Miss Dane and the Duke: A Regency Romance Page 17

The hot air was full of the vanilla scent of gorse blossom. Overhead larks sang and spiralled out of sight in the cloudless blue sky and Chalk Blue and Fritillary butterflies danced away from the horse’s progress.

  The track rose gradually as they climbed to the top of the Downs and Antonia’s spirits lifted with their progress and the intoxicating feeling of freedom. As they came out onto the short cropped grass and saw the view of the whole Vale stretched out before them, still and shimmering in the heat, she reined in instinctively.

  ‘That is very good,’ Jeremy encouraged. ‘You have a very light hand on his mouth – see how well he responds to you. I do believe you are ready to trot.’

  ‘Let’s just stay here a moment,’ Antonia said. ‘It is so lovely, so wide and open and the breeze is fresh. When I am here I do not miss London one jot.’

  ‘You must have many friends and acquaintances in Town who miss you,’ he said gallantly.

  ‘We had a wide circle of acquaintances when I lived with my great-aunt,’ Antonia agreed. ‘But it was quite remarkable how quickly they fell away when we had to move to less fashionable lodgings.’

  She turned to look at him, suddenly ready to confide. ‘l will not attempt to hide the truth from someone who knows our circumstances as well as you. After the death of my father, we were in very straitened circumstances.’

  There was a small silence as they both gazed across the tranquil vista beneath them, then Jeremy spoke carefully. ‘I will be equally frank and say I much admire the courageous way in which you have retrieved your fortunes.’ He seemed to catch his breath as thought to continue, but all he said was, ‘Now, shall we try trotting?’

  The bay responded to Antonia’s tentative signals with a brisk trot, and Jeremy put a restraining hand on her wrist as the stride lengthened.

  There was a fine stand of perhaps a dozen beeches ahead, casting a broad swathe of shade over the turf. ‘The track goes around that copse,’ he directed. ‘Try taking the bend at a steady trot. You are doing so well on the straight, it should give you no trouble.’

  As they rounded the curve, they found themselves almost on top of a picnic party assembled under the shade. There was a welcoming cry of, ‘Miss Dane! Please stop and join us,’ and Antonia recognised Anne Meredith waving from a rug spread on the grass.

  ‘It is the house party from Brightshill.’ How very awkward. But she could hardly snub them and drive on. ‘Do you have any objection to our stopping a while, Mr Blake?’

  ‘Not at all, although you must introduce me, for I know only the Duke in the party.’

  The picnickers had apparently arrived in several open carriages, which were drawn up some little distance away. As Antonia turned the bay’s head towards the group, a groom hurried down to take its head.

  The picnic party had thrown all formality to the wind in the heat of the day. The gentlemen had taken off their coats and loosened their neck cloths and the ladies were reclining languidly against heaps of cushions on the ground. Only the children were unaffected and were playing hide and seek in the bushes, sunhats bouncing on the ends of their ribbons despite pleas from their mother to cover their heads.

  Marcus, who had been lying stretched out at his sister’s feet, a book open in one hand, his chin propped on the other, dropped the volume and got to his feet.

  Antonia swallowed hard and fought for composure as he strolled towards them. They had last met, and parted, in anger, but her feelings for him still burned as strong as ever. Marcus’s eyes were fixed on her face and she lowered her chin so that the brim of her hat shadowed her expression.

  The glimpse of bare skin where his shirt fell open, the play of muscles as he walked, the sun glancing off that tawny head, all conspired to rob her of her breath, of her senses. She remembered that last puzzling kiss and yearned for the feel of his lips again.

  This is madness. She had made her decision, rejected him. Where was her pride that she could long for him like this, knowing what his relationship was with Claudia Reed? Antonia made no effort to free herself from Jeremy’s light grasp on her elbow. Let Marcus think what he might.

  Her chin came up and she faced him out. ‘Your Grace, Good afternoon. What a very pleasant spot for a picnic. You know Mr Blake, of course? He is teaching me to drive. Is that not kind of him?’

  Antonia did not wait for a reply but sailed past Marcus, leading Jeremy to where Lady Anne was sitting up and straightening her hat. ‘Lady Anne, may I make Mr Blake known to you? Mr Blake is the nephew of Lady Finch, our new neighbour.’

  ‘Miss Dane, what a pleasure to see you again. Good afternoon, Mr Blake. Do please excuse our informality. Will you not sit down and have some lemonade? I will introduce you.’

  Mr Leigh helpfully piled up some cushions for the newcomers while Miss Fitch poured lemonade and the rest of the party was introduced to Jeremy. Antonia saw his eyes widen as Claudia languidly raised herself from a nest of pillows, revealing an outrageously flattering gown and an equally outrageously large straw hat. Antonia immediately felt dowdy – and furious with herself for caring.

  ‘Mr Blake, how do you do?’ Claudia’s assessment of this male arrival was quite open.

  He bowed formally, but to Antonia’s delight made no move to approach Lady Reed, seating himself beside Antonia and Lady Anne.

  Marcus sat down again, not beside Antonia, but next to Jeremy, whom he began to engage in conversation. ‘Neat little bay, that, not too long in the back,’ he observed pleasantly.

  ‘A little long in the tooth now, Your Grace, but it is a nicely bred animal and ideal for a lady learning to drive.’ Jeremy was polite but guarded.

  ‘Ah, so it is yours, then? I wondered if Miss Dane had made a fortunate purchase.’

  ‘Yes, it is mine, but Miss Dane is kindly stabling it for me.’ Jeremy began to relate the tale of discovering the gig and engaging Fletcher the groom for the ladies and they fell to a general discussion of horseflesh, the other men rousing themselves to participate. Lord Meredith, Mr Leigh and Sir John all had tales of difficult beasts and astute purchases to exchange and the ladies were clearly quite forgotten.

  Lady Anne leaned over and touched Antonia lightly on the arm. ‘Well, we have lost their attention for a while, it seems. Once men start talking of horses I declare it would take an earthquake – or their dinner – to divert them.’

  Antonia glanced around. The men were oblivious, Miss Fitch had taken up Marcus’s book and was engrossed and Claudia Reed appeared to have fallen into a light doze against an abundance of cushions. Although how she managed to sleep with her mouth set in such a pretty pout was beyond her comprehension.

  Her hostess followed the direction of her gaze. ‘It is remarkable how that woman manages to cast her lures at every man. she meets,’ Anne whispered.

  ‘And sometimes makes a catch,’ Antonia murmured in return.

  Antonia wondered what had promoted the small smile that suddenly curved Lady Anne’s lips, but her thoughts were interrupted by the children tumbling onto the rug beside them, hot and thirsty.

  Mr Blake, obviously unused to boisterous children, shied away and broke off from a discussion of Tattersall’s prices to suggest that it was time they returned to Rye End Hall.

  Some devil made Antonia respond very promptly to Jeremy with immediate agreement and a sweet smile. She saw Marcus raise an eyebrow, but he did nothing more than get to his feet politely as they left.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jeremy was assiduous in his daily lessons and by the end of the week Antonia was confidently taking gateways at the trot and even able to back the gig for a short distance. Their drives had to be taken earlier and earlier during the day as June moved into July and the heat became oppressive by noon.

  Antonia slept fitfully, her dreams full of Marcus, but by day she managed to push him to the back of her mind, enjoying Jeremy’s undemanding company. She was certain now that he had no romantic intentions, although it was obvious that he admired her still and enjoyed her company in
tum.

  It was true that he was remarkably attentive and that Donna had an irritating habit of smiling indulgently every time he was mentioned. Antonia had a sneaking suspicion that his aunt and Donna were potting a romance between them, but really, she assured herself, it was sheer fantasy.

  She repeated the assurance to herself the next morning after they had spent the morning bowling along the dusty country roads in perfect harmony, happy in each other’s company.

  Antonia, too honest to mistake liking for love, or to snatch at romance on the rebound, was content to enjoy Jeremy’s companionship. The attraction to her that she had sensed in him on their first meeting had tempered to liking and mutual respect and if she could not – would not – have Marcus, then she would settle her mind to being an old maid... but one with many good friends.

  By one o’clock the next morning, with the moonlight flooding across the bedchamber floor as bright as day, Antonia’s resolution to be a happy old maid had quite deserted her.

  Marcus had filled her dreams and now, fully awake, she could not shake his image from her mind. She was also very hot, the low-ceilinged room felt oppressive and suddenly she had to be out in the fresh air.

  She pulled on a light muslin gown and kid slippers and slipped quietly out of the house, across the lane and into the pleasure grounds of Rye End Hall. But even here the air felt sultry and still.

  Only down by the river did there seem to be a faint breeze stirring the willows. Antonia walked slowly along the river path, yawning and wishing she could sleep.

  The moonlight silvered the willow fronds as they flickered in the moving air and she was suddenly transfixed by the bubbling beauty of the nightingale’s song. It was an exquisitely lovely noise, yet melancholy, and did nothing to soothe her heartache. What was she about, wandering around at this time of night?

  Ahead, beyond the curve of the river, she heard a splash. It was probably fish leaping for the flies that danced over the surface of the water, she reassured herself.

  All she was achieving was to deepen her gloom, she thought. But just around the bend there was a shelving beach of gravel and a wide pool of water. She could take off her slippers and paddle a little. It would be so cooling.

  Silent as a moth, so as not to frighten the nightingale, she went down to the water’s edge, took off her shoes and stepped into the rippling water. Oh, it was so good! Even the soft mud oozing between her toes was cooling. The moon went behind a cloud momentarily, and as it did so she heard another splash, then another.

  Intrigued, Antonia peered across the pool as a dark, sleek, object appeared around the bend. An otter? How wonderful to see one, she thought, standing very still. Then the moon was unveiled again, the pool suddenly flooded with light, and she saw it was no wild creature, but a human swimmer, lazily drifting on his back with the current.

  There she was, at this hour, bare-footed – bare-legged – and about to come face to face with one of her tenants, no doubt as overheated as she was and taking an illicit dip in the private stretch of river. And then she realised that at any moment she might be confronted by a scantily-clad, even naked, man.

  She turned to run, but at the same moment the swimmer twisted in the water and stood up. Antonia gasped in recognition, the sound loud in the still, sultry air. This was no tenant, this was Marcus, water cascading from his sleek dark hair and off the naked planes of his body.

  After one startled, horrified – fascinated – glance Antonia looked away but moving, saying anything, even running away, were quite beyond her.

  She was aware of him wading ashore and moving about on the bank, but then to her dismay she heard him splashing through the shallows behind her.

  ‘Antonia?’ He was close enough to send ripples lapping against her calves, drenching the hem of her muslin skirts. His breath was warm on her neck and even though he said no more, that one word was full of amusement and an emotion she could not identify. Mockery probably, she thought bitterly.

  She spun round, stumbling in the mud, uncaring about Marcus’s state of undress, and found herself confronting him. He had pulled on his breeches and shirt, but the fine white lawn was unfastened and clung to his damp body and his wet hair was slicked back from his forehead.

  ‘Go away,’ she said, furious. ‘This is not… not seemly.’

  ‘Indeed it is not.’ Oh yes, he was amused. ‘Really, Antonia, you shock me. Do you make a habit of haunting the local bathing pools at night? I was most embarrassed.’

  ‘You? Embarrassed? How dare you imply that I was spying on you.’ He was so close that she could see the glitter in his dark eyes, part mockery, part something far more disturbing. His mouth was curved with amusement and a deep sensuality.

  ‘Were you not? I’m crushed. Then what were you about out here at this time of night?’ He was closer now, his voice husky.

  ‘I was too hot, I went for a walk.’

  He was overwhelmingly close, his half-clad body somehow disturbingly different, his eyes now openly travelling from her face to where her feet glinted white through the water. Antonia raised both hands in a futile gesture of denial and found her wrists caught in his grip.

  Marcus pulled her gently towards him and she went, oblivious to the water splashing to her knees, oblivious to everything in her desperate craving for the touch of his lips. His mouth was burning on hers, his hands cold on her shoulders and the bare skin of his chest wet against the sensitive curves of her breast through the thin muslin bodice.

  His mouth opened on hers, his tongue invading, inciting, tormenting her until she responded, tentatively at first, then with growing abandon, the shock of the intimate intrusion rousing feelings of desire she was not aware she was capable of.

  Marcus’s strong arms enfolded her, then he picked her up effortlessly without breaking the kiss. Antonia clung to him, unconcerned that he would drop her, only anxious that he never stop kissing her, possessing her like this…

  Marcus strode up the beach and laid her gently down on the grass slope of the bank. ‘Antonia, darling,’ he murmured huskily, his hands brushing the soft skin at the edge of the bodice, before reaching up to shrug off the clinging fabric of his shirt. ‘We have been making such a mull of this.’

  Antonia, looked up into his intent face as he bent over her, lifted one hand and traced her fingers over the cool skin of his chest, gasped as his nipple hardened under her fingertip.

  Marcus moaned, deep in his throat and stooped to press his mouth to hers again, the weight of him thrilling over her.

  The nightingale whistled a few bars, almost beside them, then Antonia realised it was not the bird, but a human, imitating the song. She gasped and pushed against Marcus’s chest, but he responded only by tangling his fingers in her tousled hair.

  Then the silence was broken by the sharp crack of a twig on the path and Marcus sat up, his eyes narrowed as he searched the shadows. He stood, pulling her to her feet with him then pushed her behind him as he called sharply, ‘Who is there?’

  Antonia cast around wildly for a bush to hide behind, found none and prayed that the newcomer would take alarm at the challenge and turn tail. She pulled the edges of her bodice up, pushed the hair from her face and tried to steady her breathing.

  ‘l am Jeremy Blake of Rye End Hall. And who the devil might you be, sir, on my uncle’s lands?’ Jeremy stepped out of the shadows cast by a willow onto the cropped grass of the little bay. ‘Allington? Damn it, you gave me a start. I thought you were a poacher after my uncle’s trout.’

  ‘Blake. Sorry to alarm you. I came down for a swim, it is so infernally hot. I had not looked to see anyone else about at this hour. Are you also intending to swim? It is a good safe bottom here, if you are.’

  Antonia, her heart in her mouth, admired his sang-froid and the way in which he resisted any temptation to glance behind him to where she stood.

  ‘No, I woke and heard the nightingale, so I decided to stroll along the river bank to find out if any more were about. I�
�ve had a keen interest in matters ornithological, truth be told.’ He shifted, apparently rather embarrassed by his confession. ‘I realise many people think that rather odd and that I should be more concerned with shooting wildlife than watching it, but – ’

  His movement must have changed his view because Antonia saw him stiffen. He had seen her. ‘You should have said I was intruding.’ Now he sounded both embarrassed and judgmental. ‘I will bid you good night.’

  Antonia saw him turn to go and stepped forward to Marcus’s side. She needed something, someone, to hold on to because her knees had positively turned to jelly. Just as she stepped into the moonlight Jeremy turned again. ‘You may rely on my discretion, Your Grace – Good God. Antonia?’ Jeremy said it again on a note of rising disbelief and Antonia saw herself through his eyes; hair tousled, gown damp about her ankles, her bodice awry. She felt ready to sink through the ground with sheer mortification.

  ‘Jeremy,’ she began, desperate to explain to her friend how she came to be there, that it was not what he thought.

  He immediately bristled and she saw his fists clench at his sides. Oh, Lord. I sounded desperate, he must think I need rescuing. He will be calling Marcus out in a moment…

  Instead he took a step forward, held out a hand to her and growled, ‘Sir, I demand to know what you are doing here with my fiancée.’

  ‘Your fiancée?’ Marcus swung round towards Antonia. ‘So that was what you were doing here and why Blake was so reticent in his explanations. A tryst in the moonlight, of all the ridiculously romantic nonsense. And it appears there are no lengths you would not go to in order hide the fact from me, Antonia. You were most convincing just now in my arms, but no doubt in a few moments you would have discovered a headache and run away home. A pity your lover is less inventive.’

  ‘Marcus, he is not my lover. Jeremy, for goodness sake, tell him the truth.’ They both stood there, glaring at each other, two enraged males an inch from outright violence. ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake! I could push you both in the river to cool off.’