Never Doubt a Duke Read online

  She flushed and drew in a breath.

  What on earth had he said?

  “I enjoy reading and riding,” she said, replying finally.

  Her reaction surprised him, for both interests were perfectly respectable. Hadn’t Jason said she was part of the London literary set?

  “We need not view the flock, Your Grace. It was just that you mentioned your interest in the Herdwicks, and my father told me where to locate them,” she said as they walked along the gravel drive.

  “I don’t believe I care to see them, but thank you. I saw enough of them at the cattle show in Cockermouth.”

  “Of course. As you know, Herdwicks are a very strong breed with long fleeces.” She led the way over the carriage drive to the stable block. “They’ve been known to survive under a blanket of snow for three days while eating their own wool.”

  “Remarkable,” Charles said, turning to her in surprise. “You have knowledge of this?”

  She scrutinized him, her eyes suspicious. “Not personally. We would never treat our sheep in such a cruel fashion.”

  “No. Your father would not risk his valuable stock. Then where…?”

  “I read about them in a farmer’s magazine,” she confessed, looking charmingly disconcerted.

  “Ah.” Had she looked it up? For him? After her dig at him about sheep, it was impossible not to tease her a little. And it might lighten the mood. “I find such a thing extraordinary. Is the journal in your father’s library? Might I read it?”

  “Of course.” She glowered at him. Then a half-smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I shall ferret it out for you.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. That is very good of you.”

  “It is my pleasure.” They walked through the archway into the stable yard and crossed the cobbles to enter the long stone building. The immaculate stable smelled of hay and horses. Grooms and stable boys straightened from their tasks to bow as they passed. Over twenty horses occupied the stalls. Curious, they poked their heads over the stall rail to observe them.

  “Not all are ours,” she explained. “Some guests have horses here. The stallion might suit you. Thor makes for a good challenging ride. Come and meet Barnes, our head groom.”

  Charles ambled after her. “Thor? God of Thunder? I imagine he will.”

  Barnes emerged from the tack room. “His Grace would like to see Thor,” she said, “Could you bring him outside, Barnes?”

  He bowed. “Certainly.”

  “Thor is my father’s recent purchase. He has confessed it was an unwise one. He’d forgotten he is no longer a young man.”

  The groom hastened to open the stall door and slip a leading rein onto the large black horse.

  They emerged from the shadowy stables into the sunlight again.

  Led outside, the stallion reared up on its hind legs and whickered. Even Barnes, a muscular fellow, struggled to hold him.

  “He’s a bit excitable, Your Grace,” Barnes commented unnecessarily. Charles turned to Lady Cornelia and arched an eyebrow, as the handsome animal of more than seventeen hands snorted and viewed him with suspicion, showing a good deal of white in his black eyes.

  Charles took the reins from Barnes and ran a hand over the animal’s glossy neck. “Easy, fellow.”

  “Poor Thor hasn’t been ridden for a while,” she said. “To be honest, there aren’t many who care to ride him. I believe you are an accomplished horseman, but of course, if you prefer another…” She waved her hand to indicate the stalls.

  Was this some sort of test? Or revenge for teasing her? “I like a challenge, Lady Cornelia,” he said and enjoyed her blush.

  “Saddle him, Barnes,” he ordered, tapping his riding crop against his thigh. “And Lady Cornelia’s mare, if you will. I shall not require you to accompany us,” he added, noting her surprised look and even deeper blush.

  Chapter Two

  Thor began his dance of protest once the duke had mounted, rising on his hind legs to throw His Grace off. Nellie felt a little guilty at having suggested the animal, but Shewsbury’s strong grip on the reins soon settled the bad-tempered stallion. She admired his ability and the firm but quiet way he showed the horse who was in charge. He looked very much at ease in the saddle as he rode beside her bay over the grassy parkland.

  He had seen through her attempt to impress him with her knowledge of sheep. And teased her into admitting it. She had deserved it, she supposed. Marian would laugh when she told her.

  They entered the woods along the narrow bridle path, the sunlight dappling the trees. Shewsbury followed. It was cooler here and quiet, but for the clip-clop of the horses, the creak of leather and the chirp of birds. Her tight shoulders eased. This was her place. She breathed in the woodland scents so familiar to her, violets, damp earth, the lichen on the trees. Was she to leave it and the peace it offered her for a turbulent marriage? For she doubted the duke would be an easy man, and the life she was to live quite demanding.

  “Cumbria is a picturesque county,” Shewsbury observed, the low-pitched modulated tones of his voice undeniably attractive. “The lakes are magnificent.”

  “The home of poets.” Nellie wished the man didn’t unsettle her with so little effort on his part. “Coleridge lived here in Keswick with Wordsworth and his sister for a time. Writing their wonderful poetry, no doubt.”

  “Inspired by the natural world around them.”

  While they continued along the path, he offered no further comment. Not a subject which interested him, apparently. Kealan Walsh would have been quoting Wordsworth by now.

  “You have a great interest in poets, Lady Cornelia,” he said unexpectedly. “Would you include any close friends among them?”

  Nellie stiffened. Had he heard about her intention to set up a literary salon? Or did he refer to Walsh? Her father would be furious if he walked away because of the poet. And unfair, for nothing untoward had happened between them, except for two chaste kisses on the balcony at Mrs. Burton’s ball.

  “Only acquaintances, Your Grace,” she called back. “I imagine you find Cumbria different to Leicestershire.”

  “Yes, but the Midlands are not without charm.”

  They emerged from the woods and reined in where a stream wound its way, tumbling over rocks, to join the river farther on. On the opposite bank, sheep grazed in a meadow, their black faces and white coats stark against the verdant grass.

  “You have brought me to see the sheep, I see,” he observed, a touch of humor in his voice.

  Nellie raised her eyebrows. “It’s rather difficult to avoid them. But if you’ve changed your mind about the Herdwicks, we could…”

  Shewsbury dismounted.

  Nellie clutched the pommel in her right hand and turned to view him. “Oh, you wish to stop here? I thought we might ride over to…”

  He tossed the reins onto a bush, walked across to her, and reached up his arms. “Allow me to assist you to dismount.”

  She stared at him. What did he intend? To pick daisies? Or ravish her? Really, she should have insisted on the groom coming with them. What was wrong with her? She wasn’t often slow-witted.

  His strong hands encircled her waist and lifted her down as her breath fluttered in her chest. Once she found her feet, she tucked her crop beneath her arm and stepped back from him with the pretense of ordering her long train. She felt the strength of his big warm hands on her waist. The man was so alarmingly masculine and unpredictable. Why had he ordered Barnes not to accompany them? While it would be utter folly to fear that Shewsbury might ravage her on her father’s land, especially when he had come here at Papa’s request, he did make her wonder what he might do next.

  He turned away and rested a foot on a rock. While she eyed his noble profile, he stared into the water.

  “Good trout fishing here?”

  “My father has some success in the smaller pools.” So one could add fishing to his sporting activities. A wife might never see him. She searched for a topic of conversation. Rea
lly, this was quite awkward. “An archery contest is to be held tomorrow if it’s fine. I trust that will be to your liking.”

  “Certainly.”

  “And perhaps a game of croquet on Sunday?”

  “Indeed.”

  She puffed away a wisp of hair floating before her eyes. He was becoming annoyingly monosyllabic. When he turned back from his contemplation of the river, his thoughtful gaze on her made her fidget with her crop. “Shall we go on, Your Grace?”

  “Lady Cornelia.” His eyes settled on her mouth as he approached her. “Let us not beat about the bush,” he said, distracting her with a hunting phrase.

  “I beg your pardon?” What was she? Fair game?

  “If you would prefer to call a halt to this engagement, you have only to say so. I will shoulder the blame, of course.”

  Shocked, she stared at him. Then the onus must rest on her. His gentleman’s code was admirable, she had to admit, although it was as Marian said, not always sensible. Did he want to honor his father’s wishes or not? As he’d offered her a way out, should she take it? Her father would be up in the boughs and would never forgive her. Oh, dear, poor Mama. All that money spent on the house and gardens. And it was too soon to judge, for she hadn’t had time to… “I…” Her voice strangled in her throat. “I’m not sure, that is to say…”

  “You have yet to make up your mind?” He removed her crop from her hands and threw it on the grass.

  She stared up at him wide-eyed, her heart pounding. “Your Grace?”

  He took her by the arms and drew her toward him. Surprised, she didn’t resist and allowed his hands to slide around her waist. He pulled her closer, her breasts resting against his chest. Not prolonged or fiercely passionate, the soft touch of his mouth on hers remained after he released her.

  “Well, really, Your Grace,” she murmured with what remained of her breath. What lay behind the kiss? If it was to put her off balance, he certainly achieved it.

  “Do you wish to marry me or not, Lady Cornelia?” His handsome eyes darkened as if daring her to defy him. “Or do you have some other fellow in mind?”

  “I do not,” she said quickly.

  She resisted the need to run her tongue over her lips. Hardly the proposal a girl dreamed of. More of a demand, really. The picture in her mind of him carrying his mistress over his shoulder made her unsteady. He was not the right man for her. She felt it in her bones. They would never understand one another. But when he kissed her, her body tightened in the strangest way, and she would not have objected had he kissed her again.

  Marian said that this was the most important thing. While Nellie believed there was a lot more to marriage, she did admit it was an attractive aspect of it. As her pulse slowed, she deliberated. To refuse him now would bring the matter to an end. But she was fooling herself. It would cause an enormous fuss to refuse him. And she didn’t seem to want to. She took a deep breath.

  “I will marry you, Your Grace.”

  He nodded. “Charles, or Shewsbury, if you prefer.”

  “My family call me Nellie.”

  “Nellie,” he said as if savoring it on his tongue. His eyes seemed full of promises. She swallowed. He was devastatingly attractive. “Shall we walk?”

  They followed the stream along the grassy bank, he taking her arm to help her over a puddle she could have easily jumped.

  “Shall we tell your father to announce our engagement at the ball?”

  “Yes.” There was no turning back. Charles had not given her much of a chance to… No, he had offered her a means to end it. Would she rue this decision to the end of her days?

  She waited for the ensuing panic at the sealing of a commitment, which would change her whole life. But she felt rather warm and calm. Could he tame her with one kiss? Was that the power of the man? This wasn’t love, she reminded herself, it was, as Marian had explained to her, merely desire. Her mind refused to let go of the touch of his mouth claiming hers, his masculine scent, the strength of his arms, his commanding presence. His commanding presence? It was like a smack of cold water.

  He would ride rough-shod over her. She must give up her opposition to fox hunting. Being married to a renowned advocator of the sport would effectively silence her. Suppose he discovered that article Walsh had helped her publish, stating her stance on the cruelty inherent in the hunt? Her pulse beat hard in her throat, and her steps faltered.

  Shewsbury saw her stumble. He took her arm and assisted her over a rocky patch. As if she were a poor, helpless female who could never help herself. Well, she must show him she wasn’t one.

  Nellie’s initial panic subsided. It was most unlikely he would come across the article, for it appeared in a lesser-known periodical and under a male pseudonym, but still, she couldn’t agree with Marian. Married couples should be honest with each other. She steeled herself.

  “I don’t intend to ride to hounds.”

  He raised his strong black eyebrows. “Did you have a bad experience?”

  “I have never hunted foxes. I don’t approve of killing animals for sport, and furthermore, I have…”

  Shewsbury had raised a hand to shush her. “Shall we leave that discussion for another day?”

  According to the newspaper, Shewsbury shook a man so hard he’d fallen to his knees in the street. Must she be wary of his temper? Better, perhaps, if she became more familiar with him before mentioning her article. Might they one day discuss it reasonably, and in a kinder light? Somehow, she doubted one who hailed from the shires would agree with her.

  They walked on. Despite her concerns, she was curious about this tall man at her side who matched his stride to hers as they crossed the ground toward a copse of willows, the branches trailing in the stream.

  The smell of mud and mold and the sound of rushing water rose up to greet them. He stopped beneath the delicate tracery of leaves and pulled a leafy stalk from a branch to wave away an inquisitive bluebottle buzzing near her hat. “I believe you’ll approve of Shewsbury Park.”

  Aware of his closeness, and unsure of his intentions, she stepped back, swiping at the persistent insect. “I’m sure I will.”

  “My mother plans to move into the dower house after we wed. She has requested that you come to Leicestershire to meet her before the wedding. Parish affairs keep her engaged, and she seldom visits London.”

  “I can’t wait to meet her.” Did any potential daughter-in-law really mean that? Mother-in-laws could be so difficult. She thought of Marian’s, who gave her no end of concern. Nellie wanted to like her mama-in-law and hoped they might become fond of each other, but she was aware that in a mother’s eyes, no woman ever measured up to their sons.

  “My brother, Jason, and his wife are to come to London for the wedding.”

  “How delightful. You will be seated next to my elder sister, Marian, Lady Belfries, at dinner. Marian is an amusing conversationalist.”

  Nellie was suddenly quite eager to find out what her sister thought of him.

  “Indeed? One always hopes for a lively dinner companion and so seldom gets one.”

  How arrogant. She would love to take him down a peg or two. “Perhaps they don’t put you next to the right people.”

  “That could well be so. They are obviously of the view that I’m a sober-minded fellow.”

  “Perhaps they expect it from dukes,” Nellie said.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Shall we return to the horses? Anywhere we can gallop?”

  She pointed. “There’s a straight run through the trees.” It was extremely doubtful that she could beat him on Clover, but she would like to. She often galloped her mare here and knew every inch of the ground.

  “Right. I want to see what Thor can do.”

  They mounted and trotted their horses over to a long stretch of grass bordered by trees. Nellie nudged Clover into a canter while Charles urged Thor forward. The stallion took off like the wind. Clover was a lazy horse but stirred up by the stallion, was soon not far behind him.
br />   Ahead of them, a raven rose from the grass with a sharp cry. Thor suddenly began to sidle and buck. As Charles fought him, Nellie urged her horse on. Clover reached Charles and galloped past him. Nellie was unable to resist casting a mischievous grin in his direction.

  Charles settled the thoroughbred down and came thundering after her.

  Nellie leaned forward. “Go, Clover!” She reached the end of the gallop where a thick copse of trees blocked the way and reined in, beating Charles by a whisker.

  Charles pulled Thor up. “Enjoy your good fortune, Nellie. It will be the last time you beat me on this horse,” he said, amusement in his eyes.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Can you be so sure?”

  He chuckled. “He’s a bit flighty, but a splendid animal.” He edged Thor alongside her mare. “We have some fine mounts at Shewsbury Park. You can have your pick.”

  Nellie murmured a thank you. She repressed a shudder. They would ride to hounds there.

  “Tell me Thor’s history while we ride,” he said. “If he’s not ridden often, your father might agree to sell him to me.”

  Trotting their horses through the trees, Nellie told him all she knew about the stallion, which wasn’t a great deal. He listened without comment. She couldn’t deny Charles looked good in the saddle. In fact, he made most of the men she’d met seem less virile. Of course, it was his self-assured manner. A duke would have his wishes fulfilled with no more than a look. No one would ever dare refuse him. He’d been confident she wouldn’t either. Uneasy, she caught her lip between her teeth. If she allowed him to bend her to his will, she would be miserable. Her spine tingled. While it would never be a love match, it might not be the dull marriage she had feared.