Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

The Bog

Although unsmiling, the duke didn’t seem quite as intimidating as the last time he’d stepped into her classroom. But of course, that might only be because she’d witnessed him in a weak moment. Even if he had maintained his dignity.

For the most part.

Leaning against the doorframe, he stared at her with raised brows, dangling the same hat he’d had with him the day before on the tip of his glove-covered fingers. His cravat was tied in an elaborate knot, his jacket and waistcoat were pressed, his breeches fit perfectly, and not a hair of his golden-brown hair was out of place.

Hair she distinctly remembered was soft and thick and resisted laying down after one’s hands had been running through it.

Had she actually assisted him in removing his cravat less than twenty-four hours ago? It didn’t quite seem possible.

“Your Grace.” She rose to greet him formally and brushed a few wayward strands of hair behind her ears. “I did not expect…”

Why was he here?

Curses on the warmth spreading up her neck. And double curses for the tingling she felt all over.

“Miss Jones.” He pushed away from the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Miss Primm informed me that you would be free of any obligations presently. Might I request a moment of your time?”

“Of course. Come in. You look much better than the last time I saw you. Not nearly as green.” It was true and saying that kept her from mentioning anything embarrassing about her own behavior in the stairwell.

He stared back at her and blinked. “I’ve been told green is a flattering color on me.” Not even a twitch of his lips but… Was he making a joke?

It was her turn to stare at him in surprise. But he spoke again before she could be certain.

“Miss Jones. My actions in the stairwell yesterday were unforgivable. Please allow me to apologize for... my behavior. I’ve come to—”

“Your Grace, there’s no need—you couldn’t help it. Were you trapped in a trunk or under a bed or something when you were younger? Or some other tight space?” She’d wondered about his fear while lying awake the night before… when she wasn’t thinking about the kiss.

“A bog,” he said. And clamped his lips together. “But that’s not why I am here—"

“A bog?” She’d heard of such but having been raised in the city, had never actually seen one. She half believed they were a terror made up for fairy tales. Ignoring his disgruntled expression, she leaned forward. “As in a muddy hole?”

“Yes.”

But a bog was outdoors. “How did you come to fear enclosed spaces after being stuck in mud? Did it cover your face?”

“Came up to here.” The duke indicated a line just below his neck. “It was about as deep as they get. But since I was barely six at the time, I found it rather... harrowing. But that is not why I’m here, Miss Jones, I returned this morning to—“

“And no one was there to pull you out? To rescue you?”

“No one knew of my predicament for quite some time. It was long ago, however—“

“How long?”

“About twenty years. Could you possibly allow me to complete a sentence without interrupting me?”

“Not how long ago. I mean how long were you trapped in the bog?” Often, with Chase, she needed to simply plough forward if she wanted her questions answered.

He narrowed his eyes but exhaled what she hoped was a sigh of resignation. “You aren’t going to let go of this, are you?”

“Not likely. I’ve never seen an actual bog and now that you’ve set my mind to conjuring one, I find myself needing to understand precisely how they work. Are they common? Ought I to warn my sister? Rural living is new to her.”

“Sarah? The blind one?”

“Yes.”

“You are telling me you grew up in England and have never seen a bog?”

“My sisters and I grew up in London and last I heard, there are no known bogs lurking beneath the lawns of Hyde Park.”

Another breath and two thoughtful lines appeared between his eyes. “They can be dangerous under certain circumstances but are usually nothing more than a messy inconvenience. I’m certain your sister’s governess will keep her from meeting with harm.”

“But what if she doesn’t?”

“Chaswick would not have hired an incompetent woman to care for your sister in the country. Unless the woman is a halfwit, she will know.”

Collette chose to ignore the insult that she doubted he realized he’d dealt. Because although she’d never encountered a bog, she was no halfwit.

But… “Could a dog get trapped in one?”

The duke glanced out the window and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve heard stories of an entire ox being swallowed by one.”

“Well, that is not at all reassuring.”

He turned and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Perhaps, then, you ought to write to your sister and her governess to warn them yourself.”

Collette nodded, withdrawing a blank sheet of parchment intent on jotting down the most pertinent information. “An excellent idea. What would you suggest I tell them? In case her governess is ignorant—of bogs—that is.”

“They should ask the locals where they are likely to be.” He pointed at her paper, apparently resigned to this conversation now. “Bogs are more likely to form in lowlands, and more so after a wet summer, or plentiful rains but not always. And they aren’t visible, they appear as normal grasslands but have transformed into what can mostly be described as something of a giant sponge. Most are only a few feet deep—“

“Excepting the ones that eat cattle.”

“Excepting those.” The duke rubbed his chin. “Best to remind your sister and her governess to stay to the roads until they are familiar with the land. Even then...”

“The bog you were trapped in—was it near your home?”

“It was. I’d been instructed, of course, in no uncertain terms to avoid the west valley. But my brother, Rowan, and a few of the local lads had run off in that direction.” Melancholy flickered in his expression before he banked his emotions again.

“And you couldn’t help but follow them.”

“Precisely.” He turned to stare out the window.

Collette tilted her head, guessing at the details he’d not disclosed to her.

He would have followed the group of boys because he loved his older brother and wanted to be included. Did Rowan feel the same toward his younger sibling or did he resent him for usurping him as the heir?

“When I began sinking, I ought to have turned back. But the mud seemed to only be a few inches deep.”

Collette folded her hands beneath her chin, picturing him as a small boy. She had no doubt that he would have been quite beautiful. As a duke’s heir, he would have been dressed in tailored little breeches and his shoes would always be shined. His hair had likely been lighter then, possibly almost white, and those magnificent icy eyes would have been large in his face, inquisitive and...

He would have been a proud and stubborn child.

“But you did not turn back,” she interjected.

After a quick glance around the empty classroom, he pointed to a nearby chair. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. This is all quite helpful.” She dipped her pen into her ink but wasn’t really writing any of this down, she would do that later. “You very well might be saving my sister’s life by assisting me.” And you are feeding my curiosity. “Do continue.”

“If a person finds themself on unstable ground, it’s imperative that they turn back rather than assume it to be passable.”

“What did you do?”

He winced, shaking his head. “I ran faster. Which only managed to take me deeper into the bog, putting more space between myself and safety.”

“And from help,” she added. “Did anyone know where you were going?”

“Much to my regret, no. At first, sinking was a simple annoyance, something to slow my progress. By the time I realized I was in danger of getting caught, I was—”

“Caught,” she finished with him.

“Up to my waist.” Seated now, he seemed slightly more relaxed than while he’d been standing.

“You couldn’t get out.”

“Much to my chagrin. And instead of remaining still and calm, as I ought to have, I struggled against it. By the time I was too tired to move anymore, I could barely keep my arms out. And darkness was falling.”

The picture he painted was a terrifying one. She hadn’t realized that her hand had come up to cover her mouth until she spoke. “Tell me someone found you before nightfall.”

“My whereabouts went undiscovered until nearly noon the next day. And by then, I do believe I more resembled a wild animal than the boy they had been searching for.“ His expression closed off again.

“I cannot begin to imagine what you went through. Nor will I try. Were you injured?”

“A few bruises and various bug bites. Nothing a week confined to my bed couldn’t cure.”

“Except for the memory.”

“Except for the memory,” he agreed.

* * *

Usually the meremention of the bog was enough to ruin Addison’s mood for at least a week. How many times had he wished this damn memory to perdition? A hundred? A thousand? More?

He hadn’t discussed it with anyone for years. In fact, it was so long ago that he only remembered pieces of it.

But Miss Jones had dipped her quill in a bottle of ink and wished to provide helpful information to her sister’s governess. He could not fault her for grilling him, especially not when she was doing so out of worry for her younger sister who was blind and living in the country now.

“You mentioned that you should have kept calm and still, but if you did that, how would that have helped your escape?”

“Movement causes the bog—the slurry mixture of mud and water and vegetation—to loosen, which causes a person to sink deeper. Unfortunately, by the time they stop moving, it thickens again, trapping them.”

“You have studied this?”

Of course, he had. He’d believed that if he understood it, he could overcome his fears. But the fear persisted. As did the occasional nightmare.

“So how can a person escape?” It seemed he had no choice but to instruct her on all matters bog-related.

“By making small movements with your legs, gradually loosening the material around them until it’s fluid enough to pull yourself out.”

“And this really works?”

Really?Addison raised his brows. Would he be telling her any of this if it did not?

She tilted her head. “I wonder if we ought to have a lesson on this for our girls. One can never be too careful…”

Having provided her with the necessary information to send to her sister, there were other matters to discuss. “Enough.”

She straightened at his tone, as most people did.

Most people, however, did not make him feel guilty for it. Addison clenched his fists and dismissed the smidgeon of remorse threatening at her obvious disappointment.

He’d provided her with enough instruction to keep her students, as well as both her sisters, from getting themselves trapped if they were to stumble upon—God help him—a bog.

However, none of this had anything to do with why he’d needed to meet with her this morning.

She paused, hovering her pen over her piece of paper, and blinked startling blue eyes up at him, and his mind went temporarily blank. What the devil had he needed to speak with her about?

She licked her lips and, for no reason at all, his heart skipped a beat. Ah, yes. He remembered.

“Miss Jones.” He paused, expecting her to interrupt him with another irrelevant question, and was instead inexplicably annoyed when she set her quill down and folded her hands patiently.

“Miss Jones,” he repeated.

“Yes, Your Grace?” Gaze unwavering, she was suddenly all ears, prepared to finally listen to him. Only it wasn’t her ears that held his attention, but her mouth, which an irrational part of himself would not be averse to exploring again.

He cleared his throat, “I have come to renew my proposal.”

“Your…?”

“We must marry.”

Her brows shot up, and she opened her mouth and then closed it again. “But that is not at all necessary. No one but you and I know—”

“That you were trapped in that stairway with me yesterday? For all of an hour? Alone?”

“With no one the wiser, it might as well not have happened.” Her eyes flicked to the door with a flinch, and she rose and dashed across the room to pull it closed. Leaning against it, she stared at him. “If you don’t mind, Your Grace, I prefer we keep it that way.”

“I realize this.”

Crossing back to the desk, her apron-covered gown hinted at the delicate hourglass shape of her curves. When she didn’t take her seat right away, Addison was obliged to rise as well.

“So, you see—”

“I compromised you yesterday.” The fact was irrefutable. “Honor compels me to do the right thing. Honor compels me to marry you.”

“It might compel you, but that doesn’t mean I will be compelled as well. The right thing, Your Grace, is to leave matters as they are. I finally have the opportunity to be my own person—to be a teacher! My future is… settled!” She was wringing her hands and shaking her head and, for the first time, Miss Jones appeared flustered. “I cannot—I will not—!”

Odd that it would be a marriage proposal that would beckon such panic.

Surely, she didn’t intend to refuse him a second time?

“And you cannot want this either,” she went on. “I thought I made myself clear yesterday, regarding the nature of my standing. My father was married to another woman, to the baroness, all while he made a family with my mother. Regardless of what my brother or sister-in-law do or say, half of society will never acknowledge me. To be perfectly honest with you, I barely fit in here!”

But he was quite aware of her history. “None of that matters.” The only thing that mattered was honor. It was everything to him. He’d taken advantage of her.

“Oh, but it does. I beg of you, please, leave matters as they are. You were right yesterday when you said my brother purchased my position here. But even so, Miss Primm willingly hired me. If I was to be involved in a scandal of my own, I would live up to all those nasty things that have ever been said about me. And worse than that, I would disappoint everyone who’s ever placed any faith in me.”

She was twisting her hands in front of her almost frantically now, not looking torn or even reluctant as she refused his offer.

Fascinating.

It would appear that Miss Jones was a woman who had no interest in elevating her status through him or any other man. She wasn’t wavering in the slightest.

“I kissed you,” he reminded her.

At this, her eyes flitted around the room as though it was she, this time, searching for some means of escape.

The kiss had been quite memorable. Was that because of the state he’d been in or because of the woman herself?

And was he willing to press his suit in order to find out?

“It was nothing.” She swung her gaze back to him, straightening her back. “Please. Do not mention it to anyone. I beg of you.”

And now, she was irritating him again. Was it because of her adamant disinclination to marry him or because she was thwarting his need to act honorably?

Or was it because she had just declared a kiss that he remembered as distinctly significant to be nothing?

“So you go about kissing gentlemen that you’ve only just met often?”

“No! I mean, it was my first, and you were… upset and I was…”

“You were…?”

“I was… there.”

“So you think that if I was locked in that room with… Miss Primm, or Mrs. Metcalf, I would have kissed either of them? You think I go about randomly kissing impertinent teachers?”

Addison placed his hat on the surface of her desk and stepped around it, closer to where Miss Jones was standing.

“Well, perhaps not Mrs. Metcalf.” Her mouth tightened and he wondered if she wasn’t biting back a smile.

“I liked it,” he admitted. Why was he arguing the matter? He rubbed his fingers along the tips of his thumbs at his side, keeping himself from… what? Reaching out to see if her hands were as cold today as they had been yesterday? And what would he do if they were?

Warm them?

“That’s neither here nor there.” The catch in her voice charged the air.

“You liked it too.” Addison halted, leaving barely two feet between them.

“I did.” She stared up at him. He was satisfied to see that on this matter, she was at least partially torn. “It was… pleasant.”

Pleasant?

What the devil? He gave into temptation and took one of her hands in his, noting the rise and fall of her chest and a pink warmth flooding her neck and cheeks. He was not mistaken, then. Pleasant was not an accurate description of how she remembered that kiss.

“Allow me—"

She jerked her hand out of his and stepped back, effectively cutting him off.

“I am sorry, Your Grace. But I have no wish to marry you.” She stared straight ahead at what he guessed to be the top button of his waistcoat. “I appreciate your concern, but I give you leave to return to your ducal life knowing that you have done that which is honorable by me. But please… I beg of you to keep this to yourself.”

Addison clenched his jaw, unused to the warring responses inside him.

Because his pride was feeling injured by her adamant refusal while at the same time he couldn’t help but find that same refusal...

Intriguing.

With any other woman, he might suspect it to be a ruse—a flirtatious game designed to extract a gesture of undying love. But her response could not be mistaken for anything other than an honest one.

“Very well, then.” He swiped his hat off her desk. He’d had quite enough of this woman.

She clasped her hands together beneath her chin and bit her lip. “I refuse to believe you are disappointed.”

He could only give her a withering look at such a comment.

“Well then,” she echoed his previous sentiment. “I wish you a safe and pleasant journey.”

“Pleasant?” He’d not intended his tone to be mocking, but the bruise to his pride was a rather stinging one.

She held his gaze, and he could almost believe he saw a hint of regret in her eyes. “Unforgettable.”

He jerked a nod and turned away.

“Goodbye.”

Addison very nearly missed the word due to a bell ringing to indicate the change in classes.

With one glance back, he memorized the bright blue color of her eyes, her face, which was more oval than heart-shaped, and the tantalizing bow of her lips. Likely, this would be the last time they spoke to one another.

He would never know the length of the blond hair framing her face or if it felt as soft as he’d imagined.

And that was a very good thing. In fact, it was excellent.

He’d made a lucky escape indeed.