The Confessions of a Duchess (4 page)

that in his youthful infatuation he had imagined her to be so much more perfect than she really was. The dazzling, physical compatibility that he had thought existed between them would prove to be a product of his inexperience. A kiss was just a kiss. She would not be special and he would not lose his head over her again.

But he would give a lot to know…

As though sensing his feelings, Laura tried to hold herself away from him and put some distance between their bodies.

“Do not be alarmed,” Dexter said. “You are perfectly safe. All I mean to do is convey you home. I have no intention of ravishing you. I do not even like you.” Laura arched her brows. “Indeed? Parts of you seem to like me well enough, Mr.

Anstruther.”

“True,” Dexter said. “They always did. But then not all of me is as discerning as my mind.”

Laura gave a snort of disgust. “Then spare yourself further bodily inconvenience and permit me to walk home unaided. I do not need your help. Indeed, I had no notion that you were even visiting Fortune’s Folly.”

“Nor I you.”

“A pity,” Laura said acidly. “If only we had known we could each have chosen a different destination and spared ourselves the unpleasantness of having to meet.” Dexter ignored her comments again, kicking open the paddock gate with one booted foot and striding across the field toward the house. A little social discomfort was the least she owed him. Anger and contempt licked through his blood again. Laura had thrown him out of the house the very morning after their passionate night together. He had begged her to run away with him and she had told him he was no more than a stupid youth. She had laughed at his suggestion, taking all that new and untried love for her that he had only just discovered and making it seem tawdry. Her words were etched in his memory:

“Did you imagine that this meant more to me than a brief and pleasant interlude?

What a great deal you have to learn, Mr. Anstruther. It was but sport….”
He had been ridiculously naive, and she an experienced woman to whom he was, no doubt, just one in a long line of liaisons and infidelities. He knew that was how many of the bored wives of the
Ton
passed their time, going from husband to lover as the fancy took them. But at the time he had thought Laura different and the whole business had left him feeling stupid and betrayed, and vowing never again to allow his physical passions to cloud his emotions and swamp his good judgment. He had thought himself a man of firm principles until he had met Laura Cole but now he thought bitterly that in her company his strength of character lasted just as long as it took him to take his clothes off.

Cynically, he supposed that he should actually be grateful to her. If she had not shown her true colors, if she had not discarded him with careless disdain but had taken him at his word and run away with him, he would have made an almighty mess of his life and one from which he might never have recovered his rational, calm and logical course. No indeed, he should thank Laura for turning him down so brutally and making him see that passion had no place in his life.

Laura shifted in his arms and sighed again. Dexter almost sighed himself. His body was still clamoring for satisfaction even as his mind despised her. It was a small revenge to make her so uncomfortable through his proximity and not a particularly sensible idea, but he felt she deserved it.

“You know, you really should not go out alone in a boat if you cannot swim,” he observed softly into the tumble of curls that tickled his chin.

“I
can
swim.” Laura wriggled crossly, which did nothing for Dexter’s concentration and a great deal for his bodily torment.

“I was brought up around here and swam in the river from the age of three,” she said.

“Unfortunately I do not have an extensive wardrobe and prefer not to swim in a muslin gown.”

“How like a woman,” Dexter said. “Given a choice between jumping in the water and ruining her gown or escaping drowning, she prefers not to jump.” Laura clenched her lower lip between her teeth. Dexter felt his body jolt. He had fantasized often enough about feeling that mouth against his own again.

“I had forgotten that you are an expert on women these days, Mr. Anstruther,” Laura said. “How fortuitous that your experience gained in bawdy houses and brothels across London has given you such an insight into the female mind. You
have
changed.”

“I have.” Anger flickered within Dexter again. He tried to quench it. Anger was not a proper response to this situation. It was dangerous and threatened his control in much the same way that his lust did. Laura could try to goad him as much as she wished but he would not rise to her provocation.

“I am not the same man you knew before,” he said.

“Evidently,” Laura said. “Four years can change a man.”

“Is it four years?” Dexter was not going to admit that he could tell her the precise length of their time apart in days and months, and possibly hours if he was honest. “I had forgotten.”

“Of course you had,” Laura said. He saw a faint bitter smile touch her lips. “Men always do.”

Well, no doubt she knew the truth of that with her experience. Dexter tried not to care. He wrenched open the garden gate and marched up the path.

The grounds at The Old Palace were empty and overgrown. The house seemed shuttered and still. Dexter looked around. “Where are your servants?” Laura seemed discomfited. “I do not have a large staff. They are probably busy about the house somewhere and my daughter is out in the village with her nursery maid, so no one will be about.”

Dexter had yet to meet a duchess who had less than a regiment of servants. They seemed to think that being waited upon hand and foot was their inalienable right. But perhaps Charles Cole had left Laura without a feather to fly and no means to support her young daughter. The new duke held the title now and there was apparently no love lost between Henry Cole and his cousin’s widow, so he would not be financing her, either. At any rate, no one answered the door to Dexter’s increasingly forthright knocking.

“Oh, put me down!” Laura said, clearly losing patience and slipping from his arms before Dexter could stop her. “I can open a door for myself and I am chilled to the bone, dripping here.” She looked at him. “You are very damp, as well, Mr. Anstruther. Do you require a change of clothing? I do believe there are some old clothes of my grandfather’s somewhere about the place should you need them.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Dexter said, with a slight bow, “but I shall collect my fishing gear and walk back to the inn as I am.”

Laura looked at the pool of water that was dripping steadily from his shirt onto the slate of the path. “Surely that will cause conjecture if anyone sees you?”

“Not as much as the sight of me walking back to the Morris Clown Inn dressed in your grandfather’s Georgian fashions, I imagine,” Dexter said.

“My grandfather was quite the beau,” Laura said. “You might find that you start a new style. Not that that is likely to appeal to you, I suppose, Mr. Anstruther. Fashion is far too shallow an interest for one of your serious nature, is it not? Or have you changed in that respect, as well?”

Dexter was almost drawn into replying to that. He admitted ruefully to himself that he was finding it hard to resist Laura’s provocation. She had a way of getting under his skin unmatched by anyone else he had ever met.

She looked exquisite, he thought, standing there in damp disarray. Others overlooked Laura because her beauty was not of the obvious variety that society admired. Her appeal for him lay in the fine, direct gaze of those hazel eyes and the rich creaminess of a skin that was sprinkled with endearing freckles. It was in the soft curl of that honey-chestnut-colored hair and the upward turn of her lips, as though she was always on the edge of a smile. The fact that she was not in the first flush of youth and had a tracery of fine lines about her eyes only enhanced her beauty for him because it added character…. Dexter caught himself up before he got too carried away. There was no point in standing here catching a chill whilst he rhapsodized about Laura’s outward beauty. It was not a fair guide to the woman beneath, whom he had discovered was actually a calculating and manipulative whore.

“On second thoughts, I will accept your offer of a change of clothing, thank you,” he said, following her into the stone flagged hallway of The Old Palace. “The breeze is chilly today and there is no sense in taking cold. One must be practical.”

“Of course,” Laura said. “I know that you pride yourself on your practicality, Mr.

Anstruther.”

The house was silent, the floors muffled in ancient rugs, the walls smothered in equally dark and old tapestries on which were depicted a variety of bloodthirsty war and hunting scenes. A huge suit of medieval armor dominated one corner. From the wall above the fireplace glared a bad-tempered stag’s head whilst a moth-eaten stuffed fox prowled the stone windowsill. There was a child’s rocking horse in one corner and a rather beautiful porcelain-faced doll sitting in a small chair.

“I see that your grandfather had martial tastes as well as sartorial ones,” Dexter said, looking at the shields hanging rather precariously from the walls.

Laura shook her head. “No, that was my grandmother. She rode to hounds every day and could shoot a longbow. She said that one of them had to think about more than the cut of their clothes.” She pointed to two portraits hanging on the far wall. “There they are.” The late Lord Asthall looked every inch the eighteenth-century dandy, Dexter thought. He had hazel eyes and black hair, a pronounced nose and strong chin, and his expression was arrogant and amoral. His features were also vaguely familiar. Dexter’s paternal family had come from Yorkshire several generations back and there had been a rumor in the family that there was bastard Asthall blood in the line somewhere. Certainly Dexter’s brother Roly and his father’s so-called “ward” Caro had the same coloring. Dexter reflected ruefully that that was probably where his father had got his libertine tendencies from, as well. Lord Asthall looked a complete cad. Still, Lady Asthall was, quite frankly, a fearsome Amazon of a woman in her archery dress, so perhaps they had been well matched.

“Were they happy together?” he asked.

“I do not believe so. My grandfather was a terrible rake,” Laura said, confirming Dexter’s suspicions. “I am surprised that Grandmama did not shoot him with her bow and arrow.”

“And does your daughter inherit the same sporting prowess as her great-grandmother?” Dexter asked.

Laura paused. There was a rather odd silence. Looking at her, Dexter thought she looked pinched and cold, as though he were trespassing on a subject she did not want to discuss.

“Hattie is still very young.” Laura spoke stiffly. “She can sit a small pony if I walk beside her and she loves her rocking horse, so perhaps one day she will be a rider.” There was another silence. Dexter could hear the loud hum of a bumblebee trapped against the windowpane and the rush of the river over the weir. He felt a little disquieted to think of Laura rattling around in this ancient place all on her own with her small daughter, but then there did not seem much of value to steal here. It seemed that his speculation about Charles Cole leaving Laura with no money had been close to the mark. She was penniless, alone and unprotected. He was disturbed at how uneasy the thought made him.

The door at the end of the dark corridor opened and a butler shuffled forward into the patch of sunlight that was making patterns through the diamond windowpanes.

“Your grace! I did not hear the bell.”

Dexter was shocked to recognize Carrington, the butler from Cole Court. Four years ago the man had been vigorous and healthy. Now he looked old and broken. He stooped.

His hands shook and his voice was a whisper. Dexter doubted that he could hold a tray, let alone announce visitors.

“It does not matter, Carrington,” Laura spoke softly. “Please could you show Mr.

Anstruther down to the warming room whilst I find some dry clothing for him? We have had a small mishap.”

The butler’s gaze darted from one to the other like a furtive rabbit. “An accident? Oh, madam—”

“There is nothing to cause distress,” Laura interrupted firmly. “It was no more than a fall in the river. If you would be so good…”

The butler nodded and drew himself up with a sad echo of his former authority. “This way, sir, if you please.”

DEXTER FOLLOWED
the tottering butler down the old stone stair. On more than one occasion he put out a hand to steady the man when it appeared he was about to tumble down the steps to the bottom. He could not believe the change in Carrington and was tempted to ask him what had happened except that the butler seemed confused and did not appear to recognize him at all. He showed Dexter into the little warming room, where a fire burned hot in the grate and the air was scented with lavender from the drying sheets, and promptly disappeared.

Dexter stripped off his sodden shirt with some relief, for little trickles of water were still running down his chest and they felt icy cold. His boots were also full of water and it was one of the most unpleasant things he had ever experienced. He hoped that they were not ruined. They were almost new and he could not afford to buy another pair. He had invested in several new items of clothing to add credence to his role as a fortune hunter since he did not think he could turn up to pay court to an heiress looking like the beggar he was. Lord Liverpool gave such expenses short shrift, so now his wallet was empty.

He heard a knock and a step in the doorway and turned to find Laura there, her arms full of clothes. She was staring at his naked torso and a deep pink color stained her cheeks.

There was shock in her eyes. The clothes slipped from her hands and she made a grab for them even whilst her gaze was still riveted on him.

“I’ve brought…Um…Did you…”

Dexter was surprised that she was acting like a startled virgin when she was an experienced woman, a widow with a child. Surely there was no need for any pretense between them after all that had happened? And surely she did not possess an ounce of modesty? In bed with him four years previously she had been open and generous, warm and wanton. Her sweet, seductive shamelessness had been one of the reasons that he had fallen so disastrously in love with her. It had seemed so honest and unguarded at the time.