Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5) (7 page)

To her own amazement, she bit the pad of his thumb then queried, “Are you offering?”

There was another long silence as if he were gathering himself. “No.”

“I want you,” she said simply, finding words she’d never used before. “I want you to be the one that shows me freedom.”

“What you think is freedom could very well end up as a prison.”

“I don’t think so.”

“So, this is how you want it?” he asked suddenly. “Hard and fast in some public house?”

“No. Not exactly.” It was hard to describe what she’d wanted or thought but she didn’t want to lose her chance with him. That she knew for sure.

“Then what did you think would happen here when you sought me out? Many men—“

“You’re not many men,” she pointed out. It wasn’t a compliment. It was a fact.

“You’re right,” he agreed firmly. “I’m worse.”

She shook her head. “Not true.”

He leaned back and gazed down at her. “Why say so?”

“My instincts.”

His eyes closed and a pained expression darkened his features before he said, “Your instincts are very bad, Lady Ros.”

“My instincts are excellent.”

He let out a suffering sigh then opened his eyes. “Then what is it that you want if not a quick go here?”

She swallowed. Here was her chance. Her chance to convince him. “I want to run away with you for a week. Just one. One week of unbridled freedom. Where you show me the wildness of passion and we speak freely and simply enjoy each other. Spend Christmas with me.”

Seemingly unmoved, he said, “Spend it with your brother.”

“We never spend it
together
. Oh, we’re in the same abode, but we’re like two ghosts wandering around a cold, abandoned palace.” She forced a smile, not wanting him to see the suffering that the years in such an unfeeling affair had caused her. “It’s a terrible affair. For once, I’d like to spend Christmas in the arms of someone rather than staring warily over the massive dinner table at my brother.”

“I spend Christmas with my son.”

“Oh.” She gulped. Here it was. Blatant admission of a secret child. She was stunned, to say the least, and suddenly she felt as if she’d invaded some sort of sacred territory. After all, most people spent Christmas with their families. Her Christmases had always been torture. She’d imagined a warm family Christmas but it seemed a distant dream and at last, upon meeting him she’d just thought how marvelous it might be to spend Christmas with someone who didn’t see the same miserable ghosts that she did in the same, bleak castle. “Oh. . . I. . .”

“Alright then,” he cut in suddenly, his sensual eyes roving her face as if attempting to read her thoughts. “Come spend it with us.”

“But your son?”

He gave her a rueful look. “We are a pair of misfits. You’ll fit in splendidly. Besides, he’s no stranger to a doxy.”

Doxy? Well, that was exactly the position she sought. “I beg your pardon?”

A proud yet mischievous grin curved his lips. “My son, dear lady, may be a shock to you. He frequently shocks me. And I am not easily shocked. He’s no boy. In many ways, he’s already a man.”

“I see.”

“I doubt it.” He leaned back ever so slightly and traced his fingers over her jaw. “I don’t promise you abject ruin. . . But I will promise you the education you so ardently seek.”

“Marvelous,” she said. Then before she could think, she added, “Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned softly. “In fact, I’ll have you cursing me by the end. I always do.”

“I do like a few well-placed curses.”

“Oh Lady Ros, you’ve no idea. No idea at all.”

Chapter 7

Rosamund stepped down from the coach into the beautifully appointed stone courtyard which protected the surprisingly small manor house from the buffeting western wind. She hadn't realized that the journey would be so far. Days. Days to her sublime ruin. Days to fantasize. The Duke of Aston had promised that he would follow soon and that traveling together was simply an impossibility. This she had agreed with. Because while she sought a life beyond the hallowed halls of the
ton
, she didn’t wish to be a total idiot and announce it loudly to the world.

The
ton
allowed for almost anything that was kept quiet. So quiet, she would keep it.

So, it was better she travel alone. Well not entirely alone. Her maid, Maeve, was with her.

Maeve stepped down behind her and sniffed. "This is it?”

She gazed around, understanding her maid’s meaning. It was not ramshackle but nor was it. . . Well. . . Ducal. ”It certainly doesn't seem to be the sort of place the Duke of Aston would reside, does it?”

"One did think he'd live a bit grander.”

Dukes, after all, were supposed to live in massive homes. But then again, this wasn't his ducal seat. This was but one of his many homes.

The home where he liked to spend Christmas with his son.

It was still a trifle odd to her that she was going to meet Aston's illegitimate son. It seemed far more intimate than anything he'd approve of but apparently threats of the miller's son had done the trick. She wasn't certain if she would have gone through with the threats. She was determined to live a life of more. But staying in the Highlands was no guarantee that such a thing could possibly occur. In fact, as much as she loved her home, she knew that if she was to be anything more than just a passing moment in history which no one knew or thought of, she'd had to leave and she'd had to make such a decisive choice as the Duke of Aston.

Somehow, she knew that days with him would change her forever. She couldn't wait.

The double, red-painted doors of the whitewashed manor house opened and instead of a butler, a young man bounded out. A swirling coach coat swung about his long legs and his black hair curled mischievously about his surprisingly dusky face. Almond-shaped eyes, shockingly blue, took her in. His lips suddenly turned into a lilting smile of appreciate. "My lady! How can I be of service?"

It was impossible to deny who this had to be. He looked so very much like his father. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but not this boy-man who swaggered forward as if he owned the world, but had enough of the pup about him that suggested he still had a little bit of innocence left.

Aston had said his son was, in many ways, a man and he looked it. That strange crossroads of youth to adulthood where innocence was left behind.

He sauntered forward and took her hand. Slowly, he turned it over and pressed a warm kiss to her palm.

Well, perhaps a very little bit of innocence.

"I am here to see your father. Is he here?"

"You're here to see Da?” he queried lightly.

The childish term for the Duke of Aston struck her as so strange she could hardly reply.

The young man eyed her up and down then gave a skeptical shake of his head. “You don't look his sort. Are you here on some sort of business?"

Her cheeks suddenly burned. How could she possibly tell him what she was here for? She'd known it would be awkward but it hadn’t fully hit her how entirely awkward it would be.   "Aha," the young man said as if understanding without words was fully conveyed. "Are you certain? You really don't look the sort."

She cleared her throat and replied defensively, ”This hardly seems the place to discuss what sort I am."

He waggled his dark brows. "Is any place really the right place?"

“Yes,” she said. “Invite me in."

"Are you certain?” He gave her hand, which he was still holding, a sympathetic pat. “It would really be a better idea for you to just get back in your coach and head to London."

"Why?"

"You're in for a disappointment."

Gently, she retracted her fingers from his. ”I hardly think so."

"Life is disappointment, my dear lady. . . Rosamund is it?"

She blinked. He’d acted as if she were a complete surprise. ”How do you know my name?"

He let out a dramatic sigh. "What can I say, I am all-knowing. I have the powers to see beyond the veil like my Irish gypsy mother. I—"

"You are full of codswallop."

He laughed. "That, too. Come in and have a drink."

"Tea," replied her maid, Maeve, who’d been tense the whole encounter.

"A drink," countered Aston's son. "You're going to want it.”

It was such an odd thing for him to say. And how did he know her name? Presumably Aston had sent word of her imminent arrival.

It was strange to wonder what the duke might have written to his son.
Young woman arrives soon. Don't badger or try to ruin. Will ruin myself. Your Da
.

No. It was too absurd.

Well, she supposed if she looked at the entire situation through the eyes of what most would consider normalcy, her entire position was absurd.

Without bothering to wait for her decision, the young man turned on his polished boot and headed for the house, his coattails spinning and whipping behind him.

She glanced at her maid whose lips had pursed into a definite sign of disapproval. Clearly, this was not the sort of grandness that Maeve had been expecting.

Rosamund shrugged. She'd come this far. There really was no turning back at this stage. So, she followed across the paved stones and up the steps into the slightly dark hallway.

The young man called out, "In here!"

She turned to the cozy and marvelously casual room. A fire crackled at the end of the space giving off the delicious and rich scent of an earthen fire. Comfortable chairs were positioned about the space. Tables overflowed with books and newspaper sheets. This was the home of someone who loved the written word.

To her astonishment, a large marmalade cat purred audibly from the Turkish rug just before the fire.

This didn't look like the abode of a known seducer.

It didn't even look like the abode of someone as outlandish as Aston. It looked like a very comfortable, well-placed farmer’s home. She had no idea what to say.

"Expecting marble halls were you?” he asked.

"Not exactly,” she replied.

"Da and I like to be at ease when we're together,” the young man explained. “There's only a cook. No maid."

"No other servants?" her own maid said. "The poor woman."

"Oh, Hancock is a man,” he corrected lightly. “And there's nothing poor about him. He loves his job and fusses terribly if there's too much dust about. He's always trying to order things, no matter how hard we try to stop him."

Rosamund exchanged a look with Maeve. What the devil was going on?

Well, she was a fool if she'd been expecting anything but highly unusual.

"May I ask your name?" she said at last.

“Oh, do forgive me. It’s Tony, Lady Rosamund.”

“Tony?"

"Yes, the short form for Anthony. My mother was a very forgetful person and she was constantly praying to St. Anthony. . . Her forgetfulness of certain days led to my birth, thank the good lord, and hence, my name. Anthony.”

She felt her cheeks burn anew. She felt certain she understood what forgetting certain days meant. After all, her maid had shared the information with her when no mother had been able to do so. Had he really just said such a thing to her?

"Have I shocked you?” he asked jovially. “I am always forgetting what's acceptable and not.”

She had sincere trouble believing that. Tony had a canny look. One which seemed to suggest he'd be happy to throw out commentary just to see if people would dance to his tune.

“Tony,” she said, “if I am to call you that, you must call me Rosamund.”

"A bit too informal don’t you think?”

"Well, since I shall be staying here with your father—"

He shook his head. “No."

She frowned. ”I beg your pardon?”

“Alas,” Tony began with great dramatic sorrow. “My father has done as he is wont to do. He has made other plans since you last spoke to him.”

"What?" she demanded, suddenly stunned.

"Devilish bad of him, no? But he's a creature of his whims, a will-o’-the-wisp, one taken by the current and all that.”

There was such a note of his father's blustering that she had a feeling it was a complete lie. Suddenly, she knew with utter certainty that Aston’s invitation for her to join him here had been the action that wasn't true to his character. Not coming was a calculated choice on the duke’s part. Not whim.

"He must have liked you too well,” Tony observed as he poured two large brandies and, without discrimination, handed one to Rosamund and the other to her maid.

"You've come a long way to spend Christmas with just me,” he said smiling. “But you're welcome to stay.”

She stared at him as his words sank in. A dispiriting thought hit her. "I've ruined your Christmas.”

“Ruined?” Tony guffawed. “By gad, no. You and I shall get along swimmingly though my father’s letter was adamant. I am to get up to no funny business with you. On pain of death or shipping off to parts unknown. I quite like England and its comforts. He knows this. So, I shall attempt nothing and therefore you can stay. By the way, that warning he sent me? It’s also a sign he liked you too much.”

"How can liking be the reason he'd not join me?" she asked, almost to herself.

"Take a drink." Tony poured himself a glass.

It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest he was too young, but she had a decided feeling that he was far more experienced than she in many fields. The fields of love and making merry certainly. So, she did as instructed. The brandy was smooth and delicious. It burned and promised a respite from the growing dismay lodged in her heart.

She took a larger drink.

"Am I a fool?" she asked her two companions.

Maeve reached out and patted her arm.

That annoyed her to no end. She wasn't a little girl. This wasn't a silly whim. She'd come here seeking a new life. An opportunity to reject the tragic turn her own brother's life had taken after the demise of their parents. She'd wanted to live. To truly live and follow in her grandmother’s footsteps. To live the life her mother had had stolen. Then after that, well . . . She wasn't sure. But thanks to that trailblazing grandmother, she’d have the means to live a life unfettered by society, not the life so many women were condemned to.