Least Likely to Marry a Duke Page 18

  No sooner had she sat down than she realised from the fragrant drifting smoke that two men on the far side of the tree were taking advantage of the garden to smoke cheroots. She stood and began to tiptoe away when one spoke. Thomas.

  ‘It’s a triumph, old chap. She’s as sheltered as a nun and besotted with me. With the Bishop as a father-in-law I’ll be set for life—a rich, fashionable, parish and then, who knows where I’ll finish up. And she’s not bad-looking. With a bit of practice she’ll be quite good in bed, too. But if not, well... What matter, eh?’

  What Verity should have done, of course—being a well brought-up young lady—was to take herself off, nurse her broken heart in silence and send the swine a note next morning informing him in dignified terms that she had no desire to see him ever again.

  What she did—and it still gave her a warm glow of satisfaction to recall it—was duck under the overhanging branches, march up to the pair of them and push her startled lover into the water.

  As he had flailed around in an attempt to sit up in the muddy shallows she had turned to his companion. ‘Do drag him out, sir. If he drowns it will pollute the river. And perhaps you would pass on a message,’ she had added as the young man gawped at her. ‘Tell him that I am no nun and not besotted. I am vengeful. Mr Harrington may whistle for his advancement.’

  Two days later she had received a note.

  If you try to ruin me, think what tales I can tell of you and the pretty little birthmark on your right thigh. T.H.

  It was stalemate and then she’d had a fortnight of deepening anxiety because her courses were late. They’d come at last and with them the realisation of what a narrow escape she’d had. The only small mercy was that Thomas Harrington had found himself a position as tutor to the son of an earl in the north of England and vanished from the district. Her father had appointed Mr Hoskins as his Chaplain and secretary and rarely mentioned his occasional assistant Thomas again.

  It had been a painful lesson. The heart could not be trusted and, it seemed, neither could the head, because Papa had sensed nothing wrong with the ambitious young curate. She could have been tied for life to a lying, unscrupulous, unkind man who regarded his faith and his calling as merely the means to influence and wealth and she could have done nothing about it.

  ‘Breathe in, please, Miss Wingate. Oh, excellent, such a deep breath... Now, let me just tie the ribbons and we will see. Is that comfortable?’

  ‘If comfortable implies being able to breath or move, I am afraid not,’ Verity said, too immersed in her black thoughts to be tactful. ‘Oh, yes, that is much better.’

  But nothing would make the fact of Thomas Harrington’s presence in London any better. All she could do was hope and pray that he was too busy on church business, or in his clubs, to be found anywhere she might encounter him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Whatever is the matter, dear?’ Aunt Caroline gave her a very beady stare across the breakfast table next morning. ‘You will get lines if you frown like that.’

  ‘Nothing, Aunt. Just a momentary thought about something of no importance.’

  Actually it had been a prolonged thought about something of pressing importance. What was she going to do about Will? Try to avoid being alone with him. And what to do about Thomas Harrington. Avoid him at all costs. And there was a third man to think about now.

  ‘I did tell you last night that Lord Sedgley is taking me driving this afternoon?’

  If Will had not arrived so unexpectedly at the musical reception then she would not have been provoked into flirting outrageously with Lord Sedgley—Verity stopped fretting and examined her conscience for a moment. Well, not exactly provoked, she had to admit. Will had stood there, looking self-assured and ridiculously handsome, just as usual. It was enough to drive any woman to commit an indiscretion. And he had not seemed at all put out by it, which was inexplicably provoking of him.

  She had known about Sedgley’s greys because Roderick had rhapsodised about them in one of his letters and anyone would want the opportunity to ride behind those. But, despite offering what any red-blooded duke would surely consider provocation, the infuriating man had merely bowed and taken himself off in a dignified manner.

  Not that she wanted him to be provoked. Merely to have his perfectly straight nose put a trifle out of joint, display an emotion.

  ‘Yes, you did tell me. I suppose it is all right, provided you do not leave the park and he has his groom up behind at all times. Although he does have a slightly warm reputation.’

  ‘I will be careful,’ Verity promised.

  ‘Oh, well, in that case there is no problem. Hyde Park is always so full of people—make sure he goes there, not Green Park or St James’s Park. And we are dining with Aylsham tonight. Fairlie, you haven’t forgotten, have you?’ she demanded of her husband, who was silently demolishing ham and eggs at the head of the table.

  ‘Forgotten? This evening? No, of course not,’ he said with all the emphasis of a man who had done just that. ‘Aylsham, you said? Should be an excellent dinner, always keeps a good table, does the Duke.’

  ‘That was his grandfather,’ Aunt Caroline said with a roll of her eyes towards Verity, who suppressed a smile.

  * * *

  ‘I don’t suppose you would consider selling, would you?’ Will asked Malcolm Shipley as they drew rein after a long gallop across the further reaches of Hyde Park and turned to canter back to the small group of other riders waiting for them near the head of the Serpentine.

  ‘I would be mad to,’ his friend said frankly. ‘That’s the best young horse I’ve had my hands on in years and I got him for a song. I’m holding on to Galaxy no matter what I’m offered.’

  ‘I appreciate the loan,’ Will said. As he had hoped, Shipley had not been able to resist showing off his latest acquisition and had been meeting friends to ride out in any case. They would provide excellent cover from which to observe Sedgley and ensure that Verity came to no harm without Will making his interest too obvious.

  ‘That’s him now. You can’t mistake those greys.’ Shipley pointed towards one of the rides leading to a stand of mature trees and shrubs. Will had confided that he wanted to keep an eye on the daughter of his neighbour, the retired Bishop, and his friend had immediately grasped the necessity. ‘Perfectly good fellow in all kinds of ways, Sedgley, great sportsman, but I wouldn’t want him squiring my sister about.’

  ‘There’s no groom up behind,’ Will said.

  Damn it, what was Verity thinking of, to agree to get into the vehicle with no groom?

  ‘Dashed bad form.’ Shipley gestured to his two friends who had ridden out with them. ‘Shall we go that way? Not too crowded with confounded matrons in barouches.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Captain Wainfleet called back and the group cantered towards the distant copse on a course converging with the phaeton, its high perch swaying over the big wheels, the four greys stepping out strongly in the traces. Two more riders were trotting along the track in the opposite direction, but otherwise they had the area to themselves.

  Sedgley must think he would have no trouble snatching a kiss or two once the riders had passed, Will thought grimly. The knack would be falling in with the phaeton accidentally and then demonstrating a complete lack of tact by failing to leave Sedgley alone with his fair passenger.

  * * *

  At least I had the sense to wear a good stout hatpin in my bonnet, Verity thought.

  She admitted to herself that she had underestimated Lord Sedgley, who was showing excellent tactics in keeping up a flow of lively chatter while sweeping her off to the most deserted area of the park with, she was sure, decidedly dubious motives. The fact that he had sent his groom off on some errand the moment they had entered Hyde Park had been indication enough of his motives. It was reassuring to think that a hatpin in the thigh and an elbow in the ribs would put paid to any nonsens
e. She had her guinea purse in her reticule—the application of that to the falls of his natty buckskin breeches might also be called for.

  ‘There is the most charming prospect over Kensington Palace Gardens from just the other side of that copse,’ the Viscount said with a casual air that did not deceive Verity for a moment. Although the park was as busy as her aunt had expected, the far side of the trees would shield the phaeton from the main area and from the two groups of riders who were converging on them.

  She put up a hand to her bonnet as though to check it was secure, slid out the pin and held it concealed in the folds of her skirt.

  They passed into the shadows. ‘Alone at last,’ Sedgley remarked, with what she could not help but feel was a shocking lack of originality as he reined in the greys and tied the reins to the whip handle. Well trained, the horses stood quite still.

  It was all very well to be prepared and armed with a sharp hatpin, Verity discovered, but the way the trees shut off the rest of the park was more comprehensive than she had imagined. There might not have been another person for miles around.

  ‘I cannot see a view of the Gardens. We should drive on.’

  ‘I must have mistaken this for a different clump of trees,’ Sedgley said. ‘But never mind. This gives us a charming opportunity to get to know each other better, don’t you think?’

  His arm went around her waist before she could reply and his lips met her cheek. Head turned away, Verity whipped out the hatpin and stabbed blindly at the thigh now pressed against hers on the narrow seat. Sedgley swore and jerked away and must, she realised, have knocked against the whip in its holder, pulling the reins.

  The team of greys snorted and backed, the phaeton, swaying on its high springs, lurched and Verity, off balance as she recoiled from the Viscount, went over the low side rail.

  * * *

  Nothing actually hurt too much, which was a relief, although she had no desire to get up, or open her eyes, especially as a pair of strong arms was holding her against what felt like an impressively solid chest and a male voice was murmuring reassurances into her hair.

  Will. He does care... How...how wonderful.

  Wonderful? Verity dragged herself out of an increasingly warm, fuzzy daydream and back to reality. Whoever was holding her did not smell like Will, did not sound like Will and what on earth was she doing wanting it to be Will?

  She opened her eyes, blinked. ‘Thomas Harrington?’

  ‘Kindly lay the lady down, sir.’

  Now, that is Will.

  ‘I am a friend of the family and will take care of her.’

  ‘I am also well acquainted with Miss Wingate,’ Thomas began as Verity sat up abruptly. ‘And as a man of the cloth—’

  ‘It has been a long time, Mr Harrington,’ she said as coolly as she could manage with her hair coming down, her skirts twisted around her knees and a growing sense of panic choking the words. Then a groan made her look beyond Thomas’s shoulder to where Lord Sedgley was hauling himself to his feet by means of a carriage wheel. ‘What happened to the Viscount?’

  ‘I hit him,’ Will said.

  ‘Good.’ She pulled her skirts down to cover her legs. ‘Thank you.’

  Will came down on one knee beside her on the other side to Thomas, whom he ignored. ‘Are you much hurt, Miss Wingate?’

  ‘A little bruised. Luckily I did not land on the trackway, but on the turf.’ The trees and the grass and the sky were still not quite steady or in their right place and she rubbed at her eyes. ‘I did not faint. I think I must have been disorientated by the fall.’

  ‘Rest a little, Verity—Miss Wingate,’ Thomas said. ‘Then when you feel strong enough I will take you up before me on my horse.’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Verity said, her words colliding with Will’s.

  ‘You will do no such thing, sir.’

  ‘I am Thomas Harrington, a minister in holy orders,’ Thomas said, getting to his feet.

  Will merely rocked back on his heels and looked up dismissively. Despite herself, Verity could not help being impressed both by the sheer arrogance with which he ignored the implicit threat of the large, fit man towering over him and the lightly reined strength and anger she could feel emanating from him.

  ‘I do not care if you are the Archbishop of Canterbury, sir.’ If he had held up a placard over her head reading, Mine, Verity thought he could have hardly made his attitude clearer.

  ‘I fear you have the advantage of me, sir.’ There was a hint of doubt in Harrington’s voice now and something else, an interest that made Verity look from him to Will with a sinking sense of dread.

  Don’t tell him who you are. She almost said it aloud.

  Will stood. ‘I am Aylsham.’

  ‘The Duke?’

  ‘I am not aware of another.’

  She could not decide whether Will wanted to provoke a fight or simply cow the other man, but whichever it was, he was reinforcing the idea in Harrington’s nimble mind that she mattered to the Duke and that gave him an advantage in a game that he clearly expected to play according to his rules.

  ‘My apologies, Your Grace. I did not recognise you.’

  Will shrugged. ‘Why should you? I doubt we move in the same circles.’

  It was clearly a rhetorical question and Harrington’s jaw clenched before he managed to accept the snub with a smile. ‘Miss Wingate, if an old friend can be of no further assistance I will leave you in the capable hands of the Duke. I will call at the earliest opportunity, as I am sure you would expect. Good day.’

  His companion, who had been sitting astride his horse, the reins of Harrington’s mount in one hand, raised his hat and the two turned and rode away.

  As I am sure you would expect.

  That had been a threat. Thomas would call and make clear his demands for keeping quiet about their past. He thought she had, by some miracle, hooked a duke and would be entirely at his mercy. If he revealed that he had taken her virginity, then he could expect Will to break off the connection instantly.

  But what could he hope to gain? Verity wondered as Will bent and drew her to her feet. She had little money of her own, her father no longer had influence over appointments and advancement. Was it simply revenge for the loss of his dignity?

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to Will, who took her elbow, walked her slowly to a bench under a tree, gave her a look which promised a lengthy discussion to come and turned on his heel to stalk across to the phaeton.

  One of his companions hauled the Viscount upright to face Will. There was an exchange of words that she could not hear, then both men walked towards her. Sedgley stopped a few feet away. ‘Miss Wingate. I trust you are not hurt. I must apologise for the actions of mine which led to the accident.’

  Verity inclined her head. It made her jarred neck ache, but that was worth enduring for the appearance of dignity. ‘I accept your apology, my lord. And I apologise for stabbing you in the thigh with my hatpin, causing you to lose control of your team.’

  Everyone looked with interest at the Viscount’s tight buff pantaloons, now much begrimed, then back at Verity.

  ‘I do not suppose anyone has seen my hatpin?’ Verity asked sweetly.

  ‘I am certain Lord Sedgley will replace it,’ Will said. ‘Just as I am certain that he will find himself refreshed by walking home after he has kindly loaned me his vehicle to convey you, Miss Wingate. You will not mind leading my mount, Shipley?’

  Will waited until he had assured himself that the four greys were uninjured and calm enough to carry on, had her seated comfortably beside him and the others had ridden off, before he spoke. ‘Whatever possessed you?’

  How does he know?

  ‘He seemed perfectly respectable. Papa thought highly of his intellect—’

  ‘The Bishop knows Sedgley?’

  ‘Oh. No. I mistook your meaning. No,
Papa does not know the Viscount. Driving with him was an error of judgement on my part. I had heard about his famous greys and I thought I could manage him. And the hatpin worked exceedingly well.’

  ‘So well that you almost broke your neck,’ Will said. The team, that had been walking sedately, tossed their heads. ‘You had set out to flirt, set out to make me jealous.’

  ‘I had no idea you would be at the musicale. I was merely enjoying myself.’ She was sounding defensive now. Verity swallowed the urge to excuse herself and went on the attack. ‘And you have no cause to be jealous of me. You have absolutely no claim on me.’ One sideways glance at his profile made her add, disastrously, ‘It is just your pride and possessiveness, your feelings are not engaged in the slightest.’

  The team came to a plunging halt, dust and gravel spurting around their hooves. Will brought them under control one-handed. ‘You have no idea of my feelings,’ he said, his gaze still fixed over the heads of the leaders. ‘None at all.’

  ‘I see what you allow me to see.’ She was not going to let him put her in the wrong over this. ‘What you allow the world to see. Even when you were speaking of marrying me it was clear you would reveal nothing of yourself, that you want your wife to see no more than the mask you wear for the world.’

  They were still in the shadow of the grove, the only signs of life nearby the diminishing figures of Will’s companions cantering away and the trudging figure of Lord Sedgley making for the Uxbridge Road gate. Will jumped down from the high perch, led the horses into the trees and tethered the leaders to a low oak bough.

  ‘Come down.’ He held up his hands to her.

  ‘Why?’ If Will was going to shout at her, or lecture her, he could do it while he was driving and could not focus all his attention on her.