Summerton (Lady Eleanor Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  Wide green eyes met his, shifted aside, returned. She opened her delectable mouth, then shut it again, rather mulishly, and looked away, toward his home…their home. Concocting a story, no doubt, though it was too late for that.

  Why hadn’t he immediately recognized her when they’d stared at each other upstairs? Certainly, as a missish young lady, she’d never looked at him directly before, and the candlelight of the bedroom had offered only faint illumination to war against the shadow of her hat. No doubt the dimness had darkened those eyes, green as spring moss, or he’d have known them. Recognized the shape, wide, slanting down ever so gently on the outside, with long, thick, straight lashes.

  He’d spent the first half of this night imagining desire in those eyes. Now he would always be watching for lies.

  Her gaze veered toward George, who was now crouched down on the far side of the lawn, his dogs restless at his feet, waiting for some signal or word from Summerton. Lights were being lit all across the Hall, figures outlined in the windows, looking out. Curious servants. He’d have to concoct a story of his own.

  This wasn’t the place for a confrontation.

  “Come on.” He rose and held out his hand to help her up.

  Baver, her Lord Drool, had already lost interest in the reunion, drawn off by some elusive scent, as hounds were wont to do. “Let’s get you inside and find out what this is all about.”

  George rose as they did. “Shall I go for help, m’lord?” he called out.

  “No,” Summerton called back. “It’s the lad who used to care for Lady Caroline’s animals. I’ll take him up to see Her Grace.”

  Ah, if looks could skewer, he’d be pierced. Docile, he’d thought. He’d been wrong.

  “Right oh, we certainly could use some help with those good-for-nothing critters,” George groused. “If you have need of me, I’m near to hand,” he promised and turned back for the kennels.

  “They’re not good for nothing,” Caroline snipped, quiet but firm. She knew how to leash that temper. “They are as important as he is, as anyone is.”

  “She speaks,” he pressed, wondering what would make the sparks fly.

  “Of course I speak.” She gave a haughty lift of her chin. “You’ve heard me before.”

  “Never like this,” he said.

  Of course she’d spoken, and he’d listened. Having a strong aversion to caustic, harsh voice or high-pitched screeches, his bride’s voice was one of many deciding factors. Caroline could lull a man to sleep with her soft deep intonations. Innocently seductive.

  “I do have opinions,” she informed him. “When I’m allowed to.”

  Before he could react, she pulled away and strode back toward the Hall.

  When I’m allowed to.

  God save him, his new duchess was no easy, malleable miss. He had troubles enough without having to deal with her. Worse yet, the delectable swing of her backside in trousers inspired a hedonistic lust, far too raw for seducing any bride, let alone a reluctant one.

  Good Lord, he’d married the wrong heiress.

  CHAPTER 2 ~ Diversions

  Back stiff and straight, Caroline Mary Howlett—Caro to family and friends—led the way back to the hall. A diversion, that was all.

  She would not crumble. She was made of sturdier stuff.

  She looked forward, compliance her best tactic for now, even as her mind raced for an escape. Jeremy was out there, somewhere on the periphery of the woods. She’d not turn, to see if he still waited. That would only serve to give him away.

  The hall loomed ahead, a massive structure with more wings than a flock of birds. Where, exactly, did he want her to go? She hesitated.

  “Around the back,” Summerton said from behind her, like she was some prisoner. Which she was.

  Damn the man. Damn his voice rippling through her, like a cat’s purr. She scrunched her shoulders, and pressed her lips tight, protection against the seduction of his voice.

  “There’s a pathway, closer to the Hall, that leads to the back entrance.” He moved up beside her.

  “I’d like to go to the stables first.” To see her precious pets. That was the crux of the whole thing. She could hardly believe they were alive, here. What would happen to them now, when she left?

  Would he return them to her uncle? She shivered at the thought.

  He startled her again, breaking into her thoughts with a voice as rich and dark as chocolate without any sweetening.

  “Go to the stables tonight?” No hint of humor in his chuckle. “So you can run away before you’ve told me what you are about?”

  She huffed, and waited for him to lead. He did not. “You stay in front,” he ordered.

  “I won’t run,” she snapped. She couldn’t now, not until she’d made plans for her pets.

  His response was caught between a chuckle and a sigh. In some odd way, he was enjoying this. She sensed the thrum of emotion woven in every sound he made; humor, anger, frustration, and confusion. Complicated expressions, though he’d barely spoken.

  She fought a shiver of unease. Refused to let his voice sink into her, its barbed hook trapping her where she refused to go. She had things to do, people who needed her for more than a bank balance.

  At the door, she turned, risking a look back over the path they’d walked, studying the edges of the woods. Even with the full moon, the shadows were too deep to see anything.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, as he reached around for the doorknob. He needn’t have bothered. As usual, someone had anticipated his need. The door opened from the inside revealing the housekeeper, and the butler, Hitches, on the threshold in their dressing gowns.

  Summerton shifted, using his body and the dark of night to shield her. “Nothing to worry about. One of the duchess’s stable hands came to see about the animals. I will deal with him. You may return to your beds.”

  The housekeeper held out a coat of sorts and a pair of gentleman’s slippers. “Percy brought these down for you,” she said.

  Caroline blinked. She’d been so caught up in planning what to do next she’d failed to notice the duke wore nothing more than a thin silk nightshirt. How had she missed that? She bit back a laugh, imagining him climbing down the stone lattice of the balcony, his nightshirt catching on every twig of the vine dominating the structure.

  Sure enough, snags marred the delicate red silk, pocking it. Bits of vines and leaves still clung. She might have felt sorry, except fascination rerouted all other thoughts. She’d never seen a man in so little covering.

  Summerton was slipping into an asian banyan robe of striking blue, embroidered with heavy gold thread. Hitches held it in place as the housekeeper held slippers for him to step into. He needn’t even bend a knee, which was unfortunate, for when her gaze reached his face she caught him watching her, one eyebrow raised. She lifted her chin. It wasn’t her fault he’d chosen to chase her with barely a stitch on.

  Well, not entirely her fault.

  He had released his hold on her as Hitches and the housekeeper dressed him, but she didn’t dare try to run. He’d already proven he could outdistance her.

  Plus, he had her animals.

  “I hope this lad will teach the bird some better language,” the housekeeper griped, without a single glance at Caroline. Servants could be a snobbish lot.

  “Mrs. Beechum.” Hitches’ sartorial tone silenced her. “We shall leave his grace to this business.” He bowed to Summerton. “We are at your service if you need anything. There is a candle for you in the hallway”

  “We’ll be in the study, Hitches.”

  “Will you need a fire, your grace?”

  “No, I don’t expect this will take long.” Summerton waited, watching as the two headed back to their apartments.

  “Well-trained monkeys.” Caroline muttered, drawing a harsh, shaming stare from Summerton.

  “They do not deserve your disrespect.”

  Her cheeks heated. Foolishness, belittling servants for her own frus
trations. Her family was not that far removed from service for her to be anything but considerate to them.

  Besides, there was no reason to fault Summerton’s servants at this point. Not unless they became as intrusive as her uncle’s tattling minions. And she could not really fault her uncle’s servants. After all, they had had little choice in the matter.

  The duke bowed and opened his arm to direct her to continue. “To my study.”

  Caroline sighed. “I don’t know where it is.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “I suppose you don’t.”

  He took the candle left by his butler and led her down a long paneled hallway, lined with pictures obscured by shadow. When he reached a doorway, he stood aside, silently inviting her over the threshold. He followed, his one meager candle in hand. On the edge of light she saw a mantle, the fire now cold. She crossed to it as the door thumped shut and a lock clicked into place.

  Fate sealed, she didn’t bother to look back.

  She ignored the rustling and jostling, not really wanting to know what he was about, until a breeze shivered down her neck.

  Summerton had drawn the drapes and opened the French doors, stepped outside, through the wide-flung panels of beveled glass. She crossed to them to see what he was doing, to see if he’d given her the opportunity to run. He hadn’t gone far, was even now returning, her abandoned bundle slung over his back.

  An ordinary worker, except he wasn’t, not dressed in such finery. She turned away, disturbed, confused by a heightened curiosity traitorous to her plans. Had she not run, she would have known this man without any barriers, not even the silk of his nightshirt.

  Back inside, he left the doors open and dropped the bundle near a bookcase before retrieving the candle from a side bureau near the door.

  “It will do you no good to try and leave,” he said over his shoulder as he used the candle to light sconces on either side of the fireplace. “You would not get away.”

  “I’ve already presumed as much,” she admitted. He smiled, as though pleased. Whether it was in reaction to her honesty or common sense, she didn’t know. His voice gave him away in some instances, but she didn’t know him well enough to decipher his expressions.

  What an absolute farce, that young couples could know so little about each other, yet bond for life.

  Not wishing to dwell on that, Caroline took advantage of the light. They were in a study, decorated much the same as the rest of the Hall. A grand space with badly frayed furnishings. Like an old relative, once much loved, only to grow tatty and crippled through neglect.

  Not that Summerton would realize such a thing even if he had the funds to make a difference. Men didn’t, did they? It took a woman to care and the Summerton line had very little female influence for generations. The duke’s mother died when he was just a boy and his father had never remarried. The same had been true for his grandfather. The Dukes of Summerton were well-established bachelors, preferring town life over country pursuits.

  A woman might have changed that.

  The last two Duchesses of Summerton had not survived to make that difference.

  Caroline was not so superstitious as to consider this a bad omen for the third wife in line, but the results of two generations without a woman, and decades of neglect by the men, offered a dreadful challenge. No doubt this duke meant to leave her to rusticate while he returned to the delights of the city.

  This was not, after all, a love match. He knew nothing about her beyond her financial health. She, on the other hand, knew a great deal about him.

  His city of choice would be London.

  She needed to be in Manchester, soon.

  If only she knew what he planned, having caught her running away.

  Without thought, she reached to adjust the lay of her skirts, as she took a chair near the cold fireplace. She wasn’t wearing a dress. She blinked and just sat. Her trouser legs pulled uncomfortably. She ignored it.

  Rather than join her, Summerton leaned against a large desk, deep in shadow despite the candles he’d lit. She waited, legs together, hands in her lap, pretending a calm she didn’t feel. He remained silent, arms crossed over his chest.

  Finally, his voice cut through the heavy silence, jerking her to attention.

  “Was your abigail a part of this?”

  She drew back, offended. “Alice?”

  “I take it she wasn’t.”

  “No.”

  He didn’t ask any more questions. Just watched her.

  “How long will it take you to change from,” he gestured toward her, “those breeches you are wearing? And to clean your face?”

  She’d forgotten about the coal dust. Running from the duke wasn’t meant to be the end of things. She needed to travel across country without being noticed. No one paid much heed to dirty little urchins.

  She rose to see if she’d dirtied the seat of the chair, only to realize that a bit of coal dust couldn’t hurt a cushion nearly worn through.

  “Well?” he asked, obviously impatient.

  She turned toward him. “Not long if there’s enough water. Do you mind telling me what you intend?”

  He walked over to a wall of bookcases. “I haven’t decided yet,” he admitted, as he reached under one of the shelves. The bookcase moved. He swept his arm out, inviting her to lead the way into a yawning dark hole.

  This she hadn’t considered. That he’d lock her up in some closet.

  “I don’t think so.” She tried to sound firm.

  He looked beyond the opening and back, reached for his candle and went inside. The halo of light revealed a staircase. He came back out, but the interior stayed alight.

  “Now, please, go inside. It’s late and we have considerable planning to do.”

  Still, she hesitated. She did not like small dark places. “Are you joining me?”

  “Yes, after I’ve informed Hitches that the lad is gone and that you require the services of your abigail and my aunt.”

  She blinked. She’d forgotten that his aunt was here. Another one of the reasons she didn’t want to be married to him. He’d arranged for his aunt to join them on their bridal tour, as a companion for Caroline. No doubt to free him to indulge in bachelor pursuits rather than getting to know his wife.

  “Very well.” She walked up to him. “But you’d best summon the others after I’ve changed.” And sailed past him, stopping two paces into the narrow corridor.

  Dust tickled her nose and a sticky spider’s web stuck to her cheek.

  She shivered and stepped back.

  “Just wait here,” he told her, plopping her bundle on the floor at her feet, shutting the door, leaving her there, alone.

  “Wait!” She shouted but too late. The closure was well and truly shut. She searched for a lever, a knob, something that would open the blasted thing. She tried pushing. It didn’t move, so she stood still. Very still, and breathed slowly, methodically, trying to stem panic. She closed her eyes, pretending to be somewhere else, anywhere else, only to feel creepy crawlies on her neck, sneaking up her arms. Swatting at them did no good. Either they weren’t really there or they’d gotten away.

  Lips tight, she fought back a whimper. She must think. If she went up the stairs, she could end up anywhere. Anywhere was far better than waiting.

  Voices stopped her.

  “Your grace?” Hitches.

  “The lad is gone, took off through the window,” Summerton said. “Which makes me question whether he was really the duchess’s man. Send George out with the dogs and place a couple of good strong lads below the duchess’s windows.”

  Everything in her collapsed. Jeremy was out there.

  Summerton continued. “Have my aunt go to the duchess’s room. And see that the duchess’s abigail waits in her dressing room.”

  “As you will, your grace,” Hitches replied.

  “I’ll check on the duchess.”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  She could hear footsteps leaving the room. Summerton’s,
she presumed. He’d left her there. Hitches moved about closing doors and drapes, blowing out candles. All the sounds clear and distinct. Clear enough she could hear Hitches’ footsteps as he walked out and moments later someone else moving around the room. Whoever it was bumped into the furniture. She strained to listen, certain it couldn’t be the duke, so at ease with the space she’d bet he could move around it blindfolded.

  Shoulder to the wall, she pushed at the opening. Again, it didn’t budge. She felt around, ignoring sticky webs catching her hands, the sleeve of her shirt. She must find the lever, free the latch. Surely there was one.

  “Do you really believe I’d leave you here with the ability to get out?”

  She spun around to the hem of his banyan and slippered feet on the stairs above.

  “I wish you would stop sneaking up on me,” she hissed, wondering if sound traveled into the study as well as it did into this little area.

  He came further into view.

  “Let’s extinguish this one.” He reached around her—close, too close—to blow out the light on the little ledge and lift the bundle from the floor.

  “I don’t like it in here.”

  “I’m not surprised.” He smiled, but not with malice. “I didn’t much like finding my bride running away.”

  She shrugged and edged past him to climb the stairs.

  Once again, at the top, he reached around her, fiddling with a support beam, releasing something, for the wall opened without a creak. The scent of candle wax and leather and sandalwood mixed with other, subtler herbs, filtered into the secret space. Caroline stepped over the threshold. A bedchamber.

  Summerton urged her further into the room, as he closed the opening behind him. Everything in the chamber was heavy and strong, from the furniture to the picture frames. Masculine, a man’s domain.

  A huge four-poster bed on a dais stood directly opposite them. She stepped aside, not wanting to be confronted with the closeness of the bed or the intimacies it implied.

  “You’d best wash off the dirt in here,” he told her, as he opened another door. “I will gather your dressing gown and nightrail.”

  She’d never been in a man’s dressing room before—other than her father’s, that was—and she’d rarely been in there. This was better appointed than the duchess’s rooms. Nothing threadbare or badly kept, though there was little beyond a clothespress, armoire, and washing table. One corner was screened off, no doubt for the commode.