How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Fifteen

Hermione froze in shock at the look of horror on the Duke’s face as he gazed down at the bruise on her wrist. She had forgotten about it and had never even considered that there may be a need to hide it.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, trying to pull her hand out of his. He wouldn’t let her though. He entwined his fingers with hers, gently holding onto her.

“Lady Hermione, that is not nothing,” he said with surprising strength. His features were contorting into a kind of anger she had not seen him express before. “Who did this to you?”

“No one.” She was able to retract her hand this time. She couldn’t stay on his lap like this, indulging in the seduction of his near kisses, not when he was about to pry into the reasoning behind her bruise. “I… I should go,” she stammered, trying to move to her feet, but he lifted an arm around her waist and kept her in place.

“I’m not letting this go,” he said with feeling. “Someone has hurt you.”

“No one has hurt me,” she said, trying to make the lie sound convincing. “I… erm…”

“You… what?” he asked, clearly ready for her to lie.

“I twisted my hand when I was playing shuttlecock with Phoebe.” She sat a little straighter, pleased with her lie.

“If that were true, you would have had this bruise when we were down at the beach. You did not.” He spoke plainly, making her spine soften again as she realized he was right.

“It doesn’t matter. I should go.” She managed to escape his arm this time and jump up.

“Lady Hermione?” He was on his feet, following her. “You’re escaping me now?”

“Yes,” she said. Snatching the book up from the chair and trying to make her way through the bookshelves.

“A second ago, you didn’t seem interested in going anywhere. I can only assume it is because of the bruise you wish to leave.”

“No,” she said, turning around between the bookshelves to face him. He was closer than she had expected. He backed her up against one of the nearby bookshelves. She held the book between them, as though she could use it as a barrier to stop herself from going to kiss him.

She couldn’t bear to see his fear for her or his anger. It made what was between them too deep, too personal. She couldn’t let that happen, or he might actually propose and be trapped forever with her. An image flashed in her mind of marrying the Duke. She thought briefly of how happy it could make her, married to a man whose kiss thrilled her and conversation was full of spark.

Then the memory of her father’s instructions came back to her, and her longing for the Duke was tainted with guilt. “Let me go, Your Grace,” she pleaded.

“I could say no. I could keep you here until you tell me who hurt you.”

“No one hurt me,” she said, looking at him. “It was just an accident.”

“That’s one hell of a bruise for an accident!” he said wildly, still holding onto his anger.

“Please, your Grace, I beg you not to ask any more. Just let me go.” Her words seemed to make him capitulate, only to a degree. He gave up asking her and rested his hands either side of her on the shelves.

“You’re keeping secrets,” he said with a sigh.

“I am,” she accepted, thinking of the great secrets she was keeping from him. “I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. Please believe that.” She lifted one hand off her book and placed it on his chest, needing that connection to him. He closed his eyes and sighed at the touch, as though he were indulging in it.

Slowly, he lifted one of the arms that was blocking her in, giving her the freedom to leave. She hurried away from the bookshelves, out to the door of the library where she looked back just briefly to see him standing where he had left her.

“Will you ever tell me these secrets?” he asked gently. The pained expression on his face made her ache. She couldn’t answer him, for she didn’t know. Part of her was tempted to tell him right now so he could run from her for good, but then what would happen to Phoebe’s future? She couldn’t risk her sister like that.

“I do not know,” she answered honestly and ran from the room, leaving him behind.

* * *

Antony had been trying to catch Lady Hermione’s eye all morning throughout breakfast, but she appeared to be purposefully avoiding his gaze. Come what may, she found something else to look at; whether that was the bottom of her teacup or the cutlery in her hands, it was all much more interesting to her than him.

He kept trying to catch another glimpse of the bruise he had seen on her arm the night before too, but this morning she had worn a long-sleeve dress, despite the heat of the day, that neatly covered the bruise. Antony was no fool; he knew when a bruise was likely to have been caused by someone rather than an incident. He found his eyes lifting to the Earl of Branigan at the table, wondering if her father were capable of doing such a thing.

“What do you think, Antony?” Rose asked from the opposite end of the table. He turned his gaze on her, realizing he had not paid attention at all.

“He will think as I do, mother; I am sure of it,” Fergus said with a sigh. “For what reason do we need a ball?”

“A ball!?” Antony sat up straighter in his chair. “What for?”

“A celebration,” Rose said with glee. “It is your birthday soon, Antony.”

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten about that,” he sighed, not liking to remember when it was. It had been the very day of his birthday when the last disaster in his life had occurred. He had no wish to celebrate the memory of that. “I am not bothered about a ball, mother. Fergus is quite right.”

“Oh, please, it would be so lovely to have a big celebration like that again.” Rose was practically squirming in her seat with excitement at the idea.

“What of all the preparations?” Antony asked, knowing her objections of old. “You always said they were too much work.”

“Well, this time I’ll work harder at it.” She seemed buoyed by her own idea. “It will be a slice of cake!”

“Piece of cake, mother,” Antony said, seeing Fergus smile as he did at their mother’s errors.

“But we always cut slices of cake?” She frowned, not understanding him at all.

“It is a rather absurd saying,” Lady Hermione agreed, speaking up for the first time and earning Antony’s intrigued gaze. “I could help you, Your Grace, in the preparations,” she addressed his mother. “I would be glad to be of use to you.”

“Would you? Oh, I would like that dearly!” Rose smiled and turned back to look at him. “Then it is decided. We shall have a ball to celebrate your birthday, and Lady Hermione will help me with the preparations.”

Antony realized he had no more objections he could make without sounding rude, so he sat back and agreed with a silent nod. Still, his gaze lingered on Lady Hermione, wondering why she had done it. Was it possible she wanted to help prepare his celebrations? Or had she done it to help his mother?

After breakfast, as Lady Hermione and Rose retired to the drawing room to make their plans together, Antony followed them which was something that was not missed by his mother. “Are you coming to help too?” she asked.

“Merely to observe,” he said with a smile, taking a chair on the other side of the room and picking up the book he and Lady Hermione were both reading. Well, he was pretending to read it. Rather than coming to observe the preparations, he had come to observe Lady Hermione with his mother.

The more he watched, the more he was warmed by the sight. Lady Hermione was taking extra care in the way she helped his mother. Every time Rose became stressed by an idea, such as which glasses to present at the ball and what music to be played, Lady Hermione tactfully kept things calm and comforted her, ensuring everything was under control.

“I’m beginning to remember why such things are so stressful,” Rose said, picking up the parchment on which she and Lady Hermione had made all their notes.

“There is no need to be stressed now,” the latter said, pointing at the parchment. “We have everything sorted.”

“Yes. Yes, you are right,” Rose smiled, genuinely this time. “I do thank you for your help, Lady Hermione. I might have abandoned the idea entirely otherwise.”

At the interaction and smiles between the pair, Antony gave up trying to read the book completely and watched the two of them. The easy way in which Lady Hermione had helped his mother and been kind to her was something he hadn’t seen before. Even the previous woman in his life had not made such an attempt.

Lady Hermione is different to her. Remember that.

He knew it all too well. Where his past love had turned out to be cruel and selfish, the woman before him was kind, caring, thoughtful, and yet outspoken and strong in her opinions. She was alluring to him, not just in appearance but in her nature.

The door opened, and another entered the room. It was the Earl of Branigan. Antony didn’t welcome him or make conversation. He was still suspicious that the Earl may well be the cause of Hermione’s bruise, and if he ever found out he was right, he would certainly send the Earl out of his house for good. Yet the more Antony didn’t acknowledge the Earl’s presence, the more he found that eyes lingered on him. He glanced up briefly to see the Earl had been watching him. It was just for a minute before the Earl snapped his gaze away, pretending he hadn’t been looking.

What was that about?

“In truth, when it comes to events such as these, it is the sums that upset me so,” Rose said as she turned more toward Lady Hermione and pointed down at the costs they had added up.

“Is it too much?” Lady Hermione asked.

“Well, I suppose not. It is just that I am not fond of large expenses. I like to ensure nothing is wasted when it comes to my son’s income.” She lifted the parchment and pointed it toward Antony. “What do you think? Is this a fair amount?”

He leaned forward and took the parchment from her, seeing that it was a really rather small amount that could be easily afforded. “Of course, mother, that is not a problem,” he said decisively, passing it back to her.

“Nevertheless, maybe there are a few things we could do, to cut things down.” Rose bent over the parchment to make some more notes.

“Are you inviting people from London, your Grace?” the Earl addressed Rose.

“No, just our friends in the countryside,” she answered with a smile.

Antony flicked his eyes to Lady Hermione, seeing that she didn’t partake in the conversation, only to find that her countenance had altered entirely. She was paler than before with her lips pursed together and her head turned firmly away from her father.

There is something else afoot with her. I am sure of it.

“Hermione, may I speak with you for a minute?” the Earl asked, leaning toward his daughter.

“Of course,” she said, turning and offering a tight smile. Antony watched as the Earl offered his hand to his daughter to help her up from her seat, but she ignored it, staying away from his touch, and walked out of the room without his insistence.

Once the door had closed, Antony kept his gaze on the door for a time, trying to understand what he had just seen. Maybe he was right in his suspicions… maybe the Earl was the cause of that bruise.

* * *

“This is our opportunity,” Rufus said as he and Hermione walked down the corridor.

“Shh,” Hermione pleaded with him, waiting until they were far enough away from the drawing room to ensure no one could hear them before speaking again. “Father, what do you mean?” she asked as she steered them out of the back door and onto the top terrace of the garden, moving away from the house.

“I mean the ball,” Rufus spoke as if his answer was obvious. “It is the perfect opportunity.”

“Opportunity for what? You’re making no sense,” she shook her head, growing more and more nervous about what her father was going to say next.

“Have you not been studying your aunt’s guidelines, Hermione? Do you not remember what was last on the list?” he asked. Hermione went silent and suddenly felt hot indeed with her long-sleeved dress and the heat of the hot day shining down.

She could remember that list all too well, and the last guideline was imprinted on her mind: ‘Number Six. Catch a man in a compromising position in public, and you will force his hand. He will have to marry you then.’

“No, father,” she said meekly, not wanting to do it.

“Listen carefully. At the ball, you will have a chance to charm the Duke. Take him away from the party and… well, I do not particularly want to discuss the details of what should happen next–”

“Oh, good Lord!” She spun away from him, throwing her hands to cover her face as she felt herself growing beetroot red at the shock of her father’s words.

“Then I shall come to find you with the Dowager Duchess and some of the other guests. Once you two are caught, the Duke will have no choice but to marry you. He is an honorable man; he would not stain a lady’s reputation so.” Rufus looked delighted with his plan, now circling Hermione until he caught her gaze once more.

“I… I cannot do it,” she said, thinking of the Duke. Her mind was too consumed with all the kindnesses he had showed her, all the spark there was between them. Somewhere in that time, she realized, she had somehow become devoted to the Duke. She couldn’t hurt him. Never.

“Do you not remember, you don’t have a choice?” Rufus asked, stepping toward her and forcing her to drop her hands. “Aren’t you going to do this for Phoebe?”

She said nothing; she just let the horror of the moment wash over her as she clenched her fists at the side of her body.

“Good,” Rufus nodded, clearly reading her answer. “Make your plan carefully, Hermione. This could be our one shot at seeing your reputation saved.”