Four Nights With the Duke(47)

In fact, Chuffy and Mia ignored most of his suggestions. Last night they  had spent an hour discussing whether the castle should be haunted by  the "moaning voice of some unquiet spirit."

What with the unquiet spirit, the milksop hero, and the evil Lord Plum,  the castle sounded like a version of Dante's hell. Vander had jocosely  suggested that the spirits of four slain princes, all heirs to the  Crown, should haunt the castle ramparts-only to have his jest taken  seriously and put into play with foolish Frederic.

When Mia wasn't writing-or conspiring with Chuffy-she was sequestered  with a seamstress. Making herself into a duchess, by all accounts. It  was ridiculous. He didn't want her to change.                       
       
           



       

He loped across the yard to Charlie. "Three more times around. Don't forget to groom your mount."

Charlie nodded. His eyes shone and both his posture and his seat were  good, considering he was a new rider. Vander reached over and tapped his  weaker leg. "How's this feeling?"

"It's fine," Charlie said instantly.

Beginning to ache, Vander diagnosed, seeing faint smudges under the  boy's eyes. Charlie was not a complainer. "Three more times," he  repeated, and headed for the house.

To find his wife. Ridiculous though that sounded, he'd hardly seen her  except at evening meals, when Chuffy was there, taking all her  attention.

Not that he was jealous of his own uncle.

It was merely that his irrational fit of lust had turned her from a near  stranger to the only person he cared to spend time with.

Nodding at Gaunt, he ran up the stairs into his bedchamber and straight  through to the bathing chamber. The door leading to his wife's room had  been repaired, he noticed. That broken latch had undoubtedly caused a  storm of speculation downstairs.

He was devoutly hoping that he'd discover her in dishabille, perhaps naked to the waist while being fitted for a gown.

Alas, no such luck; her bedchamber was empty. He returned to the  hallway, went to the top of the stairs, and bellowed down, "Where's my  duchess?"

Nottle had not been the sort of butler who would deign to raise his  voice, but Gaunt was not as rigidly formal. He shouted back, "Her Grace  is in her study."

"‘Her study,'" Vander repeated, feeling like an idiot. "Where is that?"

He had no memory of her mentioning it at supper, and when else were they  supposed to discuss things? He was out of the house all day working in  the stables, and they weren't sleeping together.

"Her Grace is using the Queen's Bedchamber as her study," Gaunt replied,  appearing at the bottom of the stairs. "The great bed remains, but we  moved a desk from the library."

A moment later Vander pushed open the door to the Queen's Bedchamber,  only to find this room, too, unoccupied. Sunlight poured through the  west-facing windows; he'd forgotten how much light this side of the  house received.

He walked over to her desk and picked up a sheet of paper. Mia's  handwriting hadn't changed much from when she was a girl, writing that  love poem. It was a strong hand, with a beautiful, high-flung curve on  some of the letters. It hadn't a trace of the madness that clung to his  father's hand, or the timidity that characterized his mother's.

After it became clear that he refused to be in the vicinity of Lord  Carrington, the duchess began to write letters to him. Her words had  been hedged in by excessive curlicues, ornamented with arabesques, and  flourishes. He had read her letters impatiently and tossed them aside,  condemning her for adultery, for selfishness.

Now his heart bumped at the memory of Chuffy's revelation about the  truth of his parents' marriage. All those years he had felt burning  resentment of his mother's betrayal of his father, but the situation had  been far more complicated and far more tragic than he had known.

With an impatient shake of his head, he focused on the page he had picked up, headed NOTES: Chapter Three.





"I cannot bear to think of it!" Lady Ryldon cried pettishly. "Maurice  must marry her. It has come to the very last ebb with us. We shall all  be ruined if he doesn't manage it."



"How on earth did she come to have such a dowry? I knew her mother, and  she was a worthy woman, but their fortunes were sadly depleted."



"As I understand it, Lord Mortimer glimpsed her in the street and wrote  her into his will. It sounds very curious to me; everyone is saying that  she must be his natural daughter."



That startled her friend. "Absolutely not! I knew her mother well before she was disowned by her father, the earl."



A peal of silvery musical laughter interrupted them. "Here she comes!"  Lady Ryldon said urgently. "Now, dear, you must make certain that the  little fool marries my son. Our very lives-or at the very least our wine  cellar-depend on it!"





Vander stared down at the page in some perplexity. It didn't seem to  match the plot he'd heard discussed over the dining room table. Who was  Lady Ryldon? The whole desk was covered with drifts of paper, each sheet  containing a scrap of dialogue or a list of notes. He picked up  another.





"In the meantime," said Count Frederic, with a polite bow, "may I not kiss you?"



"Indeed you may not!" Flora cried. She peeped at him over her shoulder, with a captivating giggle. "I do not like kisses."                       
       
           



       



"Let me change your mind." His countenance was not merry: instead, the very air trembled with a solemn-





Unfortunately, the text broke off just when it was getting interesting.  Vander sifted through the mess on the desk, trying to locate the next  page, but he couldn't find it. He picked up Mia's quill and struck  through a half line or so, and scrawled a revision.





"My dear, do let me change your mind." He pushed her back on the table,  ran a hand beneath her skirts, and bent to kiss her silken thigh.



She threw her arms around his neck and cried, "But, sir, do you intend to ravish me?"



"Only if you desire such a wanton course," he replied, quite  untruthfully, because he intended to ravish her no matter what she had  to say about it.



"Modesty forbids my answer," she gasped, clapping her legs around his waist.



"Excellent," he said, debauching her enthusiastically.





This was rather fun. Vander poked around until he found a couple of  other scenes which, in his considered opinion, needed correction. Flora  should never go back to Frederic, for example. He picked up the quill  again.





Vander here: This is rubbish. He's a fool who jilted her. She should treat him like the idiot he is.





The door opened. He hastily put down the quill and turned around.

It was Mia, naturally, and she was frowning at him. "What are you doing?"

"I seem to have been reading your memoirs," he said, strolling toward  her and doing his utmost to look innocent. "I had no idea your life had  been so enthralling before marrying me."

"Oh hush," she cried, her face turning rosy. "It's horrid of you to look at my manuscript without asking me first."

"I think you should spice it up a bit."

"Spice it up?"

"Well, what sort of man would say ‘may I not kiss you now'?"

"My hero, Frederic, is extremely courteous."

"He's an addlebrained dunce. Who would want to kiss a man like him?  Clearly not your heroine, since she makes up that whopper about not  liking kisses."

"Frederic is a complete gentleman," she said defensively.

"And I am not?" Vander grinned and changed the topic. "What on earth have you been doing? I looked all over the house for you."

"Reading," she said, a bit guiltily. "I haven't been able to put Miss  Julia Quiplet's books down in the last two days, even though I must  write my own novel. Was there something you wanted, Duke?"

"Duke?" Vander looked insulted. "Surely we are on intimate terms?"

Mia had a moment of extreme irritation.

How was she supposed to guess what Vander felt was the appropriate  degree of intimacy at any given moment? He still addressed her as  "Duchess," after all. She avoided the question altogether. "I thought  you were in the stables. Is Charlie all right?"

"I set him to grooming horses. If it were up to him, he'd ride all day long, but I thought his leg had taken enough."

"Perhaps I should check on his progress," Mia said. Vander had a look in  his eyes that she recognized, even after a few short days of marriage.

But it was daytime. Afternoon. Servants were about.

"Charlie will not miss you," he said. He took a long stride, bent his  head, and pulled her into his arms. Mia had to admit that his kiss was  pure bliss. She even dropped Miss Quiplet's novel.