How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Iam not going to give you chance to escape today,” Hermione muttered as she stared out of the window. She was already dressed, even though the sun had barely begun to peak above the cliff edge that hung out over the ocean. “I know you will. You will run from here as soon as you get chance.”

Her mumblings proved true. A few minutes later, a figure appeared out of the front door. Despite the fact it was still too grey to see his face, Hermione could tell by the outline of his figure that it was Antony. He was striding around the house, either heading in the direction of the garden or the stable.

Hermione pushed away from the window and hurried out of her chamber. She had asked the maid that morning to help her into the Pomona green dress that Antony had purchased for her. Now, she took hold of the green skirt in her hand, enabling her to run down the stairs and straight out of the front door.

Outside, the wind that was whistling off the ocean and buffeting up the clifftops jolted her. She had to fight the wind chill and the force as she ran around the house, heading straight for where she had seen Antony escape too. When she reached the stable, she could only hear sounds at first of a horse being prepared.

“Quickly, Graham, please,” Antony said. “I want to be gone within a few minutes.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the groom said in reply. Hermione craned her neck to see the groom was an elderly man. She half wondered if he had taken the place of the former groom that ran off with Antony’s last betrothed. The groom turned with the saddle in his hands, spotted her and bowed. “Oh, Your Grace. Good morning to you.”

“Good morning.” Hermione’s return of the pleasantry made Antony’s head snap toward her. He was standing beside a large chestnut horse with one hand on the reins that were threaded around the steed’s nose. His face was a perfect picture of anger, seeing that she had found him. “Your Grace,” she said, turning to approach him. “May I accompany you on your ride?”

“No.” The answer was curt and short. “Graham, where is that saddle?”

“Coming, Your Grace.” Graham hurried over with the saddle and rushed to put it in place.

“Please?” Hermione asked, standing in the way of the horse.

“Out of the way! This horse is a skittish one, and I wouldn’t want you to get injured,” Antony said off handedly.

“So, you do still care?” Her words made him turn sharply away from her.

“Graham? Is the saddle buckled yet?”

“Nearly.”

“He’s working as quickly as he can,” Hermione said, stepping forward.

“I know that,” Antony said, keeping his eyes firmly away from her. “Are we done?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Graham said.

“I am not done,” Hermione pleaded, reaching out toward him, but Antony moved easily away from her grasp. He pulled himself up onto the steed and urged the horse out of the stable. “Wait. Please?” Yet, Antony didn’t even bother replying to her this time.

Once he was a few strides beyond the stable, he kicked his heels and urged the steed into a gallop. Hermione was breathing deeply as she stared after him. I will not let you escape me now.

“Graham?” She turned to the groom. “Do you think you could prepare a horse for me please?”

“Of course. With just as much urgency and speed?” the elderly man asked with a smile.

“Yes, please!” Hermione helped the groom to prepare a smaller mare than the steed Antony had taken.

“This one is faster, Your Grace,” Graham said as he helped her up into the saddle. “Nimble and agile. You might be able to catch up to the Duke with her.”

“Thank you,” Hermione offered a sad sort of smile before she urged the mare out of the stable and galloped away. She took the same path Antony had taken, galloping across the grass that banked along the side of the cliff.

As the sun rose higher and higher, it was starting to reflect off the ocean with a bright yellow light. It would be some time yet before others were up, at the house or in the town, but the sun aided her path. With the new light, she could see Antony’s horse far ahead of her and track the path he took.

He first cantered across the clifftops before turning down a valley and taking a slow bank down toward the edge of Lyme Regis town. Hermione followed him exactly, jumping a fence at the end of the field in order to try and gain some ground on him.

When he reached the town, she was catching up with him. They both rode through the streets along the side of the town which were still empty of people. She followed him all the way until she saw where his horse turned. It was right to the water’s edge and along the beach where he had first taken her to see the fossils.

She pulled her horse up to the edge of the beach at the same time he did. He looked back at her, clearly angered to see she had followed. They both threaded their reins around a hitching rack at the end of the sand, then Antony took off, hurrying across the beach away from her.

“Your Grace? Your Grace!” she shouted after him, realizing this was where she was going to struggle.

In his trousers and his hessian boots, he could easily escape her, running away across the rocks and the stones. In her dress with the petticoats and slip-on shoes, she had a slippery hold on the sand. When Antony ran alongside the sea edge, trying to escape her, she followed as best she could, but then her foot got caught between two rocks. The shoe came off, her body twisted backwards, and her ankle clicked at an unnatural angle, causing enough pain to make her fall.

“Antony!” she cried his name as she fell, but the sand didn’t come up to meet her- instead the water did. A wave crashed in from the ocean and enveloped her dress.

She was instantly sodden, with her head under the water, finding it impossible to discern between the rocks and the sand beneath the murky green depths. She reached out at what she thought was a rock, trying to stand up out of the wave, but then the tide pulled her backwards. She was being dragged out into the sea.

* * *

“God’s wounds, Hermione!” Antony bellowed her name as he threw off his jacket and ran back toward her. The sudden high wave had come in out of nowhere. The tide should be retreating at this time of day, yet the one high wave had swept her away and was currently dragging her out into the ocean.

He dived in after her, scrambling for her in the sea. She was struggling against the pull of the dress. When he reached her, it was just his hand clasped around hers at first, then he kicked forward, swimming alongside of her enough to wrap his arm around her waist and drag her back with him.

As the two of them swam together, soon they were back in the shallows with the tide going out around them.

“Put your feet down,” he encouraged her, not letting go of her. He had one hand in hers still and the other around her waist. She did as he said, still coughing up some water while he helped her out of the ocean, toward the fossils and the stones.

Once there was a little distance between them and the sea, she snapped her hand out of his and tapped him around the arm. “Ow! What was that for?”

“You are the reason I fell in!” she shouted, though she didn’t walk out of his arm.

“I got you out, didn’t I?” he asked.

“Why did you get me out?” she said. “If you hate me so much that you cannot bear to look at me or speak to me anymore, why pull me out?”

“I’m not a monster, Hermione. I leave that for others.” Realizing he was still holding onto her, he released her at last and walked away, pushing the tendrils of hair back from his head and trying to shake the excess water off his body.

“I am not a monster,” Hermione pleaded, walking after him, stumbling slightly from the pain in her ankle, though it was clearly not broken. “If you choose to ignore me forever more, then that is your prerogative, but before you make that decision, would you at least let me tell you what really happened?”

“I know what happened!” he snapped, turning back around to her.

“No, you do not,” she insisted, following him and pushing him in his chest. He clung onto her wrists as she did so, unable to part from her. “Do you have any idea what happened to me before I came to Lyme Regis? Before I came to your house?”

“What do you mean?” he asked. Her words had brought him up short. He gazed at her drenched form, with the rivulets of water running off her blonde hair and the Pomona green dress that clung to her.

“I came here with a ruined reputation already, Antony.” Her words were miserable. She snatched her hands away from his grasp, although she held his gaze, breathing deeply, either from her anger or the dip in the water, he couldn’t tell which.

“I didn’t want to believe that tale,” he said, feeling his brow furrowing. She looked shocked, her face contorting.

“You know?” she asked. “You heard the gossip? When?”

“The other day. It was mentioned at the club,” he said, shaking his head. “Is it true? Were you really set to marry another man?”

“I was to be married. Then… then he never turned up.”

“What?” Antony couldn’t process the information. He took a step back from her, nearly twisting his ankle as he stepped over the rocks. He stumbled to stand straight. “Who? Who were you to marry?”

“Does that part even matter?” she said, shrugging. “The point is that I was waiting for him at the church door, and he never came. My reputation was in tatters.”

Antony couldn’t say anything. The tale fitted perfectly with what he already knew. He turned away from her, rubbing his face with the stress of hearing the story. Did she love him?

“My father arranged for my aunt to write to your mother so that we could come here. My father wanted me to…”

“To trick me into marrying you? I know that part!” Antony snapped, turning back round to face her as he dropped his hands.

“I never wanted to do it,” she said quietly, stepping toward him. With the one step, he moved back too, maintaining the distance between them. She gave up and fell still. “I told him no, countless times, but he told me if I didn’t do it that Phoebe’s reputation would be ruined too.”

“You are telling me you married me for your sister’s sake as well as your own?” he asked, motioning toward her.

“No! No, that is not what I am saying. I didn’t try to trap you into marriage.”

“Oh really?” Antony asked, scoffing. “Then why kiss me here on the beach that time? Why did you kiss me and do so much more with me in the library? You were doing it all just to get your hands on being a Duchess.” He said the words with finality and turned away from her, signaling the conversation was over.

“If that were true, why did I kiss you the first night when I thought you were a footman?” Her words made him stop walking any further. “You were wearing that scruffy jacket; you didn’t look like a Duke. I had no idea who you really were, and yet I kissed you anyway. I liked you, not your title or your money.”

He could remember that kiss so vividly. The heated bickering had been a lot of fun, culminating in that stolen kiss. She had kissed him back, and he had indeed been wearing that ridiculous jacket. Could it be true? No, it cannot be.

“One night’s mistake?” he said, looking back at her over his shoulder. “Explain those guidelines I found then.”

“They were written by my aunt,” she said miserably, still breathing heavily. She lifted her hands and tried to squeeze the excess water out of her hair. The action drew Antony’s eyes down to her figure with the drenched dress; it accented every curve she had. “Did you ever look at the other guidelines on the list? Did you read them?”

“Oh yes,” he said tartly, “I read everything on that list.”

“Then tell me, did I ever do any of them? Was I ever demure with you? Did I ever flatter you excessively?” He took another step back from her, thinking on her words. She had never done any of that. She had bickered with him, shown spirit and passion, and he had loved that.

“You still did the last guideline on that list. Caught me in a compromising position, didn’t you?” he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Do you not remember everything about that night?” she asked, taking another step toward him. This time, he didn’t step away. “Do you not remember me telling you to stay away from me? I tried to warn you off, and I failed. I tried to leave you at one point too, but I capitulated to you anyway. It was weakness.” She appeared in pain with the words.

“Why? Why did you capitulate then?”

“Because I am in love with you, you fool!” she shouted the words.

Antony stumbled back, just as Hermione turned in a frantic circle, burying her hands in her wet hair. She loves me?

He watched her, seeing the way her body was trembling, and how she could not stand still. “I liked you from the moment I met you,” she said, this time unable to look at him. She was still anxious, turning round on the spot. “How could I not fall in love with you?”

He couldn’t answer her; he was too tongue-tied, staring at her.

“Antony.” She seemed to take control of her body as she moved toward him. “I know you can never love me back now, not after what I have done.” She hiccoughed with the words, evidently trying to hold back tears. “But there is one thing I yearn to have from you.”

“What is that?” he asked quietly.

“I want you to believe me,” she said, with just as low a voice. “Please, Antony. Please believe me?”