The Duke's Seduction of Lady M Read online

  Brushing me off? It’s not that easy my dear.

  He had to applaud her bravery. Her chin had gone up and her expression dared him to disagree. He had no intention of doing so. ‘Well said, my dear. I totally agree.’

  She stared at him, wide eyed. ‘You do?’

  He bit back a grin. ‘Of course I do. I want no unwilling partner.’

  ‘Enough.’ She actually stamped her foot, and the thud echoed around the room. He started. He’d forgotten they were still standing in the middle of the chamber used by anyone who wanted to come into the house when grimy or dirty. In effect any of his staff could come across them standing almost nose to nose with smoke coming out of their ears. That would set the gossip going. Servants enjoyed chatting amongst themselves about their masters and even if it went no further than the castle, it wasn’t something he wanted for either of them.

  Brody moved back smartly. He was under no illusion that she would have stamped on him, hard, if she could have. Maybe it was time to stop baiting her and instead soothe her into acquiescence? ‘I’m sorry. I overstepped the mark.’

  ‘You, Your Grace overstepped several marks.’ Evidently she intended to give no quarter, and, he owned, he didn’t deserve any. Why did he feel the need to bait her? Just to get a reaction? If so he’d more than succeeded, but to what ends? To be disliked? Idiot.

  ‘I did, I accept it. I only want to make you happy, my dear, not upset you. So, what can I do to show you I truly am sorry?’ He wished she were relaxed, because then her emotions showed freely on her face. Now she had them under check they were as easy to read as a blank canvas.

  ‘And make me happy?’ Mary asked, pointedly.

  ‘Of course.’ Brody took her hand in his and was pleased to note a very faint tremor run through her. Not so unaffected as she chose to portray then. ‘Your wish shall be my command.’

  She cocked her head to one side, in the manner he noticed she used when considering a reply to something she thought outrageous. By the gleam in her eyes he decided he might not like her answer.

  For a long moment Mary just stared at him, silent and unblinking. Then she smiled. He distrusted the expression.

  ‘Leave me alone?’

  He was correct in both things. He didn’t like her reply and was right to distrust her expression.

  Chapter Five

  Mary paced her bedchamber and looked at herself in the mirror for at least the twentieth time.

  Why had she agreed to this?

  To her surprise, the previous afternoon, after his sensual taunting and sexual teasing, Brody had turned into a perfect host. He’d shown her to the pretty suite – twice the size of the one she’d had when married and more than twice the size of the room she now stood in – checked she had everything she needed and appeared back twenty minutes later to escort her downstairs.

  The dress left out for her was beautiful and made her feel confident. With front ties it was easily donned and arranged as she wanted it. The sandals, although a little big, were fine for the house, and Mrs Loveage assured her she’d brush the dirt off her boots for her journey home.

  Once they were settled in a comfortable room overlooking the rose garden, with a table holding a tea tray and a plate of still warm scones, Brody bade her be ‘mother’ and set out to entertain her. He made her laugh, made her think, listened to her as they exchanged views, and never once overstepped the mark.

  If he’d asked her to lie down for him, there and then, she’d probably have agreed.

  Luckily, or was that unluckily, he hadn’t.

  Instead he had brought her home, promised to show her how to drive his chestnuts at a later date, on a less difficult stretch of road and asked very formally if he could call on her on the morrow.

  Which was today. The day she was alone – by choice – as her servants headed into Uppingham and the weekly market.

  Mary looked at the clock on her mantle again. Eleven a.m. In thirty minutes’ time.

  If only she had an inkling about what he wanted.

  She smoothed her gown over her hips, not totally satisfied with her appearance. Her gown might be pretty and a pale lilac, with a darker trim, but to her it still shrieked ‘mourning’. She really needed to get some new clothes in brighter, lighter colours sooner than later. It was more than time to put away her half mourning and live again.

  Was the duke involved in her decision? Mary had no clue but admitted she was open to ideas, however stupid that was, and his blatant admiration had motivated her to move on. It probably wasn’t a good idea to encourage him – but after all, she was allowed some idiocy, surely?

  Mary had ensured her staff had departed and assured them that she was staying at home to catch up with her letter writing, her sketching and her journal, and then inspecting the garden. She entreated them to not only buy what was needed for the house, but to enjoy themselves. Therefore, she waited until the gig had turned out of the drive before rushing upstairs to dress a little more formally than the gown she tended to wear to write or garden.

  Time to move on.

  Now she metaphorically bit her nails and paced the floor as she waited and wondered what Brody wanted. Of me? From me? By me? There was no way of knowing until he arrived. Mary took one final glance in the mirror, tweaked the curl that had escaped over her left ear behind it for the umpteenth time – it really was a wayward curl – and made her way downstairs.

  It was so hard not to look out of the window of the small parlour which overlooked the drive, and see if he was on his way. Instead Mary took herself into the kitchen, and checked over the provisions Mrs Niven had left for her. As usual there was more than enough to food for her for several days, therefore perhaps today, Brody also.

  Should she set out cakes? Make tea, or see if he wanted homemade lemonade or wine? With Horry so much older than her, and them living where they had, Mary didn’t have much knowledge of how to go on with a duke before noon. In fact, she thought semi-hysterically, she didn’t have much notion how to go with a duke, full stop. Especially one so unconventional as Brody.

  The deep resonant clang of the doorbell made her jump. She was halfway across the kitchen towards the front hall before she realised it was the back doorbell she’d heard.

  Brody? At the back? Surely he would have ridden up to the front as befitting his status? Mary hauled open the heavy door, ready to get rid of whoever it was before Brody arrived.

  She needn’t have worried – it was him, dressed properly as a duke visiting his neighbours. The sight of him so impeccably turned out was enough to make Mary salivate. The smile he bestowed on her made her knees knock, and as he very formally bowed over her hand and kissed it, she shivered.

  Too much blatant masculinity in one package. Mary had an uneasy feeling that here was a man she was not going to be able to dismiss as easily as she did others.

  ‘The garden door, Your Grace?’

  ‘Mrs Loveage has informed me your staff have gone to market. Which she and cook intended to do the minute, I made myself scarce, as she said.’

  ‘Cook has recovered then?’ Mary knew all about Mrs Towers’, the cook’s, once a month pains, and sympathised with that lady. Hers were nothing compared to what Nessie Towers described.

  ‘What do you understand… no, on second thoughts do not answer that,’ Brody said emphatically. ‘It comes under the heading of things best a man doesn’t know. All I will say, therefore, is yes, to my knowledge, cook has recovered.’ He waved one hand towards his attire. ‘I’m dressed like this so anyone who sees me assumes I’m visiting people in my ducal roll. I came to the back door so I could unsaddle my horse and put him in the stable. The fewer people who know how long I’m here and wonder why the better.’

  She wondered why, though.

  ‘Then you better come in.’ Mary held the door open wide and stood back. ‘Unless you want to sit in the gazebo? It’s sheltered from the sun, but on such a nice day as today will be pleasant.’ Plus, maybe I won’t feel so overwhel
med there.

  Brody considered her face for so long, Mary wondered what was wrong. ‘Do I have a spot?’ she asked him. ‘A smut? More freckles?’

  ‘If we go to the gazebo, is it private?’ He ignored her questions and posed one of his own instead, before he tipped her chin up and set his lips to her for a very brief kiss. Much too brief. Mary swayed nearer, and he gripped her shoulders to hold her in place.

  Nice.

  ‘Steady.’ Brody said in a husky tone. ‘Well, is it?’

  Is what it? Oh the gazebo. Why is he confusing me?

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so,’ she said when his expression became even more impatient. Good lord, he’ll be tapping his foot next. She’d never met a man whose attitude could change so rapidly. ‘It’s not overlooked, there’s only us here and we’d see if anyone approached.’

  He groaned. ‘Maybe not, it’s hard enough to keep my hands off you when there is a need to be circumspect. There in solitude and privacy there’s no chance.’

  She wondered if she liked the thought of that or not. However, his reasoning was faulty. ‘As there is only the two of us here, wherever we go will be private and give us solitude,’ she pointed out with a calmness she didn’t feel. ‘However the choice of the parlour, the terrace or the gazebo shall be yours, Your G…’ the gleam in his eyes made her break off and cough… ‘… Brody,’ she finished hastily, mentally damning the fact she seemed to agree to his every whim. That had to stop.

  Brody chuckled. ‘Now, that wasn’t hard was it? Very well, the gazebo it shall be. Is it far? My memory of where it is situated, is somewhat hazy, I admit. The last time I was here I think I was at Eton and scrumping for apples. Boleyn found me with a tummy ache and told me if I stole I had to accept the consequences. It was the last time I trespassed.’ He paused, obviously waiting for her to comment.

  She didn’t. There was no way she was going to give him that satisfaction.

  ‘For thievery anyway,’ he said in a humorous tone. ‘For young ladies now…’ He winked. ‘Ah well, I never trespass and tell. Are you ready?’

  Mary nodded and contemplated the hand he held out to her. It wasn’t considered the correct way to be escorted, but then neither was it considered proper to go into the gardens alone without a chaperone at least hovering somewhere in the vicinity. Desmond would be horrified

  Desmond wasn’t there. Plus, she could almost hear Horry’s voice encouraging her to go and live.

  ‘I’d best get a bonnet. There’s lemonade, wine and pastries in the pantry.’ She gestured towards a door in the outer, north-facing wall. ‘If you wish to take some with us.’

  He kissed her cheek, and the heat that emanated from his lips made her skin tingle.

  Brody groaned and his tongue stroked the contours of her mouth, demanding entrance. Obligingly, she parted them and he teased her mouth, meshing his tongue with hers so briefly before he broke the kiss, that she wondered if she’d dreamt it. She stared at his face as he moved back and his eyes widened.

  ‘Get your hat.’ Brody spun her around – lord, he seemed to be about to make a habit of that – patted her bottom, gently this time, before he gave her a little push towards the hall into the rest of the house. ‘I’ll sort refreshments out.’

  Mary went, more shaken than she dare admit.

  She collected her hat. Sadly not her favourite – the now lost-forever chip bonnet – she’d decided not to even go and look for it. Overnight rain had showed her that would be futile – but she had a similar one with fake, but cleverly crafted silk roses around the brim. She splashed her face with cool water from the jug in her bathing chamber, and then stood in her room for a full three minutes before she decided she was calm enough to return downstairs.

  What did he want? She was no closer to knowing than when he’d asked if he could call on her. It was all well and good, telling herself patience was a virtue, but she’d long decided that truly, virtue was over-rated. Mary counted to ten, took a deep breath, clutched her hat in one hand, and descended the stairs.

  As she re-entered the kitchen. Brody looked up from the basket he was covering with a clean cloth. ‘Perfect timing. Shall we go? You of course will have to lead the way. Pretty as they are, are you sure those shoes will be sufficient?’

  Mary looked at the toes of her sandals, which peeped out from under the hem of her gown. ‘They will do, Y… Brody. They’re sturdier than they look. Like me.’

  He nodded and picked the basket up with one hand as if it were empty. Maybe it was, Mary had no idea. The cloth could be a sham.

  ‘That’s good to know,’ he said. ‘So I need not coddle you?’

  She chuckled, and shook her head. ‘Nor pamper, protect, or shade me from the dark side of life. I’ve seen enough to know how to hold my own.’

  Brody grinned. ‘Then you can pamper, protect and shade me.’

  He had an answer for everything.

  ‘In your dreams.’

  Brody gave a full-on belly laugh. ‘We’re back to my dreams again are we? I think I’ll need to share them soon.’

  She flushed, and tied the ribbons of her hat under her chin with a jaunty bow to one side. ‘Come on, it’s a half hour walk.’

  ****

  It was cruel to tease her, he knew, but it was easy, done in a light-hearted manner, received as such, and she did give back as good as she got. Once again she made him feel alive. It was a strange sensation. He’d wallowed for so long, Brody still couldn’t believe he was this cheerful, chatty and teasing person.

  Why now? With someone who might upset his life in a way he wasn’t sure he wanted? He tried to bring Mercedes’ face to mind, but it was blurry and undefined. Time to move on. Damn, now I’m talking to myself in her voice.

  ‘This is nice.’ Oh, hell. How mundane could you be? Brody took hold of Mary’s hand and laced her fingers into his before she had a chance to walk ahead, behind, or – he wouldn’t put it past her – to follow a parallel path, just to show she could. It was becoming more and more obvious and definitely more enticing, to discover that the servant he thought not one to dally with, seemed perhaps open to suggestions. ‘How long have you looked after the Grange?’ he asked as they left the formal garden and followed a meandering track up the hillside. If he could he’d tack in a query regarding just what her role and place in society was, but perhaps that was just too nosy at the present. He’d bide his time and plot how to ask and not sound overly inquisitive. It was hard not to laugh at himself. He wanted to know everything.

  ‘The Grange?’ she looked up at him, and seemed not a whit taken aback at his abrupt question. ‘I’ve only been here a few months. Once I decided I needed somewhere to be away from well-meaning people who were scandalised that I wore the depth of mourning my husband decreed, not what they thought proper. Or, I suppose, thought they should organise my life for me. As I said on many occasion, I would prefer just to be ignored; it is my life and I will chose how to live it.’ She returned her gaze to the track and lifted her hem to step over a log. Brody glimpsed a quick flash of a well-turned ankle, and rued how even such a tiny thing interested his awakening body. He needed to slow down and not show his hand, or his interest, so obviously and so soon. Now his interest in her – and life – was on the up, to take his time was exasperating. And difficult.

  ‘Your husband agreed to that? When he was alive?’ Brody asked, interestedly.

  Mary half turned to look him in the eye. ‘There is a misnomer in that sentence. On the contrary, he insisted on it. A diktat I was happy to follow. We… we knew he was dying, and talked over what I would do. He knew there would be a lot of pressure to conform to my position, so he made me promise to take time to consider my options. This was the ideal place in which to do so.’ She didn’t say what those options were, but tugged on his hand. ‘If we go up this tiny track for, ohh, five minutes or so, there’s some rough steps cut into the hillside that bring us to the gazebo. It’s only reachable on foot, and we have a perfect view of the surrounding c
ountryside. You can even see the castle. I wonder if in the olden days it was a lookout post?’

  ‘It might have been.’ If it was where he thought he remembered it to be, on the tiny hill set slightly apart from the long escarpment where the castle was sited, it was almost certainly that. ‘You go first.’ Not only to show the way – he’d lived here for most of his life and every track, hill and valley was known to him, even though he was no longer certain of the distance involved – but also it would give him a cock-tightening, teasing view of her arse as she stepped up hill. The track was only wide enough for one of them at a time ‘Then if you slip, I’ll catch you.’

  ‘If, Your Grace…’ she said, with a laugh in her voice, ‘…you expect me to think that is all you are worried about, permit me to tell you I was not born yesterday. You will, I assume, keep your hands to yourself.’

  She assumed a mock-severe expression. Or at least he hoped it was mock. Brody chuckled. ‘Spoilsport.’

  ‘Believe it.’ Mary advised him before she once more lifted her gown a few inches and began to tackle the roughly hewn steps. Fashioned out of mud, and with stones and tree roots to give a footing, they presented little problem to someone reasonably agile. Brody took a second to let himself admire the way her buttocks moved under her gown, and her ankles flexed as she moved upwards, before he followed her.

  ‘This route is, I’ve been told, not to be used in inclement weather.’ Mary spoke without turning her head to look at him. ‘Then it’s the longer, slower, track, which skirts around this steeper side. However, today we can take the shortcut.’ She stopped and looked at him.

  ‘Why am I telling you this? You know this area better than me.’ Her voice was laced with suspicion.

  ‘I did but I’ve been away many years, remember.’ Brody replied airily. ‘Plus this is not my land.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Mary turned her back on him and walked uphill briskly, showing no signs of fatigue. As he hefted the heavy basket, Brody wished he could say the same thing about himself. He’d be the first to admit his arms ached – he wouldn’t, however, admit that to his companion.