least, for that.”

  “Uncle Charles thought it would not be appropriate to have an unmarried man in such a small establishment.”

  “I applaud your uncle’s morals.”

  “Reece resides at the Crown and Anchor.”

  Amos’s brows shot up. “Does he indeed? And how does a mere assistant afford that?”

  “I believe it is a temporary arrangement, until he can find alternative lodgings.”

  Amos was pleased to hear it. A quick word in Jeggins’ ear was all that would be necessary to learn everything that was known about Reece.

  A bird shot out of a nearby tree with a loud clatter of wings, startled by something, and startling Warrior in its turn. The stallion jerked its head up, whinnied, and turned on the spot, pawing at the ground. Amos stood up to soothe him. So, too, did Miss Brooke.

  “Sit down,” Amos told her firmly. “You have had a shock and ought not to be on your feet again quite yet.”

  “I feel completely recovered.” She walked across to Warrior, and this time her smile appeared more genuine. “He is magnificent. Did you breed him yourself?”

  “Be careful! Warrior does not take kindly to strangers.”

  She ignored his warning, leaving Amos with no time to pull her clear of Warrior’s snapping teeth. Instead he watched, dumbfounded, as his irascible stallion stopped misbehaving the moment Miss Brooke reached out a hand and stroked his sleek neck. He dropped his head into her outstretched hand and even permitted her to place a kiss on his muzzle.

  “Remarkable,” he said softly, shaking his head in astonishment. The more he learned about Miss Brooke, the less he understood her.

  ***

  He knows, Crista thought, playing for time as she focused her attention on the stallion, which was no great hardship since she loved horses. He knows it was Reece who attacked me and that he is not whom he claims to be. Crista was disappointed because he also thought ill of her for being untruthful, but there was no help for that.

  She wanted this time alone with the elegant and formidable Lord Amos to last forever. She also wanted him to leave her, unable to understand why he had not already done so. He had gone out of his way to help her but, as he had just told her, any gentleman would have done as much under such circumstances. Unlike her, his conscience was clear, and he had no reason to linger. It must be apparent she was not hurt, at least not physically. The shock that Reece would actually lay in wait for her and try to…well, it would not do to consider what he had tried to do. He did not succeed, and Crista was now wise to him. She would not be caught unawares a second time.

  “No, I did not breed him.”

  His lordship’s voice intruded upon Crista’s introspective thoughts, startling her. He again reached out a hand, and she was most reluctant to place hers in it. The mayhem it caused to her emotions when she touched him was unsettling and inappropriate. She compromised by walking beside him and obediently resuming her seat on the log, breathless for reasons that had nothing to do with her recent attack. Lord Amos truly was as magnificent as his beautiful horse, a combination of elegance, grace, strength, and coercive charm. Long, thick, flowing black hair framed his handsome face—a face that reflected strength of character, steadfastness, and tough resourcefulness. His broad forehead led to rugged, symmetrical features and a strong, chiselled jaw. His dark blue eyes gleamed with intelligence and, she suspected, missed little. At that moment, they were focused upon her, assessing her in a most disarming manner.

  “Warrior was a present from my father, the year before I graduated from university. I broke him myself.” He looked away from her. “He was the last gift I ever received from him. He died six months after the end of the war.”

  “I am sorry,” she replied, moved enough by his obvious sadness to daringly touch his arm. “I lost my own father not so very long ago and understand your pain.”

  His fingers briefly touched hers, still resting on his arm. “And now you are alone in the world.”

  “No, I have my uncle, and a sister.” She reclaimed her hand. Reluctantly. It was rather pleasant feeling the warmth and strength seeping from his capable fingers into hers, but she could not allow herself to lean on him. He was an aristocrat, and his interest in her could only be a transitory affair.

  “A sister.” He appeared surprised. “Where is she?”

  “She resides in London. She is to be married soon.”

  Crista offered no additional information and Lord Amos didn’t ask for it. “What of you, Miss Brooke?” he asked instead. “Does your fancy not turn towards matrimony? I am sure you have received offers.”

  “Me?” She flapped her hands, surprised by the blunt question. She supposed brothers of dukes could ask lesser mortals intrusive questions whenever the fancy took them. Since he had just rescued her from a difficult situation, she decided not to take offence. “I am beyond the age of matrimony. Goodness, I am already quite the old maid.”

  Lord Amos threw his head back and roared with laughter.

  “I am glad you take amusement at my expense,” she said huffily.

  “Excuse me, Miss Brooke, I was not laughing at you, but at your perception of an old maid. You cannot be more than one and twenty.”

  “I am twenty-two.”

  “The perfect age to be married.”

  She tossed her head. “You take a great deal of interest in my affairs, my lord.”

  He angled his head and increased the intensity of his piercing gaze. “That is because you interest me, Miss Brooke.”

  “I cannot think why. Besides, why would I wish to be married and subjected to the tyrannical whims of a man when I am well able to look after myself?”

  “Not so very well able,” he replied softly, glancing towards the trees where she had been attacked.

  “Oh well, that was unfortunate. It will not happen again.”

  He looked as though he wished to dispute that assertion but did not do so. “Do you intend to make a permanent home here in Shawford with your uncle, or do you plan to undertake this independent life of yours elsewhere?”

  “Now you’re laughing at me!” she cried indignantly.

  “Not in the least, I do assure you. I find your attitude refreshing, especially since I believe you are sincere in your desire not to marry. That, in my experience, is very unusual.”

  “You and your brothers must be hounded by ladies keen to meet with your approval, the duke especially.” She probably sounded as sympathetic as she felt. Even so, she was well aware he had cunningly turned the conversation back to her affairs. He seemed doggedly determined to know all of her business. Unfortunately for him, she had compelling reasons not to be forthright. “That cannot be easy.”

  “We have become adept at avoiding the match-making mamas.”

  Crista laughed in spite of herself. “I am perfectly sure you have.”

  They lapsed into momentary silence. Now was the time when he would leave her, Crista thought. It must be apparent she had no intention of satisfying his curiosity about her circumstances, and they had run out of things to say to one another.

  “The stud at Winchester Park was started by me three years ago, at the end of the war,” he said into the silence.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You asked if I bred Warrior. I did not, but my father gave him to me because of all his sons, I was the one who most closely shared his love of horseflesh.”

  “No wonder he is so special to you.”

  “Precisely. With the war over, I was in need of an occupation. Our father had recently died, and Zach was the new duke. He needed help, and I persuaded him to let me take over the stud and introduce two Nonius stallions.”

  “Nonius?” She looked at him askance
. “They are Hungarian, are they not?”

  It was his lordship’s turn to appear surprised. “You know something of horses, Miss Brooke?”

  “I did, at one time.”

  “I ought not to be surprised, given the way Warrior responded to you.”

  “Why did you choose Nonius stallions?”

  “It was risky, I suppose, but someone had to do something to meet the demand for military horses. Depressing numbers of British stock were slaughtered on the battlefields.”

  “How awful? Did you serve, Lord Amos?”

  “Yes, beside Zach and Vince.”

  “Your mother must have been beside herself to have three of her sons in the conflict.”

  “She still had Nate. If the worst came to the worst, there was a male Sheridan to keep the family name alive. Papa was still alive at the time, of course, and he would have taken a very dim view if we had not all gone.” Amos chuckled. “As for Nate, he was furious to miss the excitement, but our father insisted he remain in England and finish at Oxford. In the end, the three of us came through with barely a scratch between us.” He shrugged impossibly broad shoulders. “It hardly seems fair.”

  Crista blinked. “You wanted to be injured? Or worse.”

  “A good many decent men, either didn’t come back at all, or were maimed for life.” He shook his head. “Far too many. We already had more than our share of privileges as a family and then sailed through the conflict without being harmed.”

  “You are worried people will think you allowed others to take all the risks?”

  Lord Amos looked at her with apparent respect. “What on earth makes you say that?”

  “I am sure you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, Lord Amos. I suspect you and your brothers were simply better strategists than some of the more reckless officers. I can tell from the way you speak that you cared about the welfare of the men beneath you, as well as your own skins, of course.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Talk of the war had made him seem remote. As though realising it, he turned towards her, smiled, and the grip of winter left his eyes. “Anyway, that is where I first saw Nonius horses and realised they made equally good equines on the battlefield. They have the right sturdy confirmation, strength, and endurance for it. Zach saw the sense in that argument, and the gamble paid off. We are now well established and in the position of having to turn mares away because our stallions are overworked.”

  “They must give you considerable satisfaction.”

  Lord Amos stifled a laugh, as though she had said something amusing. “People have discovered Nonius horses can be put to a variety of uses that do not involve military manoeuvres. Amongst other things, they make decent carriage horses and excel on the hunting field.”

  Crista nodded. It was evident from her visit to Winchester Park the Sheridan family were wealthy beyond imagination and could spend their days in idleness and dissipation if they so desired. She had seen a number of gentlemen in Lord Amos’s fortunate position follow that path. But it appeared Lord Amos was blessed with a fierce desire to make himself useful in a venture that satisfied his love of horses and improved his family’s finances.

  She applauded his sense of responsibility, even though she was not showing much of it herself at that particular moment. Instead of finding excuses to remain here in a ripped gown with a gentleman she barely knew, she ought to insist upon returning to the village before they were seen.

  For her part, she no longer much cared, but it could prove awkward for Lord Amos. She was about to suggest leaving, truly she was, but the words stalled on her lips. She was enjoying herself. When had she last taken pleasure from a mere conversation? So she would risk remaining here for just a little longer. Besides, Lord Amos was right about one thing. She had had a shock and ought not to walk back quite yet, even though she was perfectly equal to the task. Dear God, she was pathetic! A kind word and helping hand from a polite gentleman, albeit one with a not altogether civilized aura and disturbing charm, and her determination to remain detached flew out the window.

  “It would be my pleasure to show you the stud when you attend the garden party.”

  “Oh, I do not know if I shall be able to−”

  “But of course you must come. You designed my mother’s gift, and I know she will want to thank you for that in person.”

  It was on the tip of Crista’s tongue to say she did not actually make it, but that would be an outright untruth.

  “I had not thought to attend.” She restlessly plucked the tied ends of her shawl. “My uncle will need someone to attend to the shop.”

  “No, he will not. All business closes for the afternoon in honour of the occasion, and so even if you stayed behind, you would have no customers.” He reached out one hand and lifted her chin with his long, capable fingers. “I cannot make you out. What are you so afraid of, Miss Brooke?” he asked softly.

  “I am not afraid of anything, my lord.” Except you, when I feel the dark intensity of your gaze boring into me. I cannot think straight for what I see in your eyes. “It is just that I do not know many people in Shawford and−”

  “Then it is high time you got to know your neighbours. Especially if you intend to remain in the district.” He removed his fingers, and she was unsure if she was more relieved or disappointed by their loss. “Do not make the mistake of setting yourself apart and giving them the excuse to brand you as aloof. It will cause ill-will.”

  “Do not suppose to know what motivates my actions,” she said acerbically, regretting the words as soon as they slipped past her lips. Her quick temper would be the death of her yet.

  He sighed. “I can only begin to imagine, since you will not tell me.”

  “That is because you have no right to ask.” She lifted her shoulders. “Besides, I still cannot think why you are so interested.”

  The meltingly gentle smile he sent her way reduced her insides to mush and sent a spiral of desire lancing through her body. It really would not do, to get emotionally involved with a gentleman so far above her in the social structure he might as well be the king of England. Unless…perhaps his intentions were no better than Reece’s? He just went about it more intelligently, hoping to seduce her with kindness and consideration rather than brute force.

  The thought was unworthy, and Crista swept it aside. She had no idea what motived his lordship to be so kind to her, but she was perfectly sure his intentions were honourable. A part of her was sorry for it. She was sincere in her intention never to marry. She was well able to make a living with her skill as a jeweller, even if she could not publicly acclaim her talents. There were plenty of people she knew in London who could secure commissions for her, taking a healthy cut of the profits for themselves, of course. But that was better than being beholden to any man.

  In spite of her desire for independence, Crista maintained a healthy curiosity about the intimacies of the marital bedchamber. Lord Amos was precisely the right person to satisfy−if that was the correct choice of word−her curiosity. Not that she would ever make the suggestion. How could she? But that did not prevent her from harbouring the thought. It was all his fault, and she was quite out of charity with him as a consequence. He had no business being quite so handsome, so gloriously tempting, so male, so interested in her, or so…well, so everything. Any admiration in her family had always been reserved for her younger, much prettier, far less opinionated, sister. Crista was accustomed to fading into the background, dismissed as being of no consequence. Interest from such a captivating source confused her, and she was unsure how to respond.

  “You are right, of course.” He looked surprised, presumably because she had taken him to task for his intrusive questions. She suspected not many ladies, particularly single ladies keen to make an impression upon him, refused to give him direct answers. “However, I insist upon your attendance at mother’s party. I hope you will not resent the claim upon your time.”

  She inclined your head, simultaneously biting
her lip to prevent a capricious smile from escaping. “And since I have a great curiosity to see your stud, and your lovely Nonius stallions, I cannot refuse you.”

  The corners of his lips lifted. “Then I shall look upon it as a fixed engagement.”

  The church clock sounded the hour, causing Crista to jump to her feet, breaking an intimacy that probably only existed in her imagination. Even so, she was most reluctant to part from him.

  “Goodness, is that the time? My uncle will wonder what has become of me.”

  “Permit me to escort you home.”

  “There is absolutely no need.”

  “I hesitate to disagree with a lady but−”

  “But I am no lady.”

  “Again, I beg to differ,” he replied softly. “You are no stranger to good manners and polite society.”

  She gasped, blaming herself for getting trapped by his magnetic allure and revealing more of her true character than was wise. “You quite mistake the matter, my lord.”

  His knowing smile told her he was not deceived, but he did not press the point.

  “Come.”

  He again claimed her elbow, untied Warrior, and walked beside her back to the village, a respectable amount of daylight separating their bodies. He knew without needing to be told she would wish to enter the premises by the backdoor and led her straight to it.

  “I…er−”

  “Yes, Miss Brooke.” He lifted one brow in polite enquiry. “Did you wish to ask me something?”

  “About what happened on the common, what you thought you saw?”

  He frowned, not appearing to like being reminded. “Yes, what about it?”

  “I would prefer not to make anything out of it and distress my uncle. He does not enjoy the best of health, much as he denies it, and I don’t want to add to his burden by having him worry about my safety.”