That earned a laugh. “I begin to see the benefits of marrying a woman with six brothers. You’re astute in the ways of males.”
“Very much so.” She pointed toward the lane. “Shall we proceed, Blixford? I’m fair starving as well, and before long, I may be the one who becomes crotchety.”
“Lead on, Duchess. Evidently, I’m compelled to follow, much like poor, besotted Pendragon. Male power is all an illusion, for it must surely be females who hold the trump card.”
“Do you see? This is what I adore about you, Blixford. You realize your weaknesses and play them to your favor. What an intelligent man you are!” With that, she urged the gelding into a canter, and after a short while, nudged him into a run.
Chapter 11
She adored him.
Well.
That was intriguing, was it not? Unlikely and unexpected, but intriguing all the same.
Oh, he was not prone to humility, and was, undoubtedly, grievously arrogant. He was a duke, lower in rank only to a royal, the last of an ancient line of illustrious ancestral dukes. He was well read, well educated, and capable of reviving a bankrupt, failing ducal title into four thriving estates and a London townhouse equipped with all modern conveniences. His manners and tastes were impeccable, he was well respected in the political arena, and he was an excellent horseman and hunter.
Nevertheless, he was well aware of his shortcomings, some of them insurmountable and wholly unpleasant. Unlovable. He couldn’t forget his first three wives. They didn’t adore him. They feared him in the beginning, were intimidated by him in the end. Even Annabel, whom he’d held in great regard and mild affection, had never looked at him in even the smallest manner of adoration. She came to respect him and they enjoyed a friendly marriage, but she’d no doubt thought him cold, arrogant, and tiresomely proper.
Sometimes he really was a stick.
Except when in a pasture with his last duchess, observing the mating rituals of horses. Great God, he’d dragged her off her mount to make love to her right there in his saddle. Any number of men might have happened by, but he’d not thought of anything but her, of her soft, hot center, convinced he’d lose his mind if he didn’t take her, right then. Immediately.
Any of his first three brides would have expired in a faint. Upon revival, they’d have called him a horrid animal. A beast of no fine sensibilities. They’d be correct.
Jane thought he was remarkable. Fascinating. Deeply passionate and sensual.
Michael admitted his response to her was much like a trained hound who responds to pocket treats and his master’s praise. He’d never been lauded and hailed remarkable by anyone, least of all a woman. The cynic in him wanted to pass it off as her attempt to smooth the way for a trouble-free marriage, to stroke and pet him until he became malleable to whatever she wanted.
He couldn’t believe that. If Jane wanted something, she would never resort to manipulation to get it. She would stand up, demand it, and if given no adequate reason why she might not have it, she would go and get it anyway. Whether it was refusal to marry an arrogant, cruel duke, or provide for a cast off mistress and her bastard child, Jane would have her way.
Possibly her best characteristic was her blunt, unapologetic honesty. In one moment, she might rip him up for implying she would bear him children because of duty, and extol his intelligence the next, but she was never anything but sincere. He rather thought he’d know instantly if she lied, or attempted to bamboozle him. Her gaze would not be so direct and bold.
He enjoyed their run, as he enjoyed breakfast and her ability to eat heartily without false feminine apology, but what truly made the morning excellent was her response to his crossbreds. She and Crofton hit it off immediately, falling into an easy conversation about the ins and outs of sheep breeding that would fly over most heads. He himself occasionally had a difficult time following them. Jane waved her hands about, scowled severely at times, appeared deep in concentration at others. Overriding everything, however, was her sheer delight in his program. She would glance at Michael every so often and grin cheekily, conveying her happiness. At one point, she said enthusiastically, “Isn’t this amazing? You are sure to be famous, Blixford, along with Mr. Crofton. Not to mention, rich beyond all imagination. When you finally take the crossbreds to market, oh, my, they will fetch a fortune. You’ll be the envy of every sheep farmer in England and Scotland. In all the world.”
He eventually dragged her away, enabling Crofton to get back to his work, promising she could return in the morning. He took her back to the house, then left to visit his tenants, but he’d gone only half the distance to the first of them when he turned about and went back, remembering he’d promised to show her the fields.