Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston

Chapter Eleven

Exhilaration filled Miles as he finally reined in Zeus and brought the horse to a halt, wheeling to face Miss Jenson, who galloped across the meadow. She tugged on Demeter’s reins slightly, bringing her mount to a stop before him. Her cheeks bloomed with color and her eyes sparkled, making her the most attractive woman he had ever seen.

“What do you think of Zeus now?” she asked.

“That he is the most splendid creature I have ever ridden,” he proclaimed. “By far, the best part about becoming the Duke of Winslow.”

She cocked her head. “Surely, you jest, Your Grace. I would think coming into possession of Wildwood and all your other estates, as well as a lofty title, would be what made you happy.”

He shook his head. “I am a simple man, Miss Jenson. Raised with very few material possessions, though blessed with loyal friends and a fine education.” He gazed about. “I never expected all of this. Land as far as the eye could see. Unimaginable wealth. In truth, I still don’t want it,” he admitted.

Miles sighed. “It is mine now, however, and I must do the best I can for my people.”

His gaze met hers and he saw curiosity on her lovely features. She was well-mannered, though, and would never voice any personal questions. Not to a duke. For a moment, he wished that heavy title didn’t lay between them. He already found her intelligent. Caring. Enthusiastic. But he felt the wide gulf that separated them. Miss Jenson might help him learn how to run Wildwood but there could never be more to their relationship.

Or could there?

“What do you wish to see of your estate this morning, Your Grace?” she asked.

Miles thought seeing Miss Jenson was the best part of Wildwood. She might not believe she was a lady but the way she carried herself told a different story. She was incredibly beautiful and seemed unaware of it. Confident and encouraging. And by God, he was a duke! Dukes were notorious for breaking the rules of the ton and living by their own code.

What if he could make Miss Jenson his?

She was intelligent and kind and he could tell she already had the heart of the people. Miss Jenson would be a popular choice at Wildwood if he decided to make her his bride. Country folk wouldn’t care that the new Duchess of Winslow had come from within their ranks. In fact, he thought they would celebrate it.

Of course, it would be a lot for her to take in. He had only known her for a day. Miles determined to keep silent for now and ease her into the idea. How, he hadn’t a clue, but he was stubborn and strong-willed, two traits that would make sure in the end that he could claim this woman as his wife. It would also keep him from having to go to London and be forced into the gaiety of the Season. He hadn’t been bred to take part in Polite Society. He was a soldier from the battlefield. Wedding Miss Jenson would allow him to keep to the country and the tasks he felt important.

If she would have him.

He chided himself. Of course, she would have him. He was a bloody duke. What woman, especially one not considered a lady by the ton, would turn him down?

Still, he wouldn’t rush her into anything. Miles could be subtle when necessary. Something told him to walk delicately instead of trampling upon Miss Jenson’s feelings. She was an accomplished woman for one so young. It would take gentle persuasion in order to convince her that they could make a good life together. A thought occurred to him.

“I saw the most important portions of the estate yesterday, from the fields to the mill to my tenants’ cottages. I can ride out on my own later to visit the far corners. What I would like to do instead is go into Woodmorrow and see if the most marvelous sticky buns are still baked by Mr. Fisher. Might I tempt you into joining me on this expedition, Miss Jenson?”

She laughed, the sound rich and throaty, causing something to ripple through him. “Mrs. Fisher does the baking now. Her husband passed on a few years ago. I do believe her sticky buns are the best I have ever tasted.”

“Then will you join me? Perhaps you could also introduce me to some of the town’s residents. I am certain you know many of them.”

“I am in the village often and would be happy to make the introductions, Your Grace. I do have a list Mama gave me that needs to be picked up at Mr. Jernigan’s general store.”

Distaste filled him. He remembered the shopkeeper, who always wore a surly look and had gossiped furiously about everyone. Miles wasn’t the small boy from long ago that the merchant chastised. He was a titled peer. If he could face down the enemy on the battlefield, Miles could enter Jernigan’s store.

“I would be happy to accompany you on your errand,” he said graciously.

“Shall we let you see what Zeus can do on the open road?” she asked, a teasing light in her eyes.

“No,” he said. “I have ridden him hard this past half-hour. Let us walk our mounts into Woodmorrow. Perhaps on the way home, after the horses have had a bit of rest, I might push him.”

What he didn’t voice was that if they galloped the three miles to the village, it would mean less time in her company.

They went into town, with Miss Jenson telling him about those who resided there. A few of the names were familiar to him though many were not. He worried how he would be received after all these years. The town folk would have heard the story of Miles accidentally shooting and killing his younger brother. He wondered how many remembered it—and if anyone would have the audacity to bring up the incident now that he was the Duke of Winslow.

They entered the village and he said, “I must ask that we stop at Mrs. Fisher’s first. The memory of those sticky buns takes precedence over everything else.”

“It is nice to know you have a sweet tooth, Your Grace. It makes you a little more human.”

“Am I not human?” he asked.

“You always wear a stern countenance,” Miss Jenson told him. “Between that and your title, you are most formidable.”

“I see. I have always been a serious person,” he shared. “Even my friends at school teased me about that. I don’t mean to be intimidating.”

She chuckled. “It’s quite all right. You are a duke. You are meant to be intimidating to others, be it Polite Society or otherwise.”

His gaze bored into her. “Do you find me intimidating, Miss Jenson?”

Her cheeks pinkened. “It is not for me to say, Your Grace.”

“I am asking. I expect an answer.”

She swallowed. “Very well. A bit, I suppose.”

“I don’t mean to frighten you.”

“Oh, you don’t,” she assured him. “I mean, I don’t believe you would ever harm me in any way. I am merely very aware of your position. And mine.”

“I need you too much, Miss Jenson,” Miles proclaimed, watching the color rise in her cheeks. “Already, you have taught me so much about Wildwood. I look forward to learning more from you. And your parents, of course.”

She blinked. “Of course, Your Grace. Here. We are at Mrs. Fisher’s.”

Quickly, he dismounted and came around to her. Reaching up, his fingers encircled her waist, and he slowly lowered her to the ground. She averted her gaze. The faint scent of lilac surrounded her and he inhaled it as he released her.

They both tied their horse’s reins to a post and he told Zeus to behave himself, causing his companion to chuckle.

Entering the bakery, Miss Jenson called out, “Mrs. Fisher? Are you here?”

A rotund woman with a dusting of flour on her cheek emerged from a back room. “Miss Jenson, how good to see you.” Then her eyes flicked to Miles and her brow crinkled.

“Your Grace, this is Mrs. Fisher. Mrs. Fisher, His Grace, the Duke of Winslow.”

“Oh, my!” she declared, taking a step back. “I remember you. You came in as a boy. For sticky buns.”

Miles offered her a smile, hoping to set the woman at ease. “And as a man, I have often thought of those sticky buns.” He inhaled deeply. “The smell of your shop is heavenly, Mrs. Fisher. It brings back pleasant memories. Do you have any sticky buns available?”

She swallowed hard, her head bobbing up and down. “Yes, Your Grace. I just took a new batch from the oven a few minutes ago.”

“Then bring one each for me and Miss Jenson,” he instructed.

The woman disappeared and returned with two of the sweets, handing them over. Miles withdrew a coin from his pocket.

“No, Your Grace. You are just back. I won’t take payment for your first visit.”

He set the coin down upon the counter. “Then take this. Miss Jenson and I plan to visit the merchants in the village so that she might introduce me around. When we are ready to return to Wildwood, I would like to take half a dozen sticky buns with me.”

Her eyes flicked to the coin. “That is far too much,” she protested.

“I insist. It was good seeing you again, Mrs. Fisher. Good day.”

Miles escorted Miss Jenson from the shop and they stopped outside. Both removed a glove and then lifted their bun from the paper it rested upon.

“Mmm,” he murmured as he bit into it, the sweetness invading his mouth. “Just the right amount of cinnamon in them. I have missed these more than I realized.”

“They are the best reason to come into Woodmorrow,” she agreed.

When she finished, she slipped her thumb into her mouth to lick it clean, causing a frisson of desire to run through him. He longed to do the same with her thumb. His growing attraction to her was something he knew he should stamp out but he ignored the warning in his head as she licked two other fingers. If he were to win her over, he must do it calmly and rationally and not act as a rutting bull when around her.

He saw she had a bit of sugar in the corner of her mouth and ignoring what his head had just told him, brushed the sugar away with his thumb before sliding it along her full, bottom lip. He dropped his hand at her sharp intake of breath. A dark blush stained her cheeks.

“Forgive me. You had a bit of sugar there.”

Her tongue darted out to the corner of her mouth, bringing a heat to him.

She lowered her gaze and slipped her hand back into its glove. He did the same, the air charged between them.

“Shall we continue to the various shops?” she asked and then set off without waiting for his reply.

Miss Jenson took him into every building in the village. Miles meet the seamstress. The innkeeper. The tavern owner. The blacksmith. They stopped by the local doctor’s home, which doubled as his office, but his daughter said that he was out on a call.

Miles promised to return at a later date and then said, “Why don’t you bring your father to tea this afternoon instead?”

“We would be honored, Your Grace,” Miss Collier said, her eyes a bit wide at the impromptu invitation.

They set a time and then Miss Jenson led him from the cottage, saying, “Mr. Jernigan’s store will be our last stop.” She removed a list from her pocket. “Mama’s list. Most of the items are supplies Cook needs. Here, it is this way.”

She led him to a large building and he decided Jernigan must have added on to the original structure because he didn’t remember it being so expansive. Then again, it had been many years since he had stepped foot in Woodmorrow.

He opened the door for her and followed her inside, steeling himself for the encounter with the proprietor. His companion called out a greeting and, to his surprise, Miles saw she spoke to a man of about thirty.

“Your Grace, may I introduce you to Mr. Jernigan? This is His Grace, the Duke of Winslow.”

“You used to come in here for a piece of candy,” Jernigan said, stroking his chin. “I worked here a few hours a day after I left school, sweeping up and loading supplies into customers’ wagons.”

“I do remember you, Mr. Jernigan. You were a few years older than I was. Have you taken over the store from your father?”

A shadow crossed the man’s face. “I will eventually. My father is still around and in charge. Mother passed away almost ten years ago. It has been . . . difficult for him. He has become difficult.” Jernigan sighed. “Enough of my family troubles. I see you have a list, Miss Jenson.”

She handed it over. “His Grace and I rode into Woodmorrow by horseback. I can send a groom with a cart this afternoon or tomorrow morning to collect what Mama has requested.”

Jernigan scanned the list. “I will pull everything for you now. It will be waiting for your groom when he arrives to pick it up.”

“Then I will let Mr. Harris know when we return to the stables. Thank you, Mr. Jernigan.”

“It is always a pleasure to wait upon you, Miss Jenson.” He gave her a warm smile.

Miles saw interest in the shopkeeper’s face. Interest in her.

And he didn’t like it one bit.

“Shall we go?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes, of course, Your Grace. Goodbye, Mr. Jernigan.”

Miles nodded. “Good day, Jernigan.”

He didn’t want to be rude to the man, who had been nothing but friendly. He also struggled with the jealousy which reared within him. It was an unfamiliar feeling to Miles. He had never liked being challenged by others and he preferred being the one in control in every situation. This sudden, sweeping feeling rushing through him was ridiculous.

Opening the door, he placed his hand on the small of Miss Jenson’s back and nudged her outside, closing the door behind him. Before they could take a step, a figure blocked their path.

“You.”

The man before them favored the one they had just dealt with, though his hair was iron-gray compared to the son’s dark brown.

“Mr. Jernigan,” Miles said stiffly.

“This is His Grace, the Duke of Winslow,” Miss Jenson hastily said.

“I know who he is,” the old man snapped. “And I know he killed his brother.” Jernigan turned his head slightly and spat. “Murderer.”

Miles went cold inside.