Lady Saves the Duke Page 14

  Which described the viscount’s behavior mildly.

  Alex motioned to a nearby waiter to bring a bottle of his favorite scotch before indicating for his long-time acquaintance to take the chair beside his.

  Running a hand through his chestnut hair, Danbury sat down, crossed his legs on a nearby ottoman and leaned back. Expelling a deep breath, he met Alex’s eyes and shook his head. “Last time we kept company, you were grousing over having to miss out on the war. I haven’t seen much of you in London.” Glancing at the ducal ring on Alex’s hand, the viscount frowned. “My condolences for the loss of your father.”

  Alex clenched his jaw. Going to war had not been an option for him. His father had been visibly ailing at the time. Alex had loved his father.

  A great deal had transpired to change himself and his circumstances. Alex had no wish to rehash any of those years.

  “Your mother is still quite active in society. I’m surprised you haven’t settled upon one of her matches yet.” Alex took a casual sip of the spicy liquid and directed the conversation away from himself.

  Hugh raised his brows and grimaced. “Oh, hell, Monfort, escaping her debutantes is an old habit by now.” Looking into the amber liquid, he chuckled derisively. “I’ve spent a good deal of time travelling. I imagine I’ll have to settle eventually. Must be going soft…”

  Without thinking, Alex surprised himself by speaking. “I’m to be married again in a fortnight.”

  Danbury’s head snapped up. He did not gush with effusive congratulations. “Thought you’d hold out longer than that.”

  Alex sighed but nodded. “Yes, well.”

  Danbury stared into his glass again. “So much has occurred in the last decade. Life truly has not been the great adventure we imagined as boys, has it?”

  “It has not,” Alex agreed. He appreciated the sentiment. But that was enough of such maudlin talk. Besides, he was interested in some of the political maneuvering Danbury had been involved in. “Tell me about this amendment you and Cortland passed last spring.”

  Danbury leaned forward and rested his forearms upon his knees. “I’m more interested in your horses…”

  Chapter 9

  Abigail’s first full day at Cross House proved considerably distressing. And embarrassing. She was scrubbed, measured, pinned, squeezed, and snipped. By the time she lay down for bed, she was exhausted and overwhelmed. She had not seen the duke since he’d left her room the afternoon they’d arrived in London. She was certain he would not recognize her the next time they met.

  And after a string of similarly rigorous days, Abigail’s misgivings continued to grow. With her wedding day fast approaching, she was beginning to feel as though she would be pledging herself, body, heart, and soul, to a stranger.

  And she would be giving this stranger the right to have intimate access to her body. As he pleased. He knew nothing of her mind, nothing of her thoughts and dreams. And she knew nothing of him.

  And this, quite simply, would not do.

  On the fourth day after her arrival, Abigail awoke at dawn. She had formulated a plan.

  Her body heartily resisted venturing out at such an ungodly hour, but catching the duke before he went out was more important than a few hours of sleep. Alas, it was imperative to the success of her marriage. So despite her sleepiness and the nerves knotted in her stomach, Abigail dressed in her brand new riding habit and rushed downstairs to await the duke in the morning room.

  She’d discovered from her lady’s maid, Harriette, who had been appointed to assist her, that her betrothed went riding early every morning. Apparently, he was quite interested in horses in general. Margaret had told her that Brooke’s Abbey was home to one of the most successful breeding stables in all of England, and Abigail intended to utilize this information to the fullest.

  She wished to befriend her future husband.

  She’d also discovered that his given name was Alex—Alex Cross. She hoped he would invite her to use it.

  So once awake, full of nervous energy, she skipped down the stairs and whirled around the doorway into the room she expected to still be empty.

  It was not.

  Alex was glad he’d set his coffee back down upon the table; the appearance of Miss Wright was that startling to him.

  In more ways than one.

  Firstly, people did not normally go rushing around Cross Hall at any time of day, let alone at sun up. But Miss Wright was not to be counted on to do that which was expected, that which was dignified. No, she practically flew into the room before catching the doorframe to stop herself upon seeing him seated.

  Secondly, she did not look like the Miss Wright who had formed in his mind. He’d intentionally kept his memory of the spinster who’d stepped out of the carriage at Raven’s Park, with her hair pulled back tightly and her dress a frumpy brown color. When he thought of her thusly, he could push back the memory of her assets prominently displayed in the rowboat. He could ignore the desire she’d ignited in him with a simple kiss.

  She looked different this morning. Something was different with her hair. Margaret’s doing, he supposed. Wisps of it framed her face. It looked softer. Good God, that word again!

  A few golden strands sparkled as the weak sunlight fell upon her. Her eyes, of course, were large and nearly as startled as his own, he supposed. And her lips formed a small O, as she let out a feminine-sounding gasp.

  And thirdly, she was wearing a riding habit.

  Alex paused only a moment before he realized that he was still sitting. Yes, this was his own home, and yes, she was an unwelcome morning intruder, but she was a lady and he was a gentleman.

  He stood and made a slight bow.

  Miss Wright released the door frame she had been grasping and made a graceful low curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said. Her voice sounded breathless.

  “Miss Wright,” Alex returned, before stepping over to another seat and pulling it out for her. “I did not expect company this morning.” It was not necessary to ask one of the footmen to fetch his betrothed a cup and setting. The man had crossed to the sideboard immediately upon seeing the additional diner.

  Miss Wright graciously accepted the seat he offered and smoothed down the fabric of her habit. It was quite fetching, really, a soft apricot color that did wonders for her complexion. “I hope you are not disappointed, Your Grace, to be interrupted.” She looked up at him from under her lashes. “But I have not seen you since my arrival and was beginning to wonder if you were, indeed, a figment of my imagination.”

  Her words startled him nearly as much as her appearance had a few seconds ago. She was an interesting mixture of both timidity and an unusual forthrightness that he was not accustomed to from subordinates. He set his gaze upon her and allowed his jaw to clench. He did not wish to have his actions rebuked. “I have business to attend to, Miss Wright. And I did not wish to interfere with my sister’s plans.”

  Miss Wright merely chuckled before smiling at the footman who was pouring her a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she said to the servant, surprising Alex again. And then, turning back to Alex, she continued, “Oh, I do not think a charging army could interfere with your sister’s plans for me.”

  Alex sipped his coffee and continued watching this creature who was injecting herself into his morning routine. “You are dressed for riding.” His statement demanded an explanation.

  Miss Wright swallowed hard and then looked up, more directly at him this time. “I was hoping you would teach me to ride.”

  Resisting the urge to roll his eyes heavenward, Alex stared at her expectant face. He had plans to meet up with Danbury shortly.

  “I will make arrangements for you to have lessons when we’ve returned to Brooke’s Abbey.” Did she think she could demand his attentions at a moment’s notice? “I have commitments for this morning already.”

  “Oh,” she said, suddenly seeming to lose her nerve. “I thought we could come to know each other better. I was hoping we could spend some time
together. I would have asked you about this sooner, but you have not been at home.” Her hand shook as she reached for her coffee. “It is just that I told you I was not afraid of you. And I am not, really! But I am nervous about being a wife. And I was hoping…I was hoping…that if I knew you better, then well…Things could be different this time…”

  She took a hesitant sip of her coffee, holding the cup with both hands. She was nervous. She was afraid.

  Alex sighed. He really did not want a repeat of his first wedding night. Perhaps her words contained some merit.

  But this morning, he would be meeting Danbury.

  “I cannot take you out this morning,” he found himself saying. “I will need to find you a suitable mount—to your size as well as your inexperience. I have several at Brooke’s Abbey, but I only keep a few here in town. We can begin lessons tomorrow. Would that be acceptable to you, Miss Wright?”

  One might have believed he’d handed her the keys to Buckingham Palace.

  “Oh, yes!” she practically gushed, her relief so great. “That would be wonderful.”

  “Very well,” Alex said, while rising to his feet. “I will adjust my schedule accordingly.” But before he could reach the door, her voice stopped him.

  “Will you address me by my name?” she said. “May I address you by yours?”

  She was impertinent! But she was also his fiancée. “Abigail?” he questioned.

  “Yes. And may I call you Alex?” Her eyes were so innocent, so naïve as to the intimacy of her request. Even Margaret rarely spoke to him by his given name. He was Monfort. He was His Grace.

  “Monfort,” he said firmly.

  Miss Wright, oh hell, Abigail, scowled at his word and his tone of voice. But he would remain firm on this. Best to begin how he wished to carry on.

  “Monfort? As in the Duke of? Am I to address my husband by his title then?”

  Alex clenched his hands at his side. She had raised her chin to look at him more directly which in turn effectively stretched the material of her bodice. Her damn bodice! What the hell was wrong with him? “Yes,” was all he said before turning on his heels and leaving her alone. Danbury would already be waiting, and Alex was never late for anything. Never!

  ****

  The next morning, Abigail made certain to arrive in the morning room before the duke. She wished to give herself plenty of time to consume her coffee and at least a bit of toast. She was not nervous of horses. She was not even nervous of riding. It was the sidesaddle that frightened her. She’d known of a woman who had been killed while riding thusly—when her mount had fallen, the woman had been unable to extricate herself from the saddle and gotten herself crushed. All for the sake of propriety.

  But ladies never rode astride. They rode sidesaddle.

  Before Abigail had grown into a young woman, her mother had unthinkingly allowed her considerable free rein at Raebourne. Her father kept a few old plow horses and had fortuitously come into the ownership of a smaller pony. With some assistance from a few neighborly children, Abigail learned to ride the pony astride, with no saddle at all.

  When her mother became alerted to such unladylike activities, her father sold the pony and that had been the end of that. She’d not been allowed to ride since then.

  But her memories of those long ago days were happy ones. She’d enjoyed both the affinity with the animal as well as the exhilaration of the ride. That had been a long time ago.

  Margaret had informed her that she would be expected to know how to ride. And in society, a lady only ever mounted a horse sidesaddle—silly and dangerous as it might be.

  She pushed away her fears as the duke entered the room.

  Glancing at her almost dismissively, he seated himself several chairs away and allowed the footman to pour him some coffee. Abigail’s heartbeat accelerated in his presence.

  “Were you able to find a suitable mount?” She broke the silence intentionally. The duke ignored her question for a moment before pushing his coffee away and looking over at her.

  “I said I would, did I not?”

  Abigail could not help but smile. “So we can go ahead with the lesson then?”

  Monfort sighed. “Yes, Miss—Abigail. I am prepared to give you your first lesson.” With a glance at her empty plate, he raised one eyebrow. “You are ready now? Shall we get this business over with then?”

  Abigail chuckled. She was beginning to learn how he’d gotten his nickname, the Duke of Ice. He hadn’t been so shuttered the first time they’d met. Something about London brought it out in him. Or perhaps it was merely being in his own home, surrounded by all of these ducal servants. She was going to have to do something about this. “Where shall we go?”

  Rising to his feet, he tossed his napkin onto his chair, crossed the length of the room, and turned to offer her his arm. “Today we will not go anywhere. There is a small riding paddock in back, and we shall see how you manage there.”

  “I’ve ridden before,” she said, all too aware of his person as she placed her hand on the wool of his jacket. Inhaling deeply, she then caught her breath. Even under these ordinary circumstances, his maleness filled her senses. He carried a masculine scent that was clean and spicy. His arm was warm and firm. He loomed above her so that she had to look up to meet his eyes. “Just not recently—and never sidesaddle.”

  His silver gaze flicked over her casually. Suddenly, the memory of his brief kiss four days ago wedged itself into her thoughts. Had this man really touched his lips to hers? Even this near his demeanor was distant—quite untouchable.

  “I’ll assess your skills today.” He walked purposefully toward the back of the house, where the mews were located. “And decide if and when you’re ready to leave the grounds after that.”

  Abigail’s legs, considerably shorter than the duke’s, struggled to keep abreast of him. But she didn’t want to call his attention to this. She knew she was already disrupting his normal activities—forcing him to change his gait for her would only irritate him further.

  As they exited the back doors, the morning air felt crisp and cool. They descended the service steps and followed the stone path together in silence. Except it wasn’t silent really. Birds chirped nearby, a dog barked, and some muffled voices drifted across the lawn from within the stables. Abigail was gradually losing her apprehension and feeling anticipation instead, for the exercise. “Margaret tells me you breed horses at Brooke’s Abbey. Do you do this because you like horses, or to generate funds?”

  “Must the two be mutually exclusive?” He did not look at her but grimaced. Monfort pulled her around a corner, revealing two gated paddocks, one of which was already alive with activity with workers exercising a tall, fine-looking stallion. The other paddock, although not empty, was much calmer, holding a small white and brown mare already fitted with a lady’s sidesaddle. A mounting block awaited her near the gate.

  The duke led her toward the paddock, dropping her hand when he reached the fence. His entire demeanor changed as he neared the animal. He didn’t use the gate, but effortlessly climbed the rails of the fence and stepped inside with the horse. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a carrot and beckoned the animal with it.

  “This is Lady Page.” He glanced back toward Abigail and actually grinned!

  The horse approached this very different duke and trustingly took the carrot out of his hand. Appearing more relaxed than Abigail imagined possible, Monfort reached up and rubbed the horse’s forelock. Stunned for a moment, Abigail simply watched this man she’d known to be aloof and stern as he crooned and petted the horse.

  She’d seen that look before.

  After she’d thrown herself to the floor of the boat. He had been gentle. He had been quite tender, really.

  “Lady Page, meet Miss Abigail Wright. I know you’ll be on your best behavior today, my lady, and we’ll see what kind of a horsewoman Miss Wright is.” He was talking to the horse!

  At his words, Abigail approached the mounting block, but
with his sudden change of mood, found herself feeling hesitant and shy—as though she were imposing herself on a friendship that had been in existence for years. Standing atop the block, she bit her bottom lip while Monfort walked the horse over to her.

  “I’m not sure how to do this,” she said, her fear returning again as she studied the strange-looking saddle.

  The duke’s smile fled as he looked over and up at her. But his face remained relaxed. He was not glaring at her in irritation as he’d done earlier that morning.

  Releasing the horse, he climbed the fence again and stepped up onto the mounting block with her. The horse was placed so that Abigail would mount from its left side. There were two pommels. She’d only ever seen such saddles with one pommel.

  The horse stood unmoving as Monfort explained the mechanics of the saddle to her. “This is a brand new design from a fellow I met a few months ago. Didn’t think I’d have need of one until yesterday. Now this pommel”—he pointed at the taller, more centered one—“is for your right leg. You place your right thigh above it and let your foot fall along the horse’s shoulder. This other pommel is for your left. You’ll find it gives you greater support as you improve. You’ll be able to gallop more securely.” He was guiding her shoulders so that she leaned over the horse and then he placed his hands upon her waist. Abigail turned her back toward the horse to mount, but Monfort twisted her around.

  “You are riding sidesaddle, but I want you to keep your spine in line with that of the horse—just as if you were to ride astride. You must remain as centered as possible, both for your safety as well as the horse’s.”

  Abigail lifted her leg, hooked it into the top pommel, and allowed her weight to settle onto the horse. As she tried to pull her left leg over the other pommel, it would not move, as her habit had gotten twisted beneath her. Panic swept through her when she tugged her leg at the material of the habit and could not free herself.