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He seemed completely undone by her declaration.
“I shall do as you say, Papa,” she murmured. She stretched up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, surprised when he did not turn away. She then altered her voice, putting on her ruse and ending the conversation. “I’m not feeling well, anyway,” she said with authority. “Perhaps you could have a tray sent to my room.”
Her father was about to respond when the handle of the door turned and the duke let himself into the room. With a witness, it would be too late to cry off now when it was clear that she was not only well in health but had also dressed for the evening. Drat, she thought.
“Ah!” their intruder crooned. “I see that we have all gathered.” He patted his rotund midsection and crooked his elbow at Caroline. “Shall we go in?”
Caroline had not beenable to wheedle out of that first dinner, although she made a point of finding herself unavailable for the following three. That did not stop the duke from hunting her down throughout the manor and even on the grounds. If she sat in the drawing room, he came to sit, calling for tea to keep her trapped. When she took her prized mare, Bella, out for a ride, he appeared atop a hillcrest astride his enormous black gelding. If she was in the library, he found himself in need of company and, “would she read aloud to him?” She dared not even play an instrument for fear that the sound would draw him out. The baron did his best to keep their guest distracted, but his own duties, and the frantic coordination of aide in the byway repair, required precious moments of his day. Besides, her father could not reveal that the duke’s interest in his daughter bothered him, for that would only increase the gentleman’s fervor. Caroline did not know why it was that the men could not come to agreeable terms, nor why she had any role to play in their feud. But as an innocent bystander, it was all that she could do, to not stoke the flames.
On the fourth day, the rain had ceased. When she had ventured out into the sun-filled gardens with her latest book in hand, she had allowed herself a breath of relief at the escape from the constant cloister of recent days. Her father had suggested a hunt comprised of the handful of nobles who were likewise isolated on this side of the crossing. Such an event would keep the gentlemen occupied for a large portion of the afternoon. While she would later be required to join the resulting feast, the presence of the hunting party and other guests would give Caroline ample opportunity to avoid the duke. The reprieve was short-lived and her heart sank when, with only one thrilling chapter left in the tale that she had been bent over for the bulk of the afternoon, she saw the duke ambling across the lawn toward her. She mumbled a curse most unbefitting of a lady before standing to greet him with an empty smile. Her book fell closed, losing her place. Drat. She was aching to know how the story in her novel ended. She did not even want to be civil to the duke right now.
“Your Grace,” she said with a perfunctory curtsey. She glanced at her discarded book. Perhaps he would take the hint. He did not.
“Has the party returned so soon?” She made a point of craning her neck toward the stables, but saw no one else. A shiver of apprehension went through her. Not even Marilee was available to attend her.
He shook his head. “I’m afraid I had need to stay behind at the last moment,” he drawled. “I had a letter that required my immediate attention.” There was frustration in his tone. Whatever the correspondence, he was not happy about it.
“Perhaps you could still catch up to the hunt,” she suggested. “They must be southwest of the house by now. If you cross the southern paddock, I am sure…”
“No,” he grinned. His eyes narrowed, and she felt him assessing her, the fact that she was alone. “I cannot say that I am in the mood to hunt stag.”
What was he in the mood to hunt? She shivered at the thought. Her. Could he mean that he would hunt her? Or perhaps something more sinister? There was a gleam in his eye that her limited acquaintance made difficult to interpret, but she trusted her father’s words of caution.
“What a shame that you shall miss out on the triumph,” she declared, taking a step toward the house. Perhaps she could call for an early tea which would bring the servants, but she did not want to spend so much time with him, even with the servants hovering. Her mind raced for an excuse to bolt that would do nothing to drive his predatory instincts. She had little reason or interest in bandying words with her father’s guest.
“I shall have my victory,” he laughed, deep and rich. The sound rattled her. It told her that he was used to having his way, expected nothing less. He took a step forward. “I always do.” He made a flippant gesture with his hand. “Even when fate might twist all well-laid plans. There is always a solution if one persists.”
“Oh?” she wondered. It was now clear that although her initial instincts had put her on edge, he was not speaking of her. His mind was elsewhere. It was likely, she deduced, that he was still ruminating over the correspondence that had kept him locked away for so many hours. She loosed a discreet breath of relief.
“Walk with me,” he declared, without a hint of question in his voice. It was a command, and she obeyed, leaving her book on the bench and falling in step beside him. “There is nothing quite so effective, Miss Caroline,” he said as he plucked a budding flower from a neighboring bush and pressed it into her hand, “as a show of strength to one’s enemies. When one suffers a loss, a rally must be made and ground recovered.”
“And have you enemies?” she asked. She wasn’t daft enough to inquire after details as to whatever loss he may have suffered. She continued down the path, forcing him to keep pace or be left behind. A small quirk at the edge of his mouth was the only indication that he acknowledged her own, albeit small, feminine attempt at wresting control. Yes, she thought, she understood the complexities of social maneuvers just as well as he.
“Haven’t we all?” he asked. When she assured him that she did not, he laughed outright. “Your father has enough to cover your lack, and I,” he chuckled even deeper, “Well, I have twice the amount as he. Snakes in the grass, as it were. Though, while he prefers the quiet of the country, I pride myself on living in the thick of it and remaining always one step ahead.”
“That seems a terrible way to pass one’s days,” she replied, “always wondering when some next fell moment should occur.”
“You get used to it,” he grumbled. Then he turned to her with a wry grin. “In fact, I would wager my entire fortune that you, Miss Caroline, would excel in such circumstances.”
“Then you would soon be a pauper,” she laughed, “for I have no stomach for intrigue and falsehood.”
“No,” he agreed. “I can see as much there. However, that is not what I meant and you well know it.”
She raised her chin but said nothing, reminding herself that her entire goal these past days was to avoid his insight into her wit and will. Both aspects of her nature she feared would be most appealing to the duke. “You may not have a liking for it, but you have a skill for observation and a keen ability to play the role you deem necessary. Of that, there can be no doubt. You have done that much and more these past days with deft precision. Do you take me for a fool? You have given me little, or nothing, to hold interest, and yet the determination with which you withhold yourself is exactly that which has captured my attention. There is much more to Miss Caroline Graves than a mindless, unaccomplished bore, I think. The fact that you are a spinster by choice and not necessity spoke volumes even before my valet went digging.”
She opened her eyes wide, surprised that he gave her a second thought.
“A cask of ale in a circle of men will loose even the tightest of tongues.” His voice trailed off in thought, but his eyes remained firmly upon her. “A fascinating tool to whomever holds you in their arsenal.”
“It is fortunate, then,” she said with disinterest, although in truth her hackles were raised and bristling, “that I am not for sale.”
“No?” he mused. “Who isn’t? Your father won’t be around forever. His title, these lands, will pass on to his nephew. Then what?”
“I have enough to live a comfortable life as I choose. My mother saw to it.”
“Your mother,” he said, and Caroline realized she should not have spoken of her mother. It brought to mind her father’s first wife, his sister.
“Yes,” he said sharply. “I remember her. You look like her. Beautiful as well as resourceful.”
