Page 63 of Distracting the Duke

“Have a care, Aunt Clara!”

She glanced up, startled. “What?”

“You’re about to pour that pitcher of water all over His Grace’s floor!”

“How silly of me. I’d quite forgotten I was holding it.”

“You’d best set it down,” proclaimed Ellie. “You look a little pale, if you don’t mind me saying so. Perhaps you’re not taking enough exercise. The duke has chosen a lovely little pony for me, and I hope to have a ride later this afternoon. Get him to choose a mount for you, too. I’m certain you would enjoy it.”

How was Marcus organizing all these things for Ellie and Clara knew nothing about them? Why had she not been offered a mount from his stables? Now that he’d had his way with her, was he deliberately avoiding her?

An unpleasant sensation coiled in the pit of her stomach, something even more disagreeable than her jealousy at seeing Ellie drape her hands around Marcus’s neck.

There was only one thing to do. She must learn the truth of his intentions.

After luncheon she would take the spyglass, and under pretense of taking a walk to watch birds, she would follow them.

And find out exactly what was happening between Marcus and Ellie.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Marcus was preparing for his ride with Miss Soper. As his valet helped him dress, he congratulated himself that Ellie was no longer stammering and awkward in his presence, and she seemed to be very much enjoying the various domestic tasks he’d found for her to do about the place for the past few days.

If Ellie could come out of her shell a little, she would make a splendid match. Would that please Clara? Was she still hoping he would marry Ellie, even after she’d made love to him? He’d told Clara he’d marry her, but she had seemed quite unaffected by the notion.

He was completely baffled by the woman.

He allowed his valet to help him into his tight-fitting riding jacket and lifted his chin while his riding scarf was tucked around his neck. Clara would be the opposite of the kind of duchess he’d envisaged. Not at all biddable, too clever by half, and with unfashionable looks. She would argue with him constantly, hurt his pride, embarrass him in front of his peers…

Yet, he would walk a thousand miles for just one flash of those dark eyes, just one kiss from those rose-red lips. Their bodies understood each other perfectly—which would be an enormous advantage when it came to setting up their nursery. Yes, she confused him greatly, she sometimes angered him. But in her presence he felt really alive, and capable of a deep passion he’d not experienced before.

She was a repository of secrets and mysteries. A great, passionate heart beat beneath her breast—a heart he’d yet to touch, though he hoped he was near to doing so.

If he could just make her fall in love with him, he would be a changed man.

No one had ever truly loved him. Mama had been too cowed by Papa to protect him, and, even if she had loved him, she was too afraid to show it.

What would it be like to be loved by a woman like Clara? He imagined himself resting at full stretch on a bench in Kessington’s walled garden, his head in her lap while she fondled his hair and spoke to him of poetry, or the latest court news she’d read, or shared with him her opinions of the French, the clothiers, or the king. He would close his eyes, reach out a hand and trail it down her breastbone, then up again to tangle itself in the dark curls that brushed her ivory neck…

“Is everything satisfactory, Your Grace?”

He was startled out of his reverie. “Yes, Hicks, very fine, indeed.” Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he barely recognized the man looking back at him, with his ruddy, countrified air and the broad grin on his face.

And he knew just who had put it there.

Whistling, he made his way down to the hallway, collected his whip and gloves, and headed off to the stables. He was still whistling when he rounded the corner of the yard and saw Miss Soper already mounted on the gentle mare, Leda, waiting for him.

He touched his hat to her and flipped open his pocket watch. Such a shame that Snetty had not yet returned from Norwich. They had expected him to be back by luncheon, and he’d very much hoped his friend would be able to join them on their ride.

He climbed on the mounting block and threw his leg over Gladiator’s side. Pulling his steed’s head round, he smiled at Ellie. “I trust you’ll be most comfortable on the flat? Although East Anglian hills are not particularly taxing.”

“I’m happy for you to choose our route. Only…”

She was looking down at her left riding boot. He edged Gladiator closer to see what was amiss.

“I think,” she said, tugging at her skirts, “the hem of my skirt is caught in my boot, which makes my foot slip out of the stirrup. I’ll dismount and try again.”

“Allow me.” He leaped down from the saddle and lifted his hands to help her down.