Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers
23
“Iam ridiculously happy,” Jemma informed the butterfly hovering over a spray of roses bushes in her uncle's garden. Humming a merry tune, she gave the butterfly a last look and languidly strolled down the stone path, pausing to chat with a nest of robins in the elm tree above her head. She was delirious with happiness. Drunk with joy. She wished to burst into song like the birds around her.
Her wedding to the infamous Devil of Dunbar would take place in just a few days in the very garden she now stood, much to the dismay of Lady Marsh and Lady Cupps-Foster. Lady Cupps-Foster implored her nephew to change his mind, insisting that the wedding of a duke, especially a Dunbar, should be a much more grand affair.
Nick stood his ground. Only the Marsh family, the Cambournes and Nick's friend, the Earl of Kilmaire, in addition to the Dunbars would attend. Lord Kilmaire had arrived only last night for his stay in London and Jemma had yet to meet him.
Jemma agreed with Nick. She’d no wish to parade herself in front of the ton so that they could pick apart and gossip over every aspect of her wedding. She’d no desire to hear their breathy comments as she walked up the aisle. The ton, Jemma thought, had no idea what the future would hold with the Duchess of Dunbar in their midst. She loved Nick and had made a solemn oath to use her new influence and power to ensure her husband and future children would never suffer thatmalicious pack of fools. In that, she had allies, the Marchioness of Cambourne and the Dowager Marchioness.
“I love him and he loves me,” she told the tiny wren perched on the edge of a stone birdbath.
Nick was her dearest friend. Her lover. Her companion. He took her to shoot at an exclusive gentleman’s club, scandalizing the titled men who frequented that establishment. Striding in with Nick, her wooden box of pistols carried by a footman, she winked at Lord Derby and his son as she took her place next to them. Nick laughed at their discomfort while she bested Lord Derby’s every shot.
He took her riding nearly every day in the park. She rode astride, looking down her nose at any who would question her. None did, of course for Nick hovered next to her, daring anyone to challenge his future duchess. She loved him all the more for allowing her to be who she was.
After their ride, Nick would throw down a blanket, and she and Nick would picnic on the thick grass while Anna acted as chaperone on a bench nearby. They spoke of many things, but mostly of his life before their meeting in Bermuda. The Devil of Dunbar entrusted her with himself and his secrets, a gift that reminded Jemma a bit of Pandora’s box. She did not take his trust in her lightly.
As she held his hand tightly to her heart while he spoke of his past, she sought to comfort the dark, complicated man she adored. While outwardly mysterious and feared for his reputation and sharp wit in the ton, Nick was a different man with those close to him. Rowan especially embraced Nick, often accompanying him to White’s to play cards with Lord Cambourne. They dined often with the marquess and his family, and Jemma delighted in the friendship of Lady Miranda, feeling especially proud that the Dowager Marchioness approved of her.
Arabella remained absent from all gatherings, usually pleading a headache. Jemma did not miss her though she knew his sister’s continued absence pained Nick.
“I hope he likes the dress,” she whispered to a ladybug, thinking of her wedding gown, the last fitting of which was today. The cream-colored gown, shot with brilliants, was meant to be a recreation of the dress she wore the night they met at Lord Corbett's. Jemma giggled. “I can't very well march down the aisle in breeches, can I? Though I suspect Nick would like that.”
“I would indeed. I adore you in breeches.” Nick stole up behind her and pressed a kiss to her neck.
“Oh.” Jemma tripped over a stone at the feel of his lips. She hadn't heard him sneak up on her. “Bloody hell, Nick. How is it possible for such a big man to be so quiet? Stop appearing unannounced.”
He caught her deftly by the elbow and pulled her close, kissing her soundly.
“I beg you, Jem, to watch where you walk.” Nick looked down on her from his great height, the blue and brown of his mismatched eyes twinkling at her in mischief. “I want you in full command of your limbs for our honeymoon. In fact, I insist upon it. I assume you were so enthralled with thoughts of the vast array of liberties you can take with me once we are wed, that you didn't hear me stalking you.”
“You are most full of yourself, Your Grace,” Jemma said primly. “I am an innocent girl. I was thinking of the flowers that will grace my bride’s bouquet.”
“Yes, I forgot your innocence.” He pinched her bottom.
Jemma wiggled further into his arms. “Stop that,” she chided, looking towards the windows of her uncle’s house hopeful no one could see Nick in the garden. “I was thinking of my wedding gown, I’ve the final fitting today. I cannot wait to wear it for you.”
“I cannot wait to take you out of it.” He leaned over to press his lips to hers again. “Come let us seek the shelter of yonder bushes lest Lady Marsh find me here.”
“Must we obey my aunt?” Jemma said. Aunt Mary declared that she and Nick not see each other for the week before their nuptials, and so Nick resorted to sneaking into the garden every morning. Unfortunately, due to the preparations for the wedding, the garden would be full of tradesmen by teatime today, and Jemma doubted she would see Nick again until he took her arm before the minister.
“Your aunt is very clear that I not see the bride before the wedding, and you are fortunate she has not noticed me sneaking into her garden. Were she to catch us, I fear she would be most unforgiving.” He shook his head. “With the manner in which she argues her opinion, Lady Marsh should have been a barrister. It is only for these last two days, love, whilst the tradesmen set up the bower.”
“I am beginning to regret agreeing to a garden wedding. Is Lord Kilmaire settled? I’m not sure why he chose to find a town home to let rather than stay at Dunbar house. We will be gone on our honeymoon after all. It would be no bother.”
“Colin is looking for a bride.” Nick winked. “His chances are slim enough with his reputation. I fear my notoriety, were he to stay with us, would lessen his chances even more. Besides, Colin is a bit of a loner. He’s used to living on a large estate by himself. I think he wishes the privacy. He’s constantly scribbling notes on bits of paper, though I’m not sure what he uses them for.”
“Perhaps he’s a writer of sorts or keeps a journal.” Jemma thought Lord Kilmaire sounded as mysterious as Nick himself. “And what does his ‘reputation’ consist of?” She inhaled the warm male scent of Nick and felt the familiar pool of honey between her thighs. Could anyone see them from the house if they were to disappear behind the lion shaped topiary?
“That is a tale for later.” He must have seen her assessing the topiary for he said, “Yes, love, they would certainly see us. We must wait.” He cupped her face in his hands, gently pulling her to him with a brush of his lips against hers. “Then we shall be off to the Continent, alone, just the two of us.”
Jemma hugged him tight, smiling into his coat. Nick couldn't truly read minds, for if he did, he would certainly know that this would be a wedding trip for three.
“What are you about Jem?” Nick pressed a kiss to the top of her head, sensing she had a secret.
“A wedding gift.” She leaned back and brushed a bit of lint off his shoulder, trying to sound nonchalant, lest he guess at her news. “A surprise.” While she didn’t dare ask anyone, Jemma thought her suspicions correct.
Nick gave her a sideways glance but didn’t press her for more. He took her hand in his and proceeded to meander through her uncle's glorious garden, careful to stay out of sight of the house. Every now and then, she would squeeze his fingers tightly and Nick would squeeze back.
“Miss Grantly,” Anna called from the back door of the Marsh home. “Are you still out there? Your aunt and cousin have come down. The carriage is waiting.”
Jemma could see the red of her maid’s hair as the woman put a hand over her eyes to see into the garden.
Nick pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, suddenly feeling desolate that she would not see him for the next two days.
“Don’t be silly. I must see Colin settled.”
“Settled? I suspect that the settling will involve a bottle of whisky shared between the Earl of Kilmaire, the Marquess of Cambourne and my cousin. Try not to fleece Rowan of his fortune over cards, please?”
Nick chuckled softly. “Why do you insist that I must cheat at cards? Rowan is a terrible card player and never bets much. Dice is his game. And as for the whisky, I doubt Lord Kilmaire will overindulge. Colin becomes drunk after drinking a teacup full unless his tolerance has changed. And what shall you do?”
“I shall stay in my room tonight with a book, mooning over you.” She tried to look demure. “As a dutiful betrothed would for her future husband, though I will miss a visit from my lover.”
Nick laughed, and then quickly covered his mouth lest the maid hear him. He had been crawling up the trellis to her room several times each week. “I am just happy that the trellis has remained sturdy. I should applaud the gardener for his construction, perhaps he can pass his knowledge on to the makers of chairs in London.”
“Miss?” Anna was now walking down the path.
“I hate to disappoint you, Your Grace, but the trellis has been repaired several times.” At Nick's look of surprise, Jemma continued, “I caught Rowan telling the gardener to reinforce it. He’s known the entire time and never said a word.”
“Your cousin has been consciously aiding your ruination at my hands?” Nick said in mock horror.
“Indeed.” She kissed his hand.
“Well, then perhaps I will let him win at cards tonight.” Nick nuzzled her neck. “I love you.”
“And I you.” She lifted her head for a kiss. “Go on. Enjoy yourself. Pray be quiet as you leave so that Anna doesn’t see you.”
Nick raised her arm to press a kiss to her wrist. “Soon.”
She watched his tall form disappear behind the hedges leading to the stables, feeling a bit bereft at his leaving.
“Silly," she muttered. “That I should already miss him. I wonder if Cook has any of those delicious tarts leftover from last night. A bit of chocolate would be most welcome.” She waved to Anna who was rapidly approaching.
“I’m here, Anna. Do I have time to change?”
The maid cast a searching look about the garden, frowning as she did so. “I could have sworn I heard the duke.” She regarded Jemma with disapproval.
“Don’t be silly.” Jemma smiled to herself. “You know we aren’t to see each other until the wedding.”
* * *
“I thinkthe gown fits you beautifully.” Petra, her arm linked with Jemma’s hugged her tightly. The pair strolled down a path in the park, the watchful coach bearing Aunt Mary and Uncle John close by, but out of hearing.
Jemma enjoyed her cousin’s enthusiasm. “Madame Fontaine is an excellent seamstress. I think the duke will be very pleased when he sees me.”
Petra laughed. “Pleased is not the word for it, cousin. The ton is scandalized by the duke’s adoration of you. It's quite unheard of.” Petra smiled broadly and gave Jemma another squeeze. “I hope to someday find a gentleman who looks at me the way His Grace looks at you. I quite like him and cannot believe I ever feared him.”
“I have no doubt you will find your match,” Jemma said to Petra as she turned to wave at her aunt and uncle. She watched as Uncle John tugged on a stray curl that escaped her aunt’s coiffure. The gesture caused an instant ache in her for Nick.
“Oh look, there’s Lord Bennett.” Petra waved at a handsome young man riding a coffee colored horse that drew aside her parents’ carriage. The young man greeted Lord and Lady Marsh warmly before looking over his shoulder at Petra. “I think I’ll just say hello. I’ll be right back.”
Jemma nodded, knowing that Petra favored Lord Bennett. At least for the moment. She moved farther along the path to inspect a particularly lovely bloom, careful to keep within hearing of her aunt and uncle. The name of the flower escaped her. Certainly, it wasn’t a rose.
“My lady?” A young boy ran out of the bramble and wood of the park to stand before her. The boy was panting with exertion and sweat beaded his upper lip. “I’m to tell Jem that His Grace wishes you to find him.” The boy’s voice shook. “You’re to follow the path of peonies, my lady.”
Peonies.That’s what the flowers were called.
More importantly, Nick had found her in the park. Perhaps he had changed his mind about obeying her aunt’s restrictions. Was he even now hiding in the thick wood before her?
“My lady?” The boy looked up at her. “I’m to lead you to him.”
Jemma slid a glance towards her family and Lord Bennett. “Only for a moment. His Grace should know better.” But she was glad he did not for she longed to see Nick again.
The boy nodded nervously and started down a small trail leading into the wood. Beckoning Jemma with one hand he urged her. “He waits.”
Jemma gave her aunt and uncle one last glance before following the boy. The trail twisted from the main path as the boy led her deeper into a wooded thicket. She turned around but could no longer see her uncle’s carriage nor hear Petra’s tinkling laugh as her cousin flirted with Lord Bennett. “Where is the duke?” she said to the boy, leaning forward to catch the back of his coat.
The boy twisted out of her hands and ran further ahead before disappearing into a large thicket.
“Why I’m right here.” A voice came from behind her just as a sweet-smelling cloth came over her mouth and nose. Jemma struggled against the arms holding her and turned her head trying to get away from the cloth, but the man held the fabric firmly against her nose.
She struggled, realizing too late that the message did not come from Nick. Twisting and turning, she tried to gasp at fresh air even as the lids of her eyes threatened to close. All strength left her body, and she slid into the arms of the man holding her. She felt herself sag against him as he lifted her, limp as a rag doll. Bleary eyed she tried to focus on her surroundings, the wood around her fading, but not enough that she didn’t recognize the face that hovered above hers.
Augie smiled down at her. “Hello, Jemma.”
