Least Likely to Marry a Duke Page 8

  Will cleared his throat. ‘The River Stane runs through the valley and apparently there was originally a series of large ponds with boggy areas between. A dam was built in 1760, where the valley narrows between two outcrops, and they allowed the valley to flood. The island is out of sight around that headland and I have not had time to go and look at it from the shore, and certainly not from a boat,’ he added grimly. Then, as though he could not manage to maintain the stilted tone he added, ‘I shudder to think what Basil considers is safe, the wretched thing is probably full of rot.’ It seemed they were going to pretend that nothing had happened.

  With a turn of the path they could see the boathouse, a charming wooden structure clearly designed to be an eye-catcher in the landscape. The door, when Will tried it, was held closed with a length of string and the lock no longer worked.

  ‘They did say they had hardly broken the lock,’ Verity murmured, surreptitiously kicking a few splinters of wood away into the nettles.

  Will narrowed his eyes at her. ‘I suppose you find the brats amusing,’ he said as he swung the door open. ‘Stay here, the floor may be rotten.’

  ‘I find your brothers and sisters charming and intelligent,’ Verity retorted, following close behind and ignoring the muffled snort from Will. ‘And admirably unstuffy.’

  ‘I suppose I may know how to take that,’ he observed as they looked around the shadowy interior.

  ‘I am certain you may.’ She counted to ten, then forced herself to say, ‘I mean that they are a breath of fresh air.’ Go on, offer an olive branch. ‘I apologise if you took it any other way.’

  ‘Indeed? That is very gracious of you under the circumstances.’

  ‘I want to get to that island,’ Verity retorted, good intentions evaporating. ‘And if we are to spend the afternoon in the boathouse quarrelling, I doubt I will achieve that.’

  ‘If we are to reach the island, this appears to be the only available boat,’ Will said, ignoring the latter part of her remark. He studied the large rowing boat bobbing at the end of its mooring line. ‘It looks dry enough. I will take it out into the open so I can check it over more closely. Perhaps you could join me outside?’

  I think I have just been reprimanded for unladylike behaviour again, Verity thought as she let herself out into the sunshine again. If I push him into the lake I wonder if I will be able to row...

  It was a very tempting fantasy.

  There was the sound of faint splashing and the boat appeared from the end of the boathouse, Will rowing with what, to her ignorant gaze, seemed considerable skill. He had not, of course, removed either coat or hat.

  ‘It appears to be perfectly sound. Are you able to step in from that flat rock to your right, Miss Wingate?’

  Verity balanced, teetered, told herself not to be feeble about being trapped in a small vessel with a man who had made it very clear that he despised her and managed to step into the boat without wetting either her feet or her hem. She sat down as quickly as possible and gathered her skirts around her legs. ‘There is nothing to steer with.’

  ‘I do that with the oars,’ he said, digging them in for the first stoke.

  ‘Backwards?’

  ‘Yes. You direct me and I look over my shoulder from time to time.’

  ‘Oh. I see. Do you not feel you would be able to row more comfortably if you were to remove your hat and coat? Oh, really, do not poker up at me like that. We have established that I am unfit to call myself a gentlewoman and, I assure you, I have seen a gentleman in shirtsleeves before without fainting.’

  Will gave her the look that she was beginning to realise meant that he could think of nothing polite to say, but he laid his hat on the bottom of the boat behind him. ‘I really do not think—’

  Verity held out her hand. ‘You are not required to. I will fold your coat carefully over my knees so it does not get creased or splashed.’

  Oh, dear, now I’ve mentioned knees. How shocking of me.

  She produced a smirk that she hoped conveyed sarcasm and gazed innocently back into suspicious blue eyes.

  There was a momentary tussle of wills, then the ducal raiment was removed, not without difficulty. The boat rocked alarmingly. Verity took the coat, folded it meticulously and waited until Will had begun rowing again before she looked up.

  Well. Goodness. If she had admired his figure when he was fully dressed, then the sight of the thin linen shirt blown back against working muscles was enough to make her mouth go dry.

  Flustered, she looked down at the coat, fussed over its arrangement and, as Will took a slightly different angle across the water and the breeze caught them, inhaled a heady mixture of fine woollen cloth warm from his body and a spicy cologne. The boat rocked and she held the sides with a gasp of alarm.

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Wingate?’

  No! ‘Yes, perfectly, thank you. I am becoming used to the motion of the boat, that is all. I have no experience of being on water.’

  ‘You are nervous? There is no need to be.’

  ‘Not at all. Although I cannot swim.’ And now they seemed a very long way out and there was a current against which Will had to row hard—the dammed river, she supposed. If anyone fell in here it would be a long way to shore for a swimmer—and probably a long way down for someone who was not.

  ‘There will be no need to worry about that.’ Her admission seemed to have cheered him up. Presumably he disapproved of females swimming. ‘I have no intention of capsizing this boat and, even if I did, I can swim and would rescue you.’

  Probably he swims as well as he rows, Verity thought.

  And now she had to contend with her imagination conjuring up visions of the naked wet Duke.

  Chapter Seven

  Verity made herself focus on why she was here, sitting on a hard, narrow wooden bench in the middle of a cold, deep lake with a man who disapproved of her so completely. The naked, wet, disagreeable Duke, she reminded herself, hoping that the colour she could feel in her cheeks looked like the effects of the breeze and not wicked thoughts. ‘I can see the island.’ She pointed over Will’s shoulder and he glanced behind to check his course.

  ‘It does not look as though it could be artificial,’ she said, squinting against the sunlight reflected off the little wavelets. ‘It is a long way out and the water must be far too deep there.’

  ‘Can you see a burial mound?’

  Verity shook her head, craning to look past his broad shoulders at the land looming closer. ‘No. But there are trees and bushes covering all that I can see, so there may be something hidden there.’

  ‘It must have been a small hill before the river was dammed. Perhaps a watchtower was built there and the children mistook its ruins,’ Will offered with scrupulous politeness, as though to counter any disappointment.

  The ideal host, she thought, refusing to be charmed. Her friends would be agog to hear that what had passed between her and the Duke of Aylsham. They were meeting this afternoon in the tower room as usual, quite at home there, following their interests freely, companionably silent or engaged in spirited discussion, as the mood took them. Prue might even have recovered enough to agree to disrobe so Jane could finish her picture. All of them, presumably, behaving in a way unfitting to a gentlewoman, unfitting for a gentleman’s wife.

  They had been delighted to hear about the invitation to visit Stane Hall, convinced that the news of such sociability would make their parents even more determined to pursue the Duke instead of seeking out other, unwelcome suitors for them.

  ‘What are you thinking about to put that smile on your lips, Miss Wingate? If it is something you are prepared to share, that is.’

  ‘I was thinking about my friends, about their companionship and their talents.’

  Wishing we could inhabit that tower together, doing what we choose with our lives...

  ‘You find that th
ere is society enough in the area to supply you with many congenial friends, Miss Wingate?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. Of course, plain Miss Wingate need not be as choosy as a duke about the company she keeps. The respectable and the worthy are in ample supply in the district, I can assure you.’

  ‘You think me guilty of snobbery?’ One oar dipped, caught and splashed his sleeve with water. The fine linen, wet, became transparent, moulding the lines of his forearm in graphic detail.

  ‘Not at all, you simply know your own worth, Your Grace, as I am sure all dukes do.’

  ‘You do not like me, Miss Wingate.’ This time the oars cut cleanly through the surface.

  ‘I am aware that you do not approve of me, Your Grace. You have made that perfectly plain. If it comes to it, I do not approve of you—I prefer gentlemen to have more flexibility, more tolerance. But beyond that it would be foolish of me to go, considering that I am in a perilous situation and entirely at your mercy.’

  He smiled tightly, almost surprising her into smiling back. ‘You will not trick me into repeating my hasty and intemperate words.’

  Nor will you withdraw them, she thought. Or apologise.

  ‘I greatly admire the manner in which you support your father—your care and tact. I would have to be blind not to admire your looks and foolish to neglect your intelligence and spirit. I cannot approve of unconventional females—I am sure you can comprehend why—and I will do all in my power to ensure that my sisters are raised according to the strictest principles of behaviour for young ladies. However, I can assure you I will not drop you into the lake in consequence of that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ It was difficult to find anything to say in answer to that comprehensive, cool, unyielding assessment.

  Damned with faint praise, indeed.

  ‘And my siblings all like you, which has to count in your favour, I believe.’

  Goodness, he is going to become positively pleasant in a minute.

  ‘I like them, too. They are charming. Oh, look, we are almost there.’

  Will looked back over this shoulder, changed direction sharply before they ran into a bank of rushes and paddled slowly around the island. ‘That looks like a beach we could land on.’

  The keel of the little boat ground into the gentle slope of the pebbled shore and he put the oars in, vaulted over the prow on to the tiny crescent of land and dragged it a little further up. ‘Give me your hand and you can jump down without getting your feet wet.’

  Verity stood up uncertainly, told herself not to dither—it did not matter if she looked less than elegant and she could hardly sink in six inches of water even if she did slip—and managed to transfer from boat to pebbles with what she thought was admirable grace. Will’s firm grip certainly helped. She freed her hand the moment she was safe on shore. He was very easy to hold on to and she had to keep reminding herself that this was the man who so much disapproved of her that he would forget his perfect manners to tell her so.

  ‘It looks very overgrown,’ she said dubiously, looking round them as he tied the boat to a sapling with a rope that had been coiled in the bows. It was clearly a natural island, with rock showing through the grass here and there. The trees were tall, the undergrowth thick. She pointed. ‘There is a path of sorts.’

  ‘Made by my brothers and sisters, no doubt. There will not be any wildlife here with such large feet.’ He looked around. ‘Would you care to sit on that bank there and I will investigate? With this growth of bushes you might harm your shoes or gown.’

  ‘And let you have all the fun of exploration? Certainly not. I shall follow in your steps.’

  To her surprise Will did not order her to remain where she was—not that she would have obeyed him if he had. Perhaps he assumed that after a few minutes she would give up and return to the beach. It was hot work. There were midges, brambles and, for such an apparently tiny island, it was impossible to see more than a few yards in any direction.

  After about ten minutes Verity sat down with a thump on a boulder on the opposite shore to the one on which they had landed. ‘If there is a burial mound on this island then the only place it can be is over there.’ She pointed to a cluster of small trees. ‘We have looked everywhere else. I am beginning to wonder what on earth the children saw that made them think there was anything man-made here at all.’

  ‘And I am wondering exactly what retribution is due if this proves to be a practical joke,’ Will said grimly, waving away midges from in front of his nose. He had neglected to put back either hat or coat, his shirtsleeves had snagged on brambles and there was a trace of sunburn on the bridge of his nose. ‘Let us see what is over there and then...’

  ‘A hut.’ Verity peered through the branches. ‘How very charming—it is just like a fairy house in an old tale, or a hermit’s cell.’

  ‘This is not a fairy tale, nor a Gothic romance, come to that,’ Will said repressively. Verity pulled a face at his back. ‘It might have been a summer house at one time, I suppose. Not a very interesting design, but it looks quite well built and seems to be in reasonable repair.’ They walked up to the front door of the little cottage. ‘It can only have one room, but there is a chimney.’ Will pointed upwards, but Verity was already pushing at the door.

  ‘It is unlocked and—Oh.’ The door swung open on to a stone-floored room with a hearth taking up almost the whole of one side. There was a window by the door and a rustic table and bench in the centre. Against the wall was a rough bedframe. ‘But—Will, look. Someone is living here.’ She heard his name on her lips too late to call it back.

  ‘Let me see.’ He walked in, ducking under the low lintel, turning slowly on his heel to survey the small space. ‘There is a straw tick on the bed and a blanket. Food on the table. Fresh food.’ He turned, his expression furious. ‘Hell and damnation! Verity, wait here. I have to get back to the boat. Now.’

  * * *

  Those confounded children. Worse words came to him as he ran, crashing through brambles, leaping fallen branches. Those devious little brats.

  ‘Oh, Miss Wingate, there’s a burial mound...’

  A throwaway line certain to snare someone they knew was passionate about such things. And they knew, too, that if a guest expressed an interest in seeing something, then he had no option but to try to oblige them. Only one boat in the boathouse? Like hell that was probable. If he hadn’t been seething with resentment at Verity Wingate for provoking him into not just losing his temper, but being unforgivably rude to lady, a guest—

  A branch snapped back, hit him in the face and sent him crashing into a patch of stinging nettles. This time Will didn’t even attempt to control his language. He got up, spat out dead leaves and oaths, ignored the itching wheals rising on his hands and Verity Wingate’s voice behind him demanding to know what was going on, and started running again.

  Half a minute after he reached the beach he heard her crash through the bushes behind him, then her feet crunched on the shingle. Of course, the wretched female would not do the ladylike thing and stay safely where he left her.

  ‘The rowing boat has gone,’ she said, staring round the tiny bay as though she might spot it hiding in the reeds. ‘But I saw you tie it up properly. I saw the knot.’ She was panting with the effort of keeping up with him, her face was damp and rosy and her hair was sticking to her face where it had come free from its pins. She looked a complete hoyden. She looked edible.

  Will turned, kicked the sapling he had used to tie the rowing boat to, told himself that was frankly childish and managed a stiff smile of apology rather than the look of smouldering desire that was doing battle with the anger. ‘I think my confounded siblings are playing a joke on us. They lured us out here with that story of a burial mound, rowed across in another boat and towed ours away.’

  Miss Wingate opened her mouth, then snapped it shut on what had clearly been a frank comment on the younger Calthor
pes’ morals and sense of humour. With a sinking feeling he saw her expression change as she thought it through. ‘Why is there fresh food in that hut? Why is there bedding? Oh, no—please tell me that I am wrong—the little devils have stranded us here, haven’t they? And they do not intend on rescuing us at least until tomorrow.’

  ‘I fear so.’ Will watched warily for signs of hysteria. Any respectable young lady should be screaming or fainting or having a comprehensive fit of the vapours by now. But of course, Miss Wingate was not a conventional young lady. He doubted she had ever had the vapours in her life.

  ‘My father will be anxious.’ There was a furrow between her arching brows and he almost reached out to smooth it away.

  Will clasped his hands behind his back. ‘Probably.’ She was too intelligent to be soothed by platitudes.

  ‘And no one except the children has any idea where we are.’

  ‘Unless one of the staff saw us walking down to the boathouse, then, no. I have no confidence that they did as I told them and informed my butler, or anyone else, where we had gone. Only that brood of, as you so rightly called them, little devils, can find us.’

  ‘But why?’ she demanded, turning to him.

  That is genuine. She really has no thought of what it might mean—will mean—being stranded overnight with me. Extraordinary.

  He almost smiled as Verity raised her hands to her head as though to tug at her hair in frustration, recollected herself and linked her fingers in front of her. But there was nothing to smile about. Nothing at all.

  ‘We could light a fire. But would that be seen from the house?’ She began to pace up and down the tiny beach, arguing with herself as much as him, Will suspected, so intrigued that he forgot to be angry for a moment. Ladies, his grandfather had always maintained, were incapable of sustained reasoning and the young females he had came into contact with certainly showed no inclination to think things through. An unpleasant suspicion began to creep over him that those girls had been raised to appear empty-headed. He jerked his attention back to Verity, who had passed him for the second time.