The Duke's Seduction of Lady M Read online

  Contented to be where she was, and who she was with, Mary altered Darcy’s stride to match Jason’s longer one, and cantered on.

  Later she decided it was a day out of time. A magical sun-filled day full of laughter and contentment.

  Other people might say Brody put himself out to be a witty, charming companion. His verbal portraits of the monarchy and the government were humorous, often cruel, but always pertinent. Mary understood it was his true self, coming to the fore. Each time they met he revealed another facet of his personality. So far there was nothing she disliked.

  With every farmhouse or cottage they passed, someone would wave or curtsey. Each “Good to see you, Your Grace,” sounded genuine. Every time Brody replied with a quip, a sally, or asked after the farmer, his family or their crops. Once he cast an apologetic glance at Mary. They had drawn near to a long, low cottage with ivy up its walls and a tidy garden surrounding it.

  ‘May we stop for one moment? I really need to check how old Fred’s fire is working now. He’s had the chimney repaired. I’m hoping it means he now sits in comfort, not smoke.’

  ‘Of course,’ Mary replied promptly. She was interested to see how he carried out his ducal duties with people who’d probably known him since he was in short coats. ‘No one wants to be kippered.’

  Brody laughed, dismounted and held his hands out to help her follow suit. To one side of them the red-cheeked, elderly gentleman, in sturdy trousers and a waistcoat of indeterminable age, who had hobbled out of the cottage, cackled, coughed and spat.

  ‘This your intended then, young Brody? I remember the missus allus said you’d bring her by when you finally saw sense. She’s a looker, I’ll grant thee.’ He leaned on a sturdy stick and followed their movements with bright eyes.

  The aghast and chagrined expression on Brody’s face was, Mary decided priceless and worth any embarrassment she might have experienced. She shook her head and laughed as she took the old man’s hand. By the expression on his face he wasn’t sure whether to kiss it, shake it or drop it like a hot brick. She put him out of his misery and shook it.

  ‘Sadly, no, Mr…?’

  ‘Copely,’ Brody supplied. He sounded relieved. Because she hadn’t expressed herself more forcefully? She would never do that to anyone who made an honest, even if embarrassing, mistake.

  ‘Mr Copely. He’s much too much of a man for me. I’m all for a quiet life you know. I’m just taking advantage of a fine day, and His Grace’s offer to show me Collingby Lake.’

  Fred Copely tilted his head. The gesture, combined with his ruddy cheeks, reminded Mary of a cheeky robin.

  ‘That’s a pity, missy. You look the sort to control him.’ He winked. ‘Can’t we persuade you?’

  Mary laughed and shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I like a quiet life.’

  ‘Tis a pity. So why the lake?’

  ‘Miss Mary sketches,’ Brody butted in. ‘Now I’ve called to ask about the chimney and then we best get on, or we’ll be riding back as soon as we get there and all Miss Mary will sketch will be, well…’

  ‘My chimney,’ Fred said and cackled again. ‘It be fine. The missus is fair pleased. She’ll be beside herself to miss you. She’s gone off to the dairy for milk.’

  For the next few minutes, Mary stood back, greatly entertained as Brody checked all was well in the Copely household, exchanged generalities and extracted them from Fred’s orbit with elegant ease.

  When they had left the building – and Fred – behind, Mary glanced curiously at Brody. ‘You really do care for everyone on the estate don’t you?’

  His hands dropped, Jason surged forward and Brody swore as he brought the horse back under control. ‘Care?’ he replied once they were side by side again. ‘Of course I do. It’s not a duty, it’s… more than that I suppose. They are all, in a way, my responsibility, my family. As Duke, I’m head of that, and it’s up to me to make sure everyone prospers.’

  ‘So why have you left it so long to take up the reins again…’ Mary broke off, aghast at her temerity. ‘Oh grief, I’m so sorry.’ Her and her big mouth. He looked stricken. His face was ashen and his lips were two narrow blue-ish lines.

  Oh god, what have I said?

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. Brody, Your Gr…’ she began but he cut her off with a vehement shake of his head.

  ‘Why not? It’s everyone else’s.’ he said bitterly. ‘Stupidity, tiredness and a need to recoup is my pathetic defence. Now I’ve recovered and stood up for myself, and once more have taken up the reins, which I intend to keep a tight grip upon. To my delight, that attitude is welcome.’ He waited until they’d turned off the lane and into a flower-edged track. In the distance water glistened. Presumably, Mary thought, Collingby Lake.

  ‘Except perchance by my mama,’ Brody said in a contemplative voice. ‘I assume she still sees me as the spendthrift rakehell of a decade ago, and inclined not to give me the benefit of the doubt. I await her opinion.’

  Mary remembered the rumours about how his mama relished her role as chatelaine. ‘She did a good job whilst you were away, I hear.’

  He snorted. ‘Only in areas she wanted to. Oh I can’t blame her. She listened to people who had influence and ignored what she – and they – wanted her to. The back drive being something in question.’ He swung sideways in his saddle. ‘I must be honest and give credit where it is due. Generally, yes the estates prospered, and prospered well. Nevertheless little things were glossed over or forgotten. The problem is that if ignored, such small undertakings have a tendency to become large and more necessary. I now need to turn the tide and reduce them to irrelevancies once more.’ He sat forward again and pressed his heels to Jason’s side to encourage the horse to pick up the pace.

  ‘You’ll do it,’ Mary said emphatically. ‘I have faith in you.’

  Brody grinned, his introspective mood banished. ‘I thank you but it will not be easy for my mama. She’s been in charge for so long I think it’ll be difficult for her to let go and admit I’m not the uncaring person I used to be. And change is, I know, anathema to her.’

  ‘But she knew you’d be back and would take control, surely?’

  ‘If I came back.’ He laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. ‘Who knows, I might have been killed in action or hung as a spy by our enemies.’

  ‘Brody.’ Mary was scandalised. And saddened. Surely he didn’t believe that? ‘Your mother would never have wished for your demise and you know it.’

  He sighed. ‘I know. I’m sorry, graveyard humour. Sometimes that was the only thing to get you through a bad situation. No, she wouldn’t have wished for that. But she might have wished for me to come home and take up the position of rake, to behave almost as the rogue I was – a reckless scoundrel once more – and so leave the estate to her. As long as she controlled the purse strings and could rein me in when needed.’

  ‘She might relish it, the chance to take a step back, you never know,’ Mary said firmly. ‘You need to believe that will be so.’

  ‘I hope you are correct. However I worry. After all, if she cannot believe I am a different man after all those years and what I went through, what chance do I have? Anyway we’ll see, and we have arrived.’ “And thank goodness,” his tone intimated. Obviously his morose thoughts were not to be commented on further. ‘Behold, Collingby Lake.’ Brody turned his horse under an oak tree. ‘Here is a good a place as any for the horses to get shade and over there…’ he waved to a flat area of grass next to the lake but shaded by a weeping willow whose branches dipped into the water, ‘…there is our picnic spot.’

  He dismounted and as ever held up his arms to lift her down. Mary unhooked her leg from the pommel and passed him her satchel, wishing not for the first time that she could just indulge her love of riding astride, instead of side saddle. It was easier, more comfortable, and she could dismount herself. The way he helped her down did nothing to spare her senses.

  As his arms close around her, Mary shut her
eyes for a brief moment to savour the feeling and inhale his special scent. The spicy, earthy one that shouted all male.

  The soft pressure of his lips on hers came as a surprise. With her eyes shut she hadn’t seen him move. Her eyelids fluttered and she closed them again. Just this once, just to see how it affected her when he was so close.

  ‘Open for me, sweet Mary.’ The voice was low and seductive. Cajoling with a hint of untold delights to come. ‘Just a little. I promise I won’t take what you don’t want to give.’

  That was the problem. She wanted to give everything and dare not be seen as willing to. It affected her more than she dare admit.

  A conundrum she had no idea how to solve.

  ****

  Brody controlled his rising ardour with difficulty. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was certain Mary had no idea of the soft sighs and mewls she gave as she leant into him and opened her mouth, he would have pressed his desires with a ruthless determination. However, as she clung to him and her soft breasts brushed his chest, he reined in his desire and instead took her on a long drawn out exploration of just what a kiss could be.

  Friends, remember that. Friends first. Somehow he knew that was not going to be enough. It might not be obvious to her, indeed he wasn’t sure he wanted it to be, but already he accepted how she’d changed him. Softened him. Opened his heart a little and given him hope that his hardened shell could be softened once more.

  Who was the most shaken when he finally ended the contact he had no idea. She opened her eyes slowly and blinked several times. Her pupils were dilated, their soft grey irises were cloudy and her expression was one of confusion. Brody doubted he was any better. His hand shook as he brushed a strand of her silky, dark brown hair off her cheeks. Her skin was velvety under his calloused pads, and he hoped she didn’t mark easily, for he knew how rough his calloused skin was. Even so he ached to stroke downwards. To pass his hands over her neck and across the soft swell of her breasts. Restrain yourself, man. Brody brought his arm back to his side with great difficulty.

  ‘Lord, I promised and it seems my promise was worthless.’

  Mary shook her head, and put her finger over his lips. ‘I promised myself also, and therefore so is mine.’ She dropped her hand and he thought the sense of something missing was akin to losing a valued friend. Fanciful but it matched his mood.

  ‘I could have stopped you if I so desired. We are equal,’ Mary said calmly. ‘Let’s face it, when we are together it’s like an invisible force attacks us. And your control is admirable.’

  He dipped his head in acknowledgement. He wasn’t so sure. That control balanced on a knife edge and could go either way. ‘Let’s hope it stays as such until you change… er, until such time as you might change your mind.’

  ‘Well caught.’ She grinned. ‘Such quick wits. Now, if I may have my satchel perhaps I’d better sketch something so as not to give lie as to why we are here.’

  He let her go and watched as she walked across the grass to where he’d put her satchel, stood, looked around, nodded and then came back to him.

  ‘Under that tree?’

  ‘I think so. If you give me a moment I have a rug to spread out.’ If he fetched the rug and saddlebags it would give him time to compose himself. Or so he hoped.

  Seriously, his body behaved as if he had no influence over it. Although the more he thought like that the more he was convinced that statement was true. At least with his back to Mary he could adjust his pego into a position where as it hardened it didn’t threaten to injure itself and harm the succession.

  By the time he’d lectured himself on his behaviour, his wayward cock and the need for caution, Mary had leant on the bole of the tree and waited, he hoped patiently, for him to join her.

  ‘No sketches?’ he asked as he dropped the saddlebags and began to rummage through them.

  ‘No rug?’ she said with a quirk of an eyebrow as she straightened and moved away from the tree to look up at him. ‘I feel somewhat short changed. I was sure a rug, wine and sweet talk were necessities for seduction.’

  Brody spluttered with laughter. ‘And seduction is my aim?’

  ‘Well isn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  She quirked one eyebrow at him.

  Brody grinned. This light-hearted feeling was alien to him. How long since he’d experienced such a sensation? He couldn’t remember. ‘Not entirely,’ he amended. ‘How’s that?’ He pulled out a rug from one of his saddlebags and shook it out before setting it down on the grass with its edge aligned with the base of the tree trunk. ‘Voila.’

  Mary curtseyed. ‘Well, thank you, Your Grace. Such a perfect host to think of my every need.’

  He saw the moment it dawned on her that she had left herself open to innuendo and so he decided to ignore the opportunity, and hopefully flummox her.

  ‘If you sit here you can use the tree as a back rest,’ Brody said as if he hadn’t realised how her words could be interpreted. He watched the expressions chase over her features, as she pondered why he didn’t respond with innuendo. It was exactly what he intended. To keep her wondering and off balance.

  ‘If you do indeed wish to sketch, why not see if you can get the right perspective there?’ he suggested. ‘I will meanwhile sort the picnic and then lie at your feet and watch in awe.’

  She harrumphed. ‘Watch what? My feeble attempts to do this…’ she waved her hand to encompass the idyllic scene in front of them ‘…justice? I’m an amateur.’

  ‘Amateur or not, will it suffice?’

  ‘Oh my, yes. I itch to start.’

  Mary – he thought of her as that, with no Miss or Mrs attached – spun around in a circle. Her hat slid off her head to land on her back and bounced up and down there, held close to her by the jaunty pink and red striped ribbons. Curls escaped from the pins that confined them and danced around her face and her satchel bumped off her hips. She dropped it onto the rug, slid down and stretched out on her back, her arms under her neck, and looked up at him. Her eyes sparkled as she raised her arms high above her head and laughed. ‘Perhaps not from this perspective but ohh to look at the sky through the leaves and branches and dream.’ She rolled over onto her stomach and back again to lean up onto her elbows. ‘Of all things beautiful. What more can one ask for than a day out of time? A day just to be…’ Mary shook her head and the rest of her hair tumbled out of its knot and down across her shoulders to tease his senses as it led his eyes downwards to her breasts, fettered by her dress.

  She looked… glorious.

  Alive.

  I want her. As more than a mere friend.

  Chapter Seven

  Mary watched under lowered lids as Brody unloaded his saddlebags. He’d discarded his jacket, after asking her if she minded. The way he grinned when she assured him, not at all, made her suspect he wouldn’t have taken any protests on her side seriously. Not that she had intentions of uttering any. The way his muscles rippled under the fine linen of his shirt made her mouth dry and her quim damp. He’d rolled the sleeves up – most improper, but sensible – and the dark hairs on his arms glistened blond in the sun.

  When he stretched into the lake to place the wine in a special bag, under the water to keep it cool, the veins in his arms stood out starkly and hinted of his strength, plus, his inexpressibles outlined his arse to perfection. Each globe, round and smooth.

  Oh my.

  It was enough to make a virgin faint. Mary was no virgin, but even so, the sight sent her body into spasms, and for one split second clouded her vision. She blinked rapidly, as her nipples tightened to the point of pain, and she swore her toes curled in her boots.

  Calm down. To let him see how he affected her so would leave her at a disadvantage and she knew enough of Brody to understand how he would use it. Mary shut her arousal firmly away, and busied herself with getting comfortable. The rug was thick and stopped most of the tree roots and tussocks of rough grass making uncomfortable lumps and bumps. She shift
ed so her bottom was wedged comfortably between three clumps and a root and gave in to her desire to look her fill of Brody.

  He glanced up and waved as he took water to the horses. She reciprocated his action and looked away. How embarrassing if he knew just how she ogled him.

  However, once she sat propped up against the tree as he suggested and opened her sketchbook, it was hard not to follow his every moment from under lowered lashes. In her once again fevered mind it was like a ballet. Mary snorted under her breath. How utterly ridiculous. That was the sort of thing a “too stupid to be a heroine” young chit in one of the novels she was beginning to dislike more and more would think. Not a strong-willed heroine. But then even strong-willed women could have a day where their will gave up the fight.

  She scanned the rest of her vista through narrowed eyes and did her best to block Brody out. To her delight the picture of the lake seen through the drooping branches of the tree as they bowed to almost touch the still water stirred her artistic bent. Mary pushed her hair out of the way, and began to sketch. Within minutes she forgot Brody.

  A rumble made her jump and brought her back to her surroundings.

  Thunder?

  She blinked, lowered her sketchbook to the ground, put her pencil behind her ear and focused on Brody, who was stretched out on his side next to her chewing a blade of grass. He shrugged.

  ‘My stomach thinks my throat has been cut.’ He stood up in one swift rearrangement of his body and threw the grass stalk away. ‘When I enquired if you were all right you said, “green”.’

  ‘I did?’ Where on earth did that come from?

  ‘You did,’ he confirmed. ‘So I said could you explain and you said, and I quote, “please ask the shepherd, for he is the only one who had the ability to jump”.’

  Oh dear. She knew where that came from. In the romance she was reading, the heroine got lost in the woods and needed to get across the stream and find her horse. Mary thought Esmeralda, the said heroine, was somewhat of a ninny, and for the life of her couldn’t fathom out how the author would save Esmeralda from her own foolishness. Drown her, perhaps?