My Daring Duchess Page 9

  “Yer smile,” he continued, “is full of life and kindness.”

  Well, that was the nicest compliment she had ever received. If only it were genuine… He was a superb rake who had the ability to flatter in a way that did not seem roguish at all. What if it was sincere? What if she had it all wrong? She shivered at her foolishness, and before she knew what was occurring, Simon had taken the blanket from her and was situating it over her legs. She watched in fascination as he tucked it snug at her sides, then motioned toward her feet.

  “May I?”

  “May you what?” she asked, feeling rather as if in a daze.

  “I’d like to remove yer slippers and put the foot warmer under yer feet.”

  “You want to touch my feet?” she blurted.

  “I want to warm ye,” he said in a suggestive tone that made her imagination gallop. She envisioned herself lying on her bed with him straddling her, his thighs caging her in and her foot in his hands. But the daydream abruptly shifted when he realized one leg was most assuredly shorter than the other, and he gawked at her.

  “I can warm my own feet, thank you.” There was nothing on Earth that could compel her to allow him to handle her shoes and see that one had a lift built in. She could think of nothing more mortifying.

  “As ye wish,” he conceded and laid the foot warmer down beside her feet. “If ye will be certain to keep yer head and feet warm, ye will stay warm all over.”

  “My mother used to tell me the same thing,” Anne replied softly.

  “Aye?”

  Anne nodded.

  “Mine did as well. Seems our mothers were very astute women.”

  She could hear the sadness in his tone. There was no faking that emotion, nor could he know the sad look he had on his face. Her heart wrenched for him.

  “You miss your mother,” she stated.

  “Oh, aye. Every day. Don’t ye?”

  “I do,” she replied, her throat tightening with emotion. “I better depart now.”

  “Aye, and I need to return to Rutledge. We’ve some matters left to discuss.”

  Indeed! They needed to discuss the best roguish ways, she was sure. “Don’t allow me to delay you,” she said.

  “I’ve been more than pleased to be delayed by ye, Anne,” Simon replied and then departed from the carriage.

  She watched him stroll away with easy grace. The man walked with an air of utter confidence, which she found admirable rather than annoying, as she normally would. All the way home, his face and things he had said to her filled her thoughts so that the minute she entered her grandfather’s estate, she went straight to his bedchambers.

  She entered her grandfather’s sitting room to find him reclined on a chaise with a blanket over his legs, a book in his lap, a scowl on his face. Dr. Talbot was standing beside him wagging his finger at her grandfather. She suspected he was not being a cooperative patient.

  “And how are we faring today?” she asked cheerily, glancing first at her grandfather and then Dr. Talbot.

  “I feel perfectly well,” her grandfather grumbled.

  “He has a fever,” Dr. Talbot countered, “and the congestion in his chest sounds no better.”

  “I’m hale and hearty,” Grandfather said as a coughing fit overtook him.

  “You are not,” Dr. Talbot said, using the sternest voice she had ever heard from him. As her grandfather threw off his blanket and started to rise, Dr. Talbot said, “If you do not heed my advice and stay in bed until you are well, you will likely become so ill that you will die and leave your granddaughter here all alone and unmarried.” Dr. Talbot gave her a quick, apologetic look to which she inclined her head with a smile. She understood he was trying to scare her grandfather, and she prayed it had worked.

  Her grandfather slowly sat back on the settee with a guffaw. “You make me feel like an old man,” he snapped at his friend, at which the doctor simply chuckled.

  “I have other patients to attend to, Rowan, but I will return tonight to see if your fever has broken.” Dr. Talbot turned to Anne. “He needs plenty of rest and fluids, and to stay calm so as not to cause unnecessary coughing.”

  Anne nodded, thinking upon how she wanted to ask her grandfather about Mary and Simon. She’d have to be careful, though, so as not to upset him. Once Dr. Talbot departed, she sat in the chair facing the settee, picked up her grandfather’s cup of tea, and held it out to him. “Drink,” she commanded.

  He cocked his eyebrows at her. “I’m not so sick that you can order me about.”

  She smiled, pleased that he was showing surliness. That meant he was, indeed, not too ill. “Drink this please, Grandfather.”

  After he took several sips of tea and handed it back to her, she said, “I met the new Duke of Kilmartin last night.” She watched for his reaction.

  Her grandfather’s face clouded with obvious uneasiness. “At the ball, I presume?”

  She nodded, noting her grandfather was drumming his fingers in his lap. “I was taken aback, as you had never mentioned that the old duke, your friend, had a grandson.”

  “I did not mention him because, er, I have never met him. His grandfather cut him out of his life many years ago.”

  She tried to school her features into an expression of indifference. She couldn’t believe her grandfather was lying to her! She knew very well he had met Simon when he had demanded Simon wed Mary!

  “So you never met him? Not even once?” she pressed.

  “No,” her grandfather replied, darting his eyes away. “But I was wondering when he would return to attend to his estates after his grandfather’s passing.”

  She ran her hands over her skirts, thinking upon the best way to learn what she wanted. Her grandfather was not being forthcoming with information, nor the truth. Perhaps, if he thought she had a fondness for Simon…

  “He’s very nice and easy to talk to,” she said.

  “Did he seek an introduction to you, or was it given as a matter of course?” her grandfather asked.

  “Oh.” She grinned purposefully. “I do believe he sought an introduction to me. I think I might be ready to be courted again.”

  A ferocious scowl came to her grandfather’s face. “Not,” he said in a severe tone, “by that man.”

  She cocked her head as if confused. “You sound as if you don’t like the new duke, but you said you never met him. So whyever would you not care for him?”

  “It does not matter. You will simply do as I say,” her grandfather growled. He hadn’t used such a commanding tone with her since they had come to truly know each other.

  “I’m far too old for you to order about, Grandfather,” she said, “and I’m far too old for you to try to protect my sensibilities by lying to me.” If she was correct, that was what he was doing.

  His lips parted momentarily before he clamped them shut. After a moment of his shifting around, he let out a long, rattling sigh. “How could you tell?”

  “Your face,” she replied, motioning to him. “Being ill must be taking a great deal of energy because you are showing your emotions clearly. It’s quite unlike you. Usually, you are like a blank canvas.”

  He smiled at that. “Excellent.” He paused a moment and cleared his throat. “Now, what I’m about to tell you is a very private matter.”

  “I’ll not say a word to anyone, I swear it.”

  “Kilmartin is a rogue,” her grandfather said, his disdain for Simon obvious. “Many years ago, he convinced Mary that he loved her, and Mary, the foolish girl she has always been, ruined an excellent match I’d made for her because of it.”

  Anne frowned. “Mary was matched? As in betrothed?” She was unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

  “Yes.” Grandfather offered a wry smile. “She has not always been the dour creature you know.”

  Anne felt a flush of guilt to which her grandfather responded with a chuckle. “I arranged a rather excellent match for Mary with Lord Darwimple.”

  Anne felt herself inhale
a breath of shock. She immediately pictured the slovenly, hunting-obsessed son of her grandfather’s close friend. Not only did Anne honestly believe the man only bathed a couple of times a year—based on his stench, that was—but he spoke only of his latest kill or what he wanted to kill. And the man had to be at least thirty years older than Mary.

  “Oh, Grandfather! Why would you have betrothed her to Darwimple? Surely, she did not wish the match?”

  Her grandfather’s befuddled expression told Anne he honestly did not see what could have been wrong with the arrangement. “Whyever not? Darwimple has a grand title, and he would have been true to Mary. What more can a woman ask for?”

  “A man who does not smell like a swine,” Anne said. “And one who is not old enough to be one’s father,” she added. “Did Mary object?”

  “She did,” Grandfather said, a contemplative expression coming over his face. “Honestly, though, I thought she was being unappreciative and dramatic. If I recall, I told her she could either marry Darwimple or find a new home to live in.”

  “Grandfather!” Anne said aghast. “I must say, I’m awfully glad you have softened in your later years.”

  “Perhaps I pushed her into Kilmartin’s arms with my unbending ways. I had not thought of that…”

  He sounded so miserable that Anne patted his hand and found herself saying, “You cannot change the past, so there is no need to dwell on it.”

  “I suppose not. I tried to make Kilmartin wed her once she confessed to me that she had, er, given her innocence to him, but the devil refused.”

  Anne tried to imagine Simon being so awful and failed, which made her worry that she had fallen under his spell. He was an admitted rogue. He certainly could have been that terrible.

  “And then his grandfather cut ties with him because of what had occurred?” she asked.

  Her grandfather nodded. “He was reluctant to do so at first, as I recall. He’d cut ties with his son many years before when he had married a Scottish woman who the old duke was certain was only after a husband with a lofty title. He’d lost his son to the woman, and I think he wanted to keep his grandson in his life. I was not going to intervene, but when Mary found out that Kilmartin might go unpunished for how he’d used her, she became hysterical and threatened to kill herself if I did not ensure the man was served some form of justice.”

  As her grandfather took a sip of his tea, Anne thought upon what he’d just told her. It did not make sense to her that Simon would come to England to seek aid from his grandfather and then rather than marry a woman who could provide needed money he chose to defy his grandfather’s demand that he wed Mary which Simon knew would result in his grandfather cutting all ties with him. As a result, Simon hadn’t gotten the help he was after for his family.

  “How did you convince the duke of his grandson’s guilt?” she asked.

  “It hardly matters now,” her grandfather said, looking away.

  Anne frowned at the back of his head. He was evading her question, but she had no idea why.

  “The man seduced Mary, and once a rogue always a rogue. Stay away from him,” her grandfather commanded in an unbending tone. “He can have no good intentions toward you.”

  “And why is that?” she asked, thinking on what she’d overheard Simon say to Rutledge earlier.

  “Because,” her grandfather said, turning to meet her gaze once more, “before he left, he vowed to obtain revenge against myself and his grandfather. I’ll never forget it, and I don’t doubt for a moment that he remembers it, as well.”

  “And you think he’d use me to obtain revenge on you?” she asked, though she was certain that was exactly what Simon must be doing. He was obviously seducing her as some sort of plan to get revenge against her grandfather, but exactly what the plan was, she did not know. She did know she had to see him again no matter what, and do all she could to aid Fanny, but it was more than that. She had a gut feeling that she was missing an important fact in this story, and she intended to discover what it was.

  Eight

  The next morning, Simon found himself too distracted to concentrate on business. Thoughts of his conversations with Rutledge and Anne filled his head. Rutledge had been thrilled with Simon’s offer of a position within his company, but the man had been chilly at best when Simon had broached the subject of wedding Lady Fanny now that he would be financially sound and able to marry whomever he wished. Simon had pointed out that Lady Fanny was now considered ruined in the eyes of the ton; therefore, unlikely to make a match. Rutledge had countered by saying it was the woman’s fault for thinking she could trap him into marriage by throwing herself at him. Given Simon’s own experience, he’d been unable to disagree with Rutledge’s argument.

  Rutledge had shared that it was perplexing that Lady Fanny had not actually made a single request of Rutledge to marry her, nor had anyone in her family. He guessed that the lady assumed he would marry her when she was seen in his arms, a ruse likely of her own design, but had sensibly abandoned her plan when it had become apparent that Rutledge had no intention of wedding her. Simon found it rather ironic that the lady had thought to scheme to obtain marriage to a wealthy lord, but she’d picked a lord who was near penniless, which of course, she’d had no way of knowing. Rutledge’s family had managed to keep their near penniless state secret. Well, except now it seemed the servants were gossiping, which meant the news would likely be everywhere soon.

  And as for Anne, Simon was eagerly awaiting her return—too eagerly. It made him uneasy that when he thought of her, revenge was not the first thing that came to mind but rather the skilled way she sparred with words; her fierce, albeit blind, loyalty to her friend; her incredible blazing eyes; and her radiant smile.

  A scratch at his study door diverted his thoughts. He smiled, hearing his sisters chattering away on the other side of the door. “Enter,” he bid them.

  Once they were both inside, Elizabeth held up a note. Simon’s first thought was one of disappointment that perhaps Anne had sent word that she was not coming, thus not staying true to her part of their bargain.

  “Simon,” Elizabeth began, “The Duchess of Scarsdale sent an invitation to tea at her home. May we attend?”

  He nodded, pleased his sisters were making friends—and that he would be all but alone in the house with Anne, except for the servants.

  “Thank ye, Brother,” Elizabeth gushed, at which Caitlin simply rolled her eyes. “I’m going to go see what I might have to wear. The ladies’ gowns here are so…well, never mind.”

  It was just like sweet, thoughtful Elizabeth not to want to burden him by asking for a new gown. “We shall purchase new gowns for ye both,” he told her with a smile.

  “Oh, thank ye!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her joy apparent on her face. “Though, I wonder where one acquires a new gown here in the country…”

  And Simon knew just the lady to ask…

  “I’ll find that out,” he assured his sister, then chuckled as she grinned with obvious delight and rushed out the door, leaving him with Caitlin. When she stood there as if she wanted to say something, he nudged her. “Aye?”

  “What are ye doing with Anne?” she asked, her hostile tone surprising him.

  “Becoming acquainted with her,” he answered evasively. “Did she ask you as well to call her Anne?”

  Caitlin nodded. “I like her. And I’m fearful of how ye might hurt her.” Her chiding tone and stern look she gave him surprised him further.

  “I thought ye detested the English.”

  “I do,” Caitlin replied, “but she seems different. Do ye not agree?”

  She did in many ways, he had to admit. “Perhaps,” he answered, disliking the sudden tug of guilt he felt regarding his plans for Anne.

  “Elizabeth told me that one of Anne’s shoes was odd when she took them from her yesterday.”

  “Odd how?” Simon asked, recalling her claim of lameness.

  “Elizabeth said the sole of one of Anne’s shoes was much thi
cker than the other, as if to make her legs match in length.”

  By God, Anne had been telling him the truth. He felt like the worst sort of scoundrel for not believing her, and the guilt at using her increased. Yet, if he did not use her, he would not obtain his revenge. And he needed to do so for his mother, to honor her memory.

  “Are ye planning to use Miss Adair somehow for revenge against her grandfather, Simon?”

  His sister’s keen observation did not surprise him, though his eyes widened at her insight. Caitlin had always been one to see things others did not. “Aye,” he confessed, unwilling to lie to his sister.

  She nodded. “I suspected. I want vengeance upon Rowan as much as ye for his part in mother’s death…”

  “But?” he asked, sensing there was more to be said.

  “But I would caution ye to be certain revenge is worth the price of destroying Miss Adair before ye take any action.”

  He nodded, even as his sister turned to take her leave. Once he was alone in the quiet of his study, he stared out the window at the falling snow, thinking upon Anne, her grandfather, his own grandfather, and his mother. The last time he’d seen his mother alive was on a snowy day like this one. She’d been bundled up and waving farewell to him as he had been leaving to come to England to seek his grandfather’s help. The snow had been falling, and the sky had been heavy and gray—just as it was now. The next time he’d seen her was when he had helped to bury her.

  Knots tightened in his belly. Rowan apparently adored Anne, and Simon could easily hurt him by ruining her. Or could he? If she was as good as she seemed, how could he use her? It was unsettling to be unsure whether he hoped she was truly a good person or not. His desires were at war with each other, and he hadn’t a clue what to do about it.

  “Your Grace,” Perceval said, entering Simon’s study later that afternoon. “Miss Adair is here to see you.”

  “Aye,” Simon answered, getting used to this mistake of Perceval’s as he’d made it at least once daily. “I see that, since Miss Adair is standing beside ye.” As Simon swept his gaze over Anne, resplendent in her green silk gown, he wondered not for the first time why his grandfather had retained Perceval. He was a horrible butler, yet a good man, and such actions did not fit with Simon’s belief that his grandfather had been all bad. Yet the man had been. The past was proof. He had never once tried to reach out to his own son, meet his grandchildren, or apologize to Simon after forcing him from England. Simon had found some letters recently at his grandfather’s London townhome that were between his grandfather and a Bow Street Runner he had hired. It seemed his grandfather had tracked the progress of Simon’s timber company. Likely to attempt to try to swindle it from Simon somehow. Yet death had claimed the old devil first.