The Seduction of a Duke (32 page)

He pulled Chiron up short and dismounted, running to where she lay still in the grass. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears.

“Franny, are you hurt? Talk to me, Franny!” He knelt beside her, then gently turned her over, pushing the white netting from her face. Her eyes were wide, panicked. She gulped at the air like a fish jerked from the lake. Thank God, she was alive! A spill like that—

“Breathe in, Franny, slow . . . slow . . .”

Time seemed to stop as he watched her attempt to drag deep draughts of air into her lungs. He found himself breathing with her. “Another . . .”

Once it was apparent that she’d gotten back her wind, he moved to her legs, feeling each beneath the voluminous skirts of the riding habit. Her arms and fingers appeared to be unharmed as she moved them to her chest to feel the rise and fall of her lungs. Then the realization hit him that if she truly were pregnant . . .

An overwhelming sense of loss smacked him in the gut. A child, a poor innocent babe, one that he would have accepted even with its cloudy parentage, in all probability could not survive such a fall. A child whose laughter he’d now never hear was lost all due to his stubborn pride. Surely if he hadn’t kept Franny at arm’s length, she wouldn’t have fled from him when he called her name. It was all his fault. For what? For the certainty of being right? To win a bet with his younger brother? A child lost in exchange for bragging rights? Anger and grief roiled within. He had promised Franny to protect her and hers, yet his arrogance caused this tragedy. He glanced at her, watching for awareness of the probable consequence of her fall.

Unshed tears burned in his eyes.
A duke never sheds a tear. Don’t be a child, be a duke.
He winced. The child had deserved something better than a fool playacting as a duke for a father. The child, even one not of his making, deserved support, protection, shelter.

“Franny.” He scooped her into his arms, lifting her. Her leather gloved hand reached to his shoulder, her head tucked toward his chest. A nearby fallen tree trunk provided a bench of sorts. He sat, letting his legs support her bottom while he pulled her tight to his chest. “I’m so sorry.” He kissed the top of her head. “I was a fool. I’m so sorry.”

She tested her voice. “You were a fool?”

She looked up at him with enormous brown eyes beneath a delicately arched brow . . . fragile eyes . . . trusting eyes . . . His heart wrenched.

He ran his hand down the front of her, pausing at the spot beneath the lowest fasteners of her corset. A spot about which he had shamelessly fantasized without proper regard to the precious cargo it sheltered. “The babe . . . a fall such as that . . .”

“The babe?” Awareness crept into her eyes. “Good Lord, William, are you still nourishing that foolish notion that I’m pregnant?”

Nothing. No sketches of a woman’s changing form, no calendars with days carefully counted, no treatises on husbandry could have convinced him more completely of her lack of pregnancy than those words breathlessly uttered after such a fall. His heart, still heavy with grief for the lost child, flew to his throat. A giddiness filled his head. So many changes in such a short period of time left him speechless.

So he kissed her. He hadn’t intended a passionate kiss. His thoughts were more of a celebratory nature. However, once her lips parted to receive him, and he felt her press back, urging him to drown in her moist sweetness, all his pent-up longings rushed to the forefront. He couldn’t stop.

He could have her right there, his mind argued. The woods were private; no one would see. One hand explored the back of her tightly tailored riding jacket, then slid to the front. Buttons, too many tiny buttons fastened her in that first line of defense. Beneath that, there would be blouse buttons—his mind reasoned—a camisole, corset fasteners . . . Best to attack from the other direction. His hand slid down to her boot, then followed her leg up, tossing the material so as to get to the stocking-encased thigh he had checked earlier.

Lord, he wanted her so desperately! She could straddle him, right here on this fallen tree. He could bounce her delectable bottom and sink in to her warmth, if he could just make headway with these skirts, and petticoats, and stockings, and . . .

The sound of leather reins slapping horse hide and rumbling wooden wheels interrupted his progress. His hand froze in position. He glanced up.

“Thackett,” he acknowledged.

“I heard her scream and thought she might be hurt,” Thackett stated from the bench seat of his wagon, barely suppressing a wide grin. “But I see you’ve got things well in hand.”

William glanced down the length of his wife. All pertinent areas seemed to be adequately covered by cascading yards of linen and lace, but it should be fairly obvious to the casual observer the intent of his exploring hand. He glanced back to the grinning Thackett. “Yes. It seems I do.”

The farmer stood on the buckboard as if to search the environs. “She sure took off like she had a bee in her bonnet.”

William glanced at Franny, who had tuned her face toward his chest, to hide her embarrassment, he supposed. “I was just about to ask her why she did that.”

“I can see that you were,” old Thackett said. The man had more years on him than many of the trees in this glen. William grinned. Who else would dare interrupt what was obviously developing into a romantic tryst?

“Her horse must be still running,” Thackett observed.

“My horse?” Franny straightened, causing William to remove his hand from its accommodating shelter. She sat up in his lap. “She’s gone?”

“She probably ran back to the stables,” William said. “Chiron is here. I can take you back to the abbey.”

Franny stood and dusted her skirts. “Thank you for coming to check on me, Mr. Thackett. That was most considerate of you.”

He doffed his hat. “I was honored that you visited my hives, Your Grace. I’ll give that advice some consideration.”

“Thank you,” she nodded curtly. “The conditions here may be different than in New England.” She smiled. “Then again, there’s a little bit of England in both locations.”

They both chuckled.

“I can give you a ride back to the abbey if you prefer,” he offered. “Two in a wagon is less crowded than two on a horse.”

She glanced at William, who slowly shook his head. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Thackett, but I believe His Grace has already considered the matter.”

Thackett shrugged then sat back down on the wagon seat. He clicked the reins and maneuvered the wagon in a circle to return to the field.

While William snagged the reins of his patient horse, Franny retrieved the veiling she’d used to protect her head from potential bee sting. The white netting floated out in a breeze before her, reminding him of her wedding veil. She’d tried to run away from him then as well. The realization that she still might not wish to be married to him stung. He brought Chiron over to where she stood.

“Why is it you’re always running away from me?” He spanned her waist, then lifted her onto the saddle.

“Aren’t you riding with me?” she asked.

“I think I’d prefer to walk alongside for a while.”

“Then I should walk as well.” She twisted as if to slide off the saddle.

“No.” He placed his hand on her leg. “I’d prefer that you stay where I can see you.” Once she righted herself, he tugged on the reins, then walked beside the horse. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’m not always running away—”

He ticked off on his fingers. “The engagement, the wedding . . .”

She didn’t respond.

“You heard me call your name. I saw you look up. Why didn’t you just wait for me to join you?”

She bit her lower lip and turned her face away.

Ire rose in his voice. “Then perhaps you can explain what you were doing with old Thackett, or why you’re riding out in the woods alone? Don’t you know how dangerous that can be?”

“I miss my home,” she said. “I miss riding in Hyde Park. I miss the ocean and cliffwalk. I miss my hives.” She dropped her gaze to her hands. “I didn’t expect to miss those things this much.”

The pain in her voice made him remember his joy when they docked at Southampton. He understood about homesickness. Of course, his was only for a month’s duration. Hers, on the other hand, promised to last a lifetime.

“Your aunt despises me. She’ll be disappointed that I didn’t break my neck out riding.”

“Fran . . .” he said, in as stern a voice as he could muster.

“It’s true,” she stated. “I’m totally unsuitable to be a duchess. She’s told me often enough. She said last night was the proof to end all proofs. Now that you have control over my money, she wishes I would just crawl away somewhere and die.”

“That’s nonsense.” He frowned. “I’m disappointed that you would repeat such things.”

“Mr. Thackett, however, is kind to me and respects what I have to say about bees. Looking in on his hives reminds me of home.”

“Thackett has farmed that land alone for as long as I can remember.” Given her comparison of his aunt and Thackett, he could appreciate her desire to escape periodically. “He probably enjoys having an attractive young woman call on his bees.”

“If I were gone, the way would be clear for you to marry that Mandrake woman.”

A stone weight fell to the bottom of his stomach. “Why would I want to do something like that? Lady Mandrake is already married, remember? You met her husband.”

“Your aunt says Lord Mandrake is wasting away. He can’t last much longer. Then Lady Mandrake will be available.”

“That’s preposterous.” He scowled. “I have no desire to wed Lady Mandrake.”

“You certainly had no desire to marry me either,” she said softly. He wished he could deny it, but her words were true. But he’d changed, by God. Couldn’t she tell that he’d changed?

“What would it take for you, William?” she asked. “What would it take to make you love someone like me?”

“Why were you running away from me?” he asked perplexed. “Why didn’t you wait when I called?”

She sighed. “I never wanted to be a duchess, William. I never wanted your title. Don’t you understand? I was enjoying my inappropriate visit with Mr. Thackett. When you called, I knew you’d take me back to the abbey, so I ran. It’s no wonder your entire family believes I’m unsuitable to be this grand society lady. It’s not what I want to be.”

“And what would that be?” he asked. How odd that so many women had pursued him with the thought of being the eventual duchess as their ultimate goal and yet he married the one woman who insisted she wasn’t interested.

Her voice softened; perhaps she’d forgotten how sounds could carry on a breeze. He heard her clearly—both her words and her yearning hidden in them.

“Loved,” she said. “Just once in my life, I wish to be loved.”

He should have told her then that he loved her. He hadn’t recognized the emotion until he thought he’d lost her on that fall. If he were to admit it now, she wouldn’t believe him. She’d think he was just saying what she wanted to hear.

He would just have to prove it to her. If he could show his adoration of her vitality, wit, and charm, she’d know he loved her. Then he’d be content that she wasn’t conspiring at every turn to disappear from his life. His stomach turned at that thought. No. He wouldn’t let her disappear, and he knew one extremely satisfying, wrongfully delayed way that he could show his love.

He smiled, already anticipating the night.

ONCE THEY CLEARED THE WOODS, WILLIAM MOUNTED Chiron and pulled Fran tight in front of him. Together, they rode back to the abbey.

Such a delicious feeling nestled up against a man in that fashion, Fran thought. She could feel the strength in his thighs as he directed the horse, helping her maintain her balance with an arm loosely about her waist. They were silent for much of the journey, though periodically William’s lips would push through her hair to press a light kiss on her head. She wished the abbey was a bit more distant. But the sound of hammering gained in volume and Spotted Dick soon lumbered across the plain to meet them. In much too short a time William reined in Chiron in front of the abbey.

Before William could dismount, Carruthers opened the front door.

“I’ve rung for a groom, Your Grace. He should be here presently.”

“Excellent,” William said as he swung his leg over the horse’s hindquarters and settled on the ground. He reached for her, catching her waist as she slid to the ground. She waited, brushing away the remnants of the woods that had journeyed on her skirts, hoping William would take her by the hand and lead her somewhere to finish what they’d earlier begun. However, activity by the gates at the far, far end of the long drive to the entrance of the abbey drew their attention.

“I don’t suppose the grooms have taken to using carriages to collect the horses,” Fran observed, noting an older barouche making its way up the lane.