Mad About the Duke (23 page)

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “You'll have no complaints on that account.”

Elinor sighed and looked once again at the appointed meeting spot. There was no sign of anyone yet, so she still had a few moments to compose herself. And when a bit of wind ruffled past her, she glanced at the swaying branches of the bare trees.

“You said something about wind currents?”

“I did, which is why I brought this kite, as a gift for him from you.” St. Maur held out his offering for her to examine. “Though I think he will prefer your mutts.”

“A gift?” she asked.

“Yes, what better to study wind currents with? Save a hot air balloon, but I could hardly conjure up one of those in the time I had.”

He held out the kite for her to examine.

“And you think the Duke of Avenbury is fond of kites?”

“Yes, most decidedly so,” St. Maur said. “And because of that, I'll have you know I made this myself.”

She couldn't help but smile at the lopsided grin on his face. “It looks like an excellent kite.”

“Thank you.”

“Why, even Mr. Franklin would admire it,” she said, teasing him a bit. Heavens, one would think the man had never built a kite before, but by the way he was holding it up for her to admire, it was apparent he was enormously proud of his endeavor.

“Is there anything you can't do, St. Maur?” she asked softly.
Like stop me from falling in love with you?

“James,” he corrected.

“Pardon?”

“Call me James, Elinor,” he told her. “As you did the other afternoon.”

She took an uneasy step back because once again that tentative line between employer and employee disappeared. And it was so easy for her heart to forget that it had ever existed.

For there he stood, so boyishly proud of his kite, wisps of his dark hair moving with the morning breeze, and that crowning glory of his, that wretched black eye, which made him look both dangerously masculine and terribly vulnerable.

“Call me James,” he repeated.

“I don't think such intimacies are wise,” she said, remembering how it had felt to call him so the other afternoon.

“Why not? You didn't object to ‘such intimacies' the other day when you seduced me.”

“I did no such thing!” she protested.

“And who has the most kissable lips in all of London?” He leaned closer. “Nay, England?”

Her traitorous heart hammered in her chest. “Only England?” she managed.

He laughed just a bit. “I haven't kissed anyone beyond our island borders, so I cannot give an expert opinion.”

She went to push him away, but he was too quick for her, moving out of her reach. “Careful of my kite,” he warned.

“Careful of my reputation,” she shot back.

“You needn't fear for that on my account,” he told her. “Remember, I never—”

“Kiss and tell. Yes, I remember, St. Maur.”

“James,” he insisted.

“St. Maur, do stop.” Her protest seemed to give him further license to continue, for he moved closer still, only he found she wasn't the only one to protest.

Fagus moved between his mistress and this interloper and growled, deeply and thoroughly, belying his small stature.

“Demmed mutt,” he said glancing down at the terrier.

“One hound to another,” she suggested.

“Touché, madame,” he supplied, “but that doesn't mean we can't reach an accord.” He stared at the dog and said in a sharp voice, “Sit.”

And Fagus did, his hindquarter dropping to the ground and his eyes sharp and bright, as if waiting for the next command.

Then St. Maur turned to her and said, “Now where was I?”

“Please sir, I dare not continue so. If I do…”

“What, Elinor? What will happen?” He drew closer. “Elinor, I have a house. Not far from here. Where we could be alone.”

Alone. Oh, those words were so tempting. So enticing. Alone. With him.

If only she could. But she knew the consequences would be far too grave.

My heart will be too far lost to ever recover. I won't be able to do what I must.

The ugly words from Lord Lewis's latest note echoed through her thoughts, cut through her wavering resolve.
Bow Street…Summons…Immediately…She is mine to do with as I please…

Instead she gave him another answer. “We will only make fools of ourselves if we were to follow such a course, and that would be an unpardonable mistake.”

He looked ready to press his suit, to argue his case as any good solicitor might, but instead he nodded in agreement, grudgingly perhaps, and held out his arm to her again. “Truly, you think it would be a mistake to run off with me?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you certain?” There was that coaxing tone of his. The one that whispered down her spine and spoke of passions as yet undiscovered.

He would know how to find them, unleash them.

He had a house for such things, after all.

“Yes,” she said as firmly as she could.

“Then let us get this done, Lady Standon. It is time you met the Duke of Avenbury,” he said, turning down the path and not, she noticed, holding out his arm to her.

Elinor had never felt so bereft in her life. So fearful.

She glanced at the others around them, but she
couldn't discern a single man who might be the duke.

The only other likely candidate around was an elderly fellow with a pinched expression and gray hair, so he couldn't be the fair-headed Avenbury. That left only a few nannies, their charges and a few elderly couples taking a morning stroll.

“Are we early?” she asked.

“No, right on time,” James supplied.

Then a young boy came running up to them. “You remembered!” he exclaimed.

“I did, Your Grace,” James replied.

Those two words—
“Your Grace”
—sent Elinor's world spinning.
Your Grace
?

Then she looked, really looked at the boy before them, and it hit her.

Sandy hair, even features, and an aristocratic profile, even at this young age.

“That appears to be a most excellent kite, St. Maur.”

“It is a gift, Your Grace, from Lady Standon. But here, I am being remiss.” James bowed to the boy. “Your Grace, may I present Elinor, the Marchioness of Standon.” Then he rose and bowed slightly to Elinor. “Lady Standon, it is my honor to present to you His Grace, the Duke of Avenbury.”

To the boy's credit, he cut an excellent bow, and Elinor replied in course, by making a deep and respectful curtsey.

When he raised up, the charming lad grinned at her. “Lady Standon, are those your dogs?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“May I pet them?”

“Yes, indeed. I think you will find them most appreciative.” When she glanced over at James, she found the wretched bastard grinning smugly. He'd
known all along the Duke of Avenbury was naught but a lad, and he hadn't told her.

The laughter in his eyes and the turn of his lips said he was finding her discomfiture more than amusing.

He wouldn't be laughing when they were away from “His Grace” and she had him alone and cornered. And even as much as she wanted to ring a peal over his head that would have him waking in fright for weeks to come, she could hear his defense now.

But my lady, you insisted. Avenbury was on your list. Your command was for me to introduce you to him. And I have done so.

And it was harder still to stay furious when she glanced down at Avenbury, rolling about with the dogs, who had all but swamped him, having recognized a kindred spirit—a child with a heart full of love.

“See, I told you,” James whispered over to her, still holding his offering. “The dogs would win him over more so than my kite.”

The dogs barked and yipped happily at their new friend, while across the green someone else was less than amused by this meeting.

“Your Grace! Indeed, Your Grace, stop this moment!”

Lost in the joy of being surrounded by newfound companions, the duke, who cared naught for his title or wealth but only for the chance to play, didn't hear the admonishments.

The pinch-faced man Elinor had spied earlier ran over. “Madam, call off your dogs! Immediately!” Then he shot a harried glance at the duke. “Your Grace, remember yourself! Decorum!”

The boy's face fell immediately, then he scrambled to his feet quickly, standing at attention.

Bastion, Ivo and Fagus were not so well-mannered, and they continued to circle the boy playfully, jumping and barking as if to tell him they weren't finished.

“Your Grace, step away, those dogs could bite!”

At this, Elinor turned to the man. “Sir, my dogs do not bite.” She turned to the duke. “You may take them for a run. Go ahead.” Handing the leads to the boy, it was all the prodding he needed, for he was off across the meadow with the dogs darting around him.

It wasn't long before they were all tangled and rolling in the wet grass. Elinor had never seen a boy—save Lucy's nephew Mickey—have more fun.

“Madam!” the man scolded. “How dare you! He will catch his death in such a manner. Call off your dogs immediately.”

“Who are you?” she said, using the same scathing tone Aunt Bedelia liked to employ. The one that had shop clerks and owners alike scrambling to please her.

However her imperious words barely scratched the surface of this self-important fellow.

“I am His Grace's tutor, Dr. Lockart Gramshaw, and I am charged with seeing to His Grace's education and welfare. And that, madame,” he said, pointing a long finger at the boy who was now running in circles, the dogs ever at his heels, “is not to His Grace's benefit.”

“What? Fresh air and good fun? It is apparent he doesn't get enough of it.”

The man's eyes widened at the very suggestion that he, Lockart Gramshaw, was not providing his charge with every benefit. “Such presumption! Outrageous!”

James could see the flare of her nostrils, the fiery light come to her eyes, and knew enough about her to step back.

Apparently Gramshaw, with his cloistered life of scholarly pursuits and keeping his charge isolated, hadn't the same experience with women.

And that being the case, James took another step back.

“Mr. Grimshaw,” she said.

“Dr. Gramshaw,” he corrected.

“Yes, well then, Dr. Gramshaw, I hardly see how such exercise can harm the boy.”

“Madame—,” he began.

“My lady,” she corrected with just as much haughty disdain. “I am Elinor Sterling, the Marchioness of Standon, to be exact.”

“Your ladyship,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height, “His Grace's esteemed guardian, his uncle, Lord William, would have hardly hired me if he had not found my judgment and experience in these matters superior to those of a mere female.”

“A mere—,” Lady Standon began.

Was it his imagination, or was Elinor's hand balled up into a fist?

But to her credit she composed herself and looked the man dead in the eye. “Dr. Gramshaw, I'm sure you are superior in many ways.” The sarcasm dripping from her words belied any conviction on her part, but Gramshaw didn't appear to notice. “However, it is my experience with men that those who are held in check too tightly as youths tend to run wild once they are untethered.” She paused and gazed at him. “And it won't be Lord William who is blamed for whatever follies and scandals the duke may find once he gains his freedom. I think a little high spirits
now and then would go a long way toward preventing such a dire consequence.”

Gramshaw paled and looked ready to defend himself—
good luck with that,
James thought—when the Duke of Avenbury came running up, his cheeks flushed and his eyes alight. “They are wonderful animals, Lady Standon.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied. “I was just telling your delightful tutor that my other greyhound had a litter of pups just last week. They won't be ready to leave their mother for a while yet, but when they are, you may have first pick of the pups. In fact, why not come Tuesday next to see them so you can select the one you like best.”

The duke's tutor made a sort of choking noise, as if the lady had just thrust a sword deep into his chest, undermining all his diligent work for order and decorum.

“Oh, Gramshaw, truly? I can have a puppy?” The boy looked ready to burst with excitement. “I would be ever so grateful.”

With that heart-tugging plea, and more likely Lady Standon's warning-cum-admonishment still ringing in his ears, Gramshaw could only capitulate. “It is most generous of Lady Standon, and would hardly be well mannered to refuse.”

“Your Grace, you'll most likely want to take two puppies so they can keep each other company,” Elinor said, with a dazzling smile aimed at the tutor. “Isn't that right, Dr. Gramshaw?”

The man wavered slightly. Not only had she undercut his authority but she'd also effected a revolution. But what could he do? Refuse her ladyship's generous offer?

Not with a lad who in a few years would be well out of his control.

And obviously Avenbury had already used James's suggestion of reminding Gramshaw about who would ultimately be funding his retirement.

Of course watching Elinor make mincemeat out of Avenbury's tutor was one thing; it was another when she turned that selfsame smile in his direction. “Mr. St. Maur will make all the arrangements for your visit, won't you?”

He had the niggling suspicion she'd just tugged that sword out of Gramshaw's narrow chest and was about to sink it into his.

Oh, he was getting to know her quite well.

“And when it comes time to train your new dogs, I am sure St. Maur will have all the time in the world to be of assistance,” she offered. “One could say he is as close to a hound as one might find walking the streets of London.” She smiled at him as she made her thrust.