Page 17 of Don’t Let Your Dukes Grow Up To Be Scoundrels (Dukes in Disguise #1)

Chapter Sixteen

When Hal sauntered through the doors of Five Mile House as though he owned the place that evening, Gemma could not pretend, even to herself, that she was surprised. And though she would not have admitted it, even faced with a firing squad, there was an unruly, ungovernable part of herself that thrilled to see him.

Breaking away from the group of farmers she’d been chatting with after delivering their pints of ale, she stopped Hal at the threshold.

“You cannot be here,” she hissed. “I told you to stay home!”

Hal gave her a hooded smile and nodded at the young man behind the bar. “You told me I didn’t have to work,” he corrected her. “And I’m not. I’m just here to have a quiet drink, nothing more. How is young Barnaby coping?”

“He’s fine, and you’re leaving.” Gemma took Hal by the arm and attempted to steer him back out the door; it was like trying to dance with a boulder.

“One drink,” Hal said. “You wouldn’t be so heartless as to turn away a hard-working man before he’s had his pint of bitter. Ooh, and maybe a fish pie. Mr. Woodhill said he heard Danny Finnerman caught a brace of bream and sold them to Bess. That’s what I’m smelling, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care what you smell,” Gemma said, shoving at him fruitlessly. “You need to get out of here, before?—”

“Before what, before your precious earl notices you playing Blindman’s Buff with me over here?” Hal laughed down at her red-faced efforts to shift him. “Where is this paragon of an earl, anyway?”

The frustration that had been simmering in Gemma’s chest all afternoon, since she left Hal, suddenly bubbled up in a steaming explosion.

“He’s been gone for hours! On some sort of expedition on foot round the countryside to look at rocks, of all things, and I could have figured out a way to invite myself along, except I was wasting my time remonstrating with you on a farmer’s rooftop instead!”

“Rocks.” Hal quirked a brow. “This earl you intend to marry is an enthusiast of…rocks?”

Of everything she’d said, that’s what Hal took away from it? Gemma threw up her hands in despair. “Yes! He is of a scientific bent, if you must know, and a founding member of the Royal Geological Society.”

“How stimulating for you,” Hal murmured, laughter lurking in the corners of his green eyes. “I know how much you like rocks.”

“Rocks are fascinating to me,” Gemma declared stoutly. “I love rocks, I always have.”

“You love gemstones,” Hal countered. “Faceted, shiny, precious rocks that come in all sorts of colors.”

The justice of that popped Gemma’s frustration like a bubble and she came within a hairsbreadth of laughing out loud. That, or sticking her tongue out at Hal, who was surely the most infuriating scoundrel ever to draw breath.

Luckily, the opening of the inn door behind them saved her dignity. Unluckily, the person whose entrance forced Hal and Gemma to move out of the way was…the Earl of Stonehaven himself.

“Lord Stonehaven,” Gemma cried, hurriedly affixing a welcoming smile while attempting to interpose her body between the earl and Hal.

She didn’t usually mind her short stature too much—one never had to duck a low doorway to enter a room, or worry about the view of those seated behind one at the theater—but in this case, she could wish for a few additional inches to block Hal’s view.

Not that the Earl of Stonehaven was at all objectionable to look upon. Indeed, Gemma liked the look of him, even if he did look absolutely nothing like Hal.

Gemma huffed internally, annoyed that even in the privacy of her own thoughts, Hal should figure as the apotheosis of all that was manly and attractive. But having the two of them here before her, Gemma realized, looking back and forth between the two men, it was nearly impossible to avoid drawing comparisons.

Where Hal was broad and thickly roped with muscle, the earl was lean, though surprisingly wide of shoulder. Where Hal’s skin was toasted a rich golden tan from the sun, the earl had the complexion of a man who spent more time with books than with livestock. Or perhaps it had to do with his research, Gemma thought vaguely. Wherever one went to look at rocks. Caves? Not much sunlight to be had there.

And of course, there was Hal’s beard. Well-trimmed though it was, still no gentleman of Gemma’s generation would consider sporting any facial hair beyond the occasional pair of overgrown sideburns known as mutton chops.

The Earl of Stonehaven’s cheeks were smoothly shaven, revealing a face of pleasing angularity, sharply defined jaw and cheekbones, and the high, clear forehead of the intellectual.

Hal’s rough, homespun clothing fit his body oddly, as though it had been made for someone else—too tight in some places, billowing hugely in others. His boots were scuffed and caked with dirt. As she’d come to expect from him, he wore no neckcloth nor hat.

The earl was sensibly attired for the country: sturdy wool trousers and a tweed coat, brown brogued boots that looked well worn in, but all exceedingly fine and exquisitely tailored. He’d whipped his wide-brimmed hat off his head and tucked it under his arm the instant he stepped through the door. The action had ruffled the waves of his shiny brown hair, cropped short at the sides and back and fashionably longer on top, and he lifted a hand to smooth it into place in a motion that looked habitual.

The earl’s smile lit his serious face with a sudden charm, wider and more genuine than Gemma had expected. “Lady Gemma! What charming countryside you have here. I have had a long ramble and found a spar formation that…but pardon me, that cannot be at all interesting to you.”

Behind her, Hal snorted, drawing the earl’s attention for the first time. Gemma did not need to look at Hal to picture the expression on his face—she only had to observe the way the smile dropped from the earl’s lips, to be replaced by a look of consternation.

“On the contrary,” Gemma trilled, linking her arm firmly through Lord Stonehaven’s and maneuvering him past the large obstruction of Hal. “I am fascinated to hear of your discoveries. We are only recently arrived in this neighborhood ourselves and I’m sure there are many things about our new home that we do not yet know.”

“I shall be happy to tell you all about it, only you must promise to stop me if I begin to drone on.” He gave a hapless shrug. “My sisters tell me I am an absolute menace when it comes to conversation about my geological findings. Apparently I have bored more than one young lady to literal tears.”

“It would take more than some chit chat about rocks to overset me,” Gemma assured him as she got him settled at the table she’d reserved for the purpose. Semi-private, tucked into a snug corner of the taproom in a window alcove, it was the perfect place for a little genteel seduction.

The earl played his part by courteously inviting her to join him for supper. If she could only stop being aware, at every moment, with every inhalation and every beat of her heart, that Hal was in the same room.

That was the last major difference she noticed between them, Gemma reflected unhappily. William Brighton, Earl of Stonehaven, was kind, solicitous, personable, and gentle. And when he smiled at her, she felt…nothing.

Whereas Hal Deveril was impossible, irrepressible, brash, and she didn’t even need to turn her head to feel the raw, dynamic vitality that poured off of him in a volcanic torrent. The very air between them throbbed, pulsing with all the things they’d said—and done—together.

I can’t do this , Gemma thought, despairing.

“That fellow you were speaking with when I came in,” Lord Stonehaven said quietly. “Does he…reside in the neighborhood?”

Against her will, Gemma felt her cheeks flame with heated color. “Oh! That’s no one, only our barman who is taking a few days off. Tell me more about what you found on your walk! A spare, was it?”

“A spar,” he corrected her distractedly. His light gray eyes seemed to search the room beyond her shoulder, perhaps for another glimpse of Hal. Gemma shifted in her seat and wished she had worn one of her lower-cut London evening gowns. His attention would not wander so readily then.

“Yes, a spar,” she repeated, leaning in to create a sense of intimacy. “Tell me more.”

Appearing to come to some decision, Lord Stonehaven refocused his attention on her and began a long explanation about the way an outcropping of living rock, or bedrock, could be followed to find various minerals in the chalk hills of the Downs. Gemma set herself to listen, determined to learn more about what Lord Stonehaven liked. Even if it was more boring than she wanted to admit.

Hal’s warm laugh boomed out behind her, as big and unrestrained as the man himself, and Gemma found herself wishing she could turn around and join in the fun.

Something of what she was feeling must have shown on her face, because Lord Stonehaven broke off in the middle of a description of a particularly promising exposure of metamorphic rock.

He was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “If there are things you need to attend to, your duties as landlady of the inn, I would not keep you from them.”

Gemma’s stomach clenched. Full of remorse for being unable to give this kind, thoughtful gentleman the full attention he deserved, she overcorrected. “Not at all! I declare, I have never been so fascinated! I want to hear all about the granite intrusion you found today!”

A smile creased the corners of his eyes. He really did have such nice eyes. “You are very kind, Lady Gemma.”

He reached across the table and clasped her hand, an impulsive move that should have given Gemma a thrill. His hand was warm; his fingers were long, the mobile digits of an artist or a musician. Gemma looked down at the place where their skin touched and felt nothing.

That didn’t matter, she told herself. Marrying this man was the right thing to do for her family, and she would see it through. At least she’d managed to wait until a truly good man came along.

Thanks to Hal , said the little voice in the back of her mind. If he hadn’t interfered, you’d be Lady Gilbert right now, listening to florid poetry and sponging your husband’s un-fevered brow.

Suppressing a shudder, Gemma tried to focus on the earl in front of her, and block all awareness of the barman enjoying his night off behind her. The task was made more difficult by the fact that the earl’s gaze kept straying over her shoulder to scan the taproom.

Finally, he broke off in the middle of an anecdote about a colleague of his who’d plucked a gem-quality diamond from the waters of the Coolebrooke River in Ireland a few years before. “Ah, my valet has returned!”

The earl raised a hand, beckoning, and Gemma, who had actually perked up at the mention of a gem-quality diamond, blinked at the abrupt shift in subject matter.

Twisting round in her chair, Gemma spied a small, slim man in a three-button coat and high, starched collar carrying an enormous parcel wrapped with a ribbon of robin’s egg blue. That was the color of the earl’s household livery, Gemma recalled.

“I had to send him all the way to Newbury to get what I wanted, but I think—ah, there you are, Sanderson! Did you manage to find the—? Good, good, I never doubted you for a moment.”

As the earl took the large package from his valet and set it down on the table in front of Gemma, he said, “Sanderson is a wonder, he attends to all the mundane details of life that so often escape me. I should be a wreck without him. Open your gift!”

Despite herself, anticipation tingled up Gemma’s spine. It had been so long since she’d been in the position to receive an inappropriate gift from a gentleman! The box was so wide and flat, it had to be a gown.

She dithered for a moment over whether to accept it. Surely it would not reflect well on her to accept an expensive gift from an admirer. It was exactly the sort of thing that the patronesses of Almack’s frowned upon and tutted over. What if this was a test?

But Gemma liked presents. And as she looked across the table at the earl’s open, guileless face, she couldn’t imagine him playing the sort of game that would result in humiliating Gemma for accepting his gift. Especially here, in public, in the middle of her inn with a crowd of customers and villagers beginning to gather round.

The crowd included Lucy, and Hal, of course. Somehow he’d contrived to stand directly behind Lord Stonehaven’s chair, and he was watching Gemma with an expression she did not altogether like.

“What are you waiting for?” Lord Stonehaven urged, nudging the package closer to her. “Open it!”

Above his head, Hal grinned at her, his teeth very white in his tanned, bearded face. “Yes, open it! We’re all perishing to see what’s inside.”

Brimming with excitement, head full of visions of satin and silk, lace and beading—something new to wear, just when she’d resigned herself to falling hideously out of fashion in the interests of sinking all their profits back into the inn—Gemma pulled off the pretty blue ribbon and carefully coiled it up to keep. Her fingers scrabbled at the box a bit in her eagerness to see what was inside.

Flinging the lid aside, she tore through the top layer of tissue paper to uncover…a pair of the tall green India rubber boots recently popularized by the Duke of Wellington. They were clunky and ugly.

“But…these are gentleman’s boots,” she pointed out, bewildered.

“Actually, this pair is sized to fit a young boy. I hope I got the size right, I had to hazard a guess.”

“So they’re…for a young boy?” Gemma looked up in confusion only to see Hal nearly convulsed with silent laughter. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“No, no, you are the intended recipient, I assure you! So that you can join me tomorrow in my explorations without dirtying any of your nice slippers,” Lord Stonehaven explained earnestly.

“This is wonderful,” Lucy said loudly, the false enthusiasm of her tone making Gemma wince slightly. “Lord Stonehaven has truly divined your heart’s desire, Gemma!”

Gemma sent her sister a look that she hoped conveyed her true heart’s desire: for Lucy to stop “helping” at once.

A light frown creased Stonehaven’s high brow. “It can be quite muddy out there in the countryside, and the best thing one can do is to be appropriately prepared for the elements. But I do understand that these boots are not…the height of fashion, I suppose. Or even ladylike perhaps. Oh dear. I do hope I have not given offense, I assure you I meant no insult! I only meant to see you properly kitted out before inviting you to come exploring with me!”

Setting aside her disappointed longing for luxurious fabrics and fancy fripperies, Gemma smiled at Lord Stonehaven. “I’m not offended! Truly, this is an exceptionally thoughtful gift, and I thank you for it.”

“You’d better try them on, don’t you think?” Hal asked, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow lifted challengingly.

Her vanity protested at once; the boots were inescapably unattractive, and they would look especially ludicrous sticking out from under the wine-colored skirts of the satin-trimmed dress she wore over the ruffled white underdress peeking out at the hem.

She would look an utter fool, wearing those boots with this dress.

Gemma shot a glare at Hal, only managing to convert the expression to a sweet smile for Lord Stonehaven at the last instant. “Yes, of course! I can’t wait to put them on! I love them!”

Still looking touchingly concerned that he might have insulted her, the earl had the rubber boots out of the box and was kneeling at Gemma’s feet before she could quite process what was happening. It was a shockingly intimate moment, played out in a very public space.

A ripple of delight ran through the crowd to see a highborn peer of the realm on his knees before the landlady of their local pub.

For a giddy instant, as Lord Stonehaven gazed up at her, a Wellington boot in his hands and a hopeful smile on his face, Gemma had the mad thought that he might be about to propose less than three days after renewing their acquaintance. With a pair of galoshes.

The chill of dread that gripped the nape of her neck shocked her. A proposal was the prize she’d been working toward! It was her family’s way back to London society and a bright new future! She was supposed to want nothing more than to hear those four little words: “Will you marry me?”

Instead, the moment broke when Lord Stonehaven bent his head and busied himself with her footwear. Gemma took the opportunity to catch her breath. She meant also to give herself a stern talking to, but when her eyes instinctively lifted, looking for Hal’s smirking countenance, she faltered.

He was gone, disappeared into the crowd. She searched for him in vain, almost against her will—but he had vanished as though he’d never been there.

And the disappointment Gemma felt, the crushing weight of sorrow and regret and dashed hopes, the way she missed his presence like a part of herself had been cut off and spirited away…all of that forced her to admit the truth, if only to herself.

She wanted to hear those four little words…but not from Lord Stonehaven.

* * *

Hal faded more deeply into the shadows of the horse’s stall, his hands slowing in their grooming and smoothing over Beeswax’s chestnut hide.

Someone was coming.

Beeswax heard the footsteps as well and shuffled to put her head over the half-door of her stall to see if whoever it was had brought her any treats.

Hal tossed aside the curry comb he’d been using. She didn’t need it anyway, she was plenty clean enough for hauling logs tomorrow to build up the fence that penned in Mr. Alton’s sheep. Hal was in here, grooming this draft horse, because he couldn’t bear to be in there, watching Gemma smile at another man.

And he hadn’t gone home because…Hal cursed softly and hung his head. He was a right mess if he couldn’t force himself to head home without one last glimpse of Gemma.

Maybe that’s who was coming, he suddenly thought, a bolt of desire shooting through him. Anticipation of seeing Gemma’s lovely face brought him to attention, like a hunting dog poised to course.

So it was something of an embarrassing disappointment when the figure the entered the barn holding a lit candle was not Gemma—but instead, her newest suitor.

William Brighton, Earl of Stonehaven.

Whom no one in their right mind could consider unsuitable.

The thought formed as a snarl in the deep part of Hal’s chest, a rumbling sound that surprised him as much as it apparently did the earl. Who jumped about a foot in the air and swung round swiftly enough to make his candle sputter.

“Who—who’s there?”

Caught on the prongs of a dilemma, Hal hesitated only a moment before pushing past Beeswax to let himself out of her stall and confront the earl. “What are you doing out here?”

The belligerence of his tone was not exactly in keeping with the moment, but Hal couldn’t help it. Indeed, some part of him hoped that Lord Stonehaven would take immediate offense and throw the first punch, because that would give Hal the excuse he needed to let out all the ugly welter of jealousy and hurt currently coiling his muscles into knots.

You can’t hit this one , he remembered as some vestige of rational thought reasserted itself. If you drive off this earl, she really might never forgive you.

In any case, Lord Perfect was too perfectly reasonable and genteel to stoop to Hal’s level of caveman aggression.

With a cautious smile, the earl said, “Oh, I’m only here to check that my horses are well and that my coachman and footmen have good places to sleep.”

Fighting the urge to respect the earl’s care, Hal scowled. “What did you think, we’d bed them down with the hogs? Turn the horses out to pasture with no feed?”

“Not at all,” Lord Perfect hastened to assure him, his kind features tightening with distress that he had given such offense. “I’m certain this is a top-tier establishment in every possible respect. It is only my own silly custom, to see to my people and be assured of their well-being.”

Damn it to hell , Hal though savagely. He actually is perfect.

There was a taste like cold iron at the back of Hal’s throat. For the first time since he’d embarked on his campaign of obstruction, he was forced to stop and consider what would happen if Gemma and her scheming managed to attract a man who was actually worthy of her.

The frustrated savage part of Hal’s psyche still growled out a constant subvocal MINE , but on a higher, more rational level, Hal had to admit that Lord Perfect—Lord Stonehaven, rather, was exactly what Gemma needed.

If Hal was any sort of gentleman, he would step aside gracefully and let the better man win.

Thoughts a chaotic jumble, Hal muttered something like “Goodnight, then,” and grabbed his shabby, patched jacked from the hook beside Beeswax’s stall. But before he could leave, the earl’s quiet voice split the silence.

“I say, while I have a moment alone with you…would you care to explain why a duke is passing himself off as a barman in a local coaching inn?”