My Fair Duchess (A Once Upon A Rogue Novel Book 1) (32 page)

He smiled, and the one she gave him in return, full of sweet radiant joy, made his chest do that painful tightening thing it only did when she was near him.

“I’m surprised you like the great hairy willow herb,” Scarsdale said, interrupting Colin’s peace. He scowled at the man only to have the look returned, accompanied by a strange scrutinizing that Scarsdale eventually turned on Amelia. “That particular flower is quite ugly.”

“Yes, well, better ugly than poisonous,” Colin retorted. “You’ve filled my aunt’s house with lethal flowers. Did you not know that or did you intend to kill Lady Amelia?” Colin struggled not to smirk at Scarsdale.

For a moment, the man appeared shocked with his widened gaze. Slowly, he shook his head. “I had no idea. Are they really dangerous?”

“To small children or anyone who might be inclined to eat the dark berries that accompany the flowers.”

“Luckily,” Amelia chirped, “I have no such inclination.” She gave Colin a sideways scowl as if he had done something wrong. Blasted women made no sense.

“I’m truly sorry, Lady Amelia. I really did not know. Did you know and simply say nothing about it to be kind?”

“No,” Amelia said. “I was not aware, either. His Grace”―she inclined her head toward Colin with a small smile―“has educated me about two types of flowers in two days. Yesterday he taught me the correct name of the great hairy willow herb, and today he enlightened me on the poisonous nature of lily of the valley.”

“How very instructive of him,” Scarsdale said, giving Colin that strange look again. “And what, pray tell, has Lady Amelia taught you, Aversley?”

Between jealousy and the desire to crush Amelia against his body, Colin’s blood surged through his veins like a turbulent river. Why did a few kind words from her and one single smile affect him so? He struggled to focus on Scarsdale and his question. “She’s taught me to keep my guard up higher than I had been, and for that I’m eternally grateful.”

Amelia glanced quickly away, but before she did, Colin caught the tremble of her bottom lip. If ever there was an arse he was one. He hated himself, but better to hate just himself than himself
and
her, because if he let his guard down she would disappoint him, betray him and destroy him. Wouldn’t she?

But what if she didn’t disappoint?
a voice whispered in his head.

If he wasn’t careful he’d be muttering to himself soon.

Needing to escape the confines of the parlor, Colin jumped up. “We should be departing for the Banbury’s picnic.” Before anyone could respond he barreled onward. “Shrewsbury and Edington, you two should say your goodbyes. I’m sure you both have ladies who are waiting to join you for today’s outing.”

Both men shook their heads.

“Go anyway,” Colin snapped, not caring how grumpy he sounded. “We cannot very well leave with you sitting in my aunt’s parlor.”

His aunt gave him another stern look but rose without arguing. “Though I would have put it much differently, gentlemen, we do need to be departing for the festivities if we don’t want to be late.” She focused on Scarsdale. “I hope we will see you again soon.”

Scarsdale grinned, and before he even said a word, Colin knew he wasn’t going to like the words by the glint in his former friend’s eyes.

“As a matter of fact,” Scarsdale said, “as happy coincidence would have it, I’m attending the same picnic.”

“Isn’t that lovely, Aversley?” Colin’s aunt asked, turning her gaze on him. He could have sworn her lips were quivering with mirth by the upward tilt of them. What was she about today? Clearly, she did not have an looming megrim. When the silence stretched, she raised her eyebrows at him. “Aversley? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” he grumbled. “I find certain paintings lovely. A cloudless day. A moonlit night.” He glanced purposely at Amelia. “Women with luxurious golden hair and long limbs are especially lovely, but picnics full of eager suitors, like Scarsdale, does not call the word lovely to mind. I think the word is…
nuisance
.”

“Really, Aversley. Your manners have not improved with the years,” Scarsdale said in a mirth-filled tone before he took a step toward Amelia. “Lady Amelia, would you care to ride to the picnic with me?” Scarsdale asked, moving nearer.

If Scarsdale moved another bloody step closer to her, Colin was going to put the man flat on his back. “She is riding with me,” Colin said and proffered his elbow to Amelia. “Shall we be departing?”

Without a word, Amelia slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow, and much to Colin’s irritation, they departed the house as one big annoying group.

Colin was not sure quite how it had happened but somehow his aunt had volunteered him to give a walking flower tour to a group of the picnickers, of which Amelia was not among. He could, however, see her in the distance, strolling around the lake with Scarsdale, Edington, and Shrewsbury surrounding her and her lady’s maid trailing behind them.

Swatting at the bee buzzing around his head, he barely held in his curse. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat or his burgeoning temper that was making him sweat, but rivulets ran down his spine dampening his shirt and making the thing cling to his skin. He was having trouble thinking logically about flowers…or anything else. All he could think about was Amelia, and that was far from logical.

“Your Grace, what flower is that?” Lady Sara asked him.

“Foxglove,” he murmured, forcing himself to look at her. When she smiled demurely, he pretended not to notice. He had no doubt that his mother was somehow behind Lady Sara being at this picnic, since she did not know the host before today. Lady Sara appearing here smacked of his mother’s involvement, and the only way she could have known he was coming here would be his aunt. Colin frowned. It was a rare occasion Aunt Jane and Mother spoke a civil word to each other, but it seemed the occasion had happened.

Moving ahead a few steps to where his aunt was, he whispered in her ear, “Have you seen my mother lately?”

Aunt Jane nodded. “I saw her yesterday briefly. I went to the orphanage to see the children, and she was there.”

Colin gaped at his aunt. “My mother was at an orphanage?”

His aunt nodded. “Yes. She apparently has decided to volunteer one day a week with the children.”

The hostess of the picnic, Lady Banbury, strolled beside him and pointed to a tall red flower. “What is that called?”

“Dog rose,” he said distractedly. He was trying to picture his mother at an orphanage, but could not quite imagine it. Yet she had been there. She gained nothing from going there, so she must care about those children. And if she cared about them, had he totally misjudged her? Suddenly, he had an urgent desire to talk to her and another to be by Amelia’s side. He picked up his pace and strode to the end of the lane of flowers.
Thank God
.

“This is the end,” he said, not even looking back as he hurried away toward where he’d last seen Amelia. Turning the corner, he expected to see her perhaps sitting on a blanket with the men surrounding her, but she was farther away, in a distant field of purple wildflowers with her brother, a handful of the other guests loitering around them. Her hand was raised to her face, and she stared off toward the edge of the woods. Colin followed her gaze to the forest, where three gentlemen appeared to be lined up on horses. In the middle of the field, another gentleman stood with―Colin squinted against the sun―was that a handkerchief in the man’s hand?

He increased his pace to Amelia until he was running. As he neared the group, he forced himself to slow his gait, but his pulse raced ahead. Ignoring everyone else, he strode up to Amelia and her brother. “What’s happening here?”

Harthorne motioned across the expanse with his hand. “The gentlemen are racing for the privilege of being able to take my sister on a carriage ride tomorrow morning in Hyde Park.”

Teeters of amusement came from two of the ladies standing behind Amelia. Colin could see Amelia’s back stiffen and her face flush. “I tried to stop them,” Amelia whispered.

A petite lady with a head full of curly red hair moved to stand beside Amelia and leaned close to her. “Ignore those two behind you. They are simply jealous. Though, if you ask me, I cannot figure out why. The Duke of Scarsdale is too brooding for my taste. Edington not intelligent enough, and Shrewsbury without true bravery. They may all have titles, but I’d not have a any of them as a husband.”

Colin instantly liked the outspoken miss. “Who might you be?”

“I’m Jemma, the granddaughter of the Duke of Rowan.”

“I didn’t know Rowan had a granddaughter.”

“Neither did he,” she said flippantly, though her cheeks turned scarlet.

“That would make you Lady Jemma,” Colin said gently.

“I do not believe so,” she whispered, the scarlet of her cheeks spreading to her neck.

“Ah, I see.” And he did. A bastard granddaughter would be simply Jemma, but she deserved respect no matter what anyone else thought. Accordingly, he inclined his head and came up to have her hand stuck in his face.”

She grinned. “If you will beg my pardon, where I come from women sometimes shake hands as a greeting, as odd as that sounds.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Harthorne said from beside Colin.

Colin turned toward his friend, surprised, but glad to see him studying Jemma with interest. The two exchanged pleasantries, allowing Colin to focus once more on Amelia.

He was about to speak when one of the ladies behind them exclaimed, “It’s started.”

Colin glanced toward the field where the men on their horses now raced toward the crowd. He did not need to watch the entire race. Scarsdale would win. That much was obvious and not surprising. Scarsdale was an excellent rider. Colin leaned close to Amelia. “Are you happy now?”

Amelia gasped more at the hitch in Colin’s husky question than the actual question itself. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She swallowed, trying hard to order her racing thoughts, but it was next to impossible with him so near. He smelled of sweet flowers and sharp grass kissed with dew. A light breeze blew through his golden hair, moving a few wavy tendrils. Her fingers itched to slide through his hair. Now
that
would make her happy.

“You can’t tell me all this attention doesn’t please you.” He waved a hand toward the riders.

His voice had taken on a hard edge, yet what sounded like uncertainty made his words rise ever so slightly. Was she starting to get through that thick skull of his? She grinned and his brows came together in a deep, furrowed frown. She leaned near him, so that the nosy ladies behind them would not hear her. The desire to tell him how she felt overwhelmed her. Now, surrounded by so many others, was not the time, though.

“I am happy because you are here with me.”

He drew his lips in thoughtfully while he stared at her as if she were a foreign object he had never seen before. Good. Let him question his own beliefs, if that was his process. If she was very lucky it would lead to him questioning his heart and then finally letting her in.

“The Duke of Scarsdale has won!” one of the women exclaimed. Her muscles went rigid at the thought of having to accept a carriage ride with the man, but there was no good way to decline and still appear gracious. Walking forward and away from the rest of the group, she raised her hand once again to shield her eyes from the glare of the midday sun. The duke rode his horse directly to her. His stallion’s black coat gleamed with slick perspiration as the animal pranced from foot to foot, snorting. She darted a glance behind her, glad to find Colin and her brother walking toward her as the red-haired lady, Jemma, led the rest of the group away.

“I’ve come to claim my prize,” the Duke of Scarsdale said.

“My sister is no prize,” Philip retorted.

Amelia frowned. She knew Philip had meant only to be her protector, but she wished he would select his words with more care.

The Duke of Scarsdale, with his dark hair slicked severely back from his rugged face and his coal gaze focused on her, did not look as if the race had taken the least bit of effort.