Page 18 of Don’t Let Your Dukes Grow Up To Be Scoundrels (Dukes in Disguise #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Hal froze, pinned in place like a wrestler thrown to the mat.

Lord Stonehaven packed a mean punch after all , he thought dimly. Only he didn’t use his fists, he used words.

Secrets.

Recovering himself as quickly as he could, Hal shook his head, a fighter throwing off the ringing in his ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His snarl did not appear to intimidate the earl, who moved a step closer and held his candle up, the better to examine Hal’s scowling visage.

Part of Hal would’ve liked to turn his face away, but pride wouldn’t allow it. He squared his shoulders and stared down at the earl, letting him look his fill. His pulse raced.

He scoured his brain for any memory of having met the Earl of Stonehaven before but nothing came to him. Hal had been well and truly rusticating for years, and even at school, once he fell in with Jonathan and his crowd of sober, hard-working student friends, Hal had kept less exalted company than heirs to earldoms. None of Gemma’s previous gentlemen had seemed to see anything other than what they expected to see.

And yet Lord Stonehaven’s furrowed brow cleared when he got a closer look at Hal. “I knew it was you. John Henry Montrose, now the Duke of Havilocke. I was a year behind you at Oxford. Exeter College. You won’t have noticed me, I did nothing but study.”

“Hal,” he said automatically, his mind whirring. “My friends call me Hal.”

“Friends.” The earl smiled faintly, his light-colored eyes unreadable in the candle-lit gloom of the stable. “Is that what we are. I was beginning to wonder if it was more along the lines of ‘rivals.’”

Heart racing like a thoroughbred tearing up the track, Hal stared at this earl, this man, who seemed intent on bypassing the layers of secrets and propriety and class expectations in favor of directness.

Were they rivals, in truth? Could Hal offer Gemma anything close to what the Earl of Stonehaven could? Could Hal, in good conscience, do anything to stop her from marrying this man and securing her own future and the happiness of the family that depended on her?

As someone who understood a little something about having people depend on him, Hal knew, with sinking clarity, what the only real answer could be.

“No,” he rasped, dropping his arms to his sides. “I am not your rival. Not in any way that matters.”

“Lady Gemma is an unusual person,” Lord Stonehaven said into the tense air between them. “I obviously do not know her as well as some, nor as well as I should someday like to, but I can tell already on even such a short acquaintance that she is a person who is perfectly capable of making her own choices. I cannot pretend to understand what circumstances have brought about this…”

He broke off and gestured up and down with his free hand, as it to encompass all of Hal’s recent choices.

“It’s a deception,” Hal said bluntly. “And one that I would prefer not to be revealed to the lady in question.”

Lord Stonehaven’s mouth took on an unhappy curve. “I don’t understand.”

Hal was damned if he was going to explain it. He folded his arms over his chest and waited out the painful pause before the earl realized he wasn’t going to get anything more out of Hal.

But instead of becoming annoyed or self-righteous, he surprised Hal again.

“Perhaps it is none of my business,” Lord Stonehaven acknowledged ruefully, “But I can’t say that I like it.”

“You don’t have to like it. Just know that hiding my true identity from Lady Gemma is not intended to harm her in any way. I give you my word as a gentleman.” Hal dredged up a small smile. “As a fellow Oxford man.”

Against all odds, this seemed to actually carry some weight with Lord Stonehaven, who stood for a moment in silent contemplation.

“In that case. What if I were to propose a small trade? My silence, in return for your permission to perform a little light excavation on your ducal lands? I’ve found an altogether remarkable exposure of intrusive granite that…well, suffice it to say, I should like to follow where it leads, but I would prefer to do so with the landowner’s permission.”

Hal barked out a laugh. It wasn’t very full of humor, but he wasn’t in the best of moods.

“That is a very neat solution to our problem. You and Lady Gemma are perfect for one another. She also likes to make deals. Consider my permission granted. I’ll try to stay out of your way.”

Slinging his coat over his shoulders, Hal strode from the stables. He couldn’t bear another moment in this perfectly suitable suitor’s presence. Still, he paused at the stable door and said one last thing over his shoulder, the words jerked from him like a fractious horse tugging on the reins.

“Take care of her.”

Because I bloody can’t.

* * *

The first walking expedition Lord Stonehaven led Gemma on was a roaring success. If one counted success by the number of granite intrusions one had discovered.

And since Lord Stonehaven did , Gemma was counting it as success. Even if tramping through the woods in knee-high Wellington boots, swatting at insects and getting her hat ribbons tangled in briars was her current, updated definition of hell.

She set herself to smile and bear the day’s fresh torture with a good grace, because the earl had decided to extend his stay for a couple of weeks.

“And we all know what that means,” Lucy said, waggling her straight, dark eyebrows in the small looking glass over Gemma’s shoulder as she tied her corset laces.

Somehow, despite the strides they had made in turning the inn into a welcoming place where anyone might like to spend the night, the two sisters were still sharing a room.

Or perhaps it was because of the changes they’d wrought, Gemma mused with some satisfaction, as at the minute, every empty room on the second floor was filled with a paying guest.

“What it means,” Gemma replied, turning from the glass to lift her day dress from the back of the chair where it hung waiting, “is that today will be another long, hot, dirty meander up hill and down, looking at rocks. Joy.”

Lucy frowned. “If you don’t like Lord Stonehaven, you can always throw him back. Another fish will come along soon enough.”

The past few weeks had convinced Lucy that the well would never run dry, that every sunrise would see a new suitor rumbling up to the coaching inn to try his luck, but Gemma was by no means so sanguine.

What the past few weeks had taught her was that men she could actually contemplate marrying without wanting to run screaming were thin on the ground, indeed. She’d never admit it aloud, but she did in fact consider that Hal had done her several very large favors by scuttling those previous romances before they could progress.

“I do like Lord Stonehaven,” Gemma declared firmly. “How could I not? He is a treasure. Everyone likes him.”

Henrietta adored him because he made a point of complimenting her hats and asking about her painting in his quiet, sincere way. He’d won Lucy over by asking serious questions about her plans to capture the Gentle Rogue, and what she’d do with the highwayman once she had him. Bess liked him because he polished off whatever plate she put in front of him, and begged her to come cook for him in London.

He was wonderful.

“Lord Stonehaven is everything I could have possibly hoped for in a prospective husband.”

“And we have every reason to suppose that an offer of marriage will be forthcoming,” Lucy pointed out.

Gemma nodded, sighed, and sat on the chair to roll on the woolen stockings that were her heels’ only protection from the incessant chafing of the dreaded Wellington boots.

“Then why aren’t you pleased,” Lucy demanded, throwing her hands in the air. “All of your dreams are about to come true!”

Leaving aside the fact that it was not precisely her “dream” to cynically pursue and wed a gentleman for his wealth and influence, Gemma sought to reassure Lucy. And perhaps herself.

“I am pleased, of course. It’s only that these geological surveys Lord Stonehaven lives for are so very exhausting, and then there’s still the inn to run, with all its various chores during the day and guests to greet and serve in the evenings. And I’ve been thinking it’s time to refurbish the snug as a private parlor for guests who can pay a bit more, wouldn’t that be nice? A lot of work, though. I suppose I must be a trifle worn out.”

Surely that was why everything felt so…flat.

Certainly it had nothing to do with the way Hal seemed to have actually taken her at her word when she’d told him it was over between them.

He avoided the inn during the day, showing up to work behind the bar at the last possible moment and maintaining a comprehensive and silent distance for the entirety of his time there before disappearing into the night the instant the inn was closed.

Which was what Gemma wanted, of course.

“Well, that’s simple,” Lucy said pragmatically. “Stop working so hard on the inn. Forget the new private parlor. It doesn’t matter anymore, now that you’ve landed the best trout in the pond.”

Gemma’s brow crinkled. “Where on earth are all these fishing metaphors coming from?”

“Hal is teaching me to fish,” Lucy informed her. “He says it’s a life skill.”

Gemma ignored the deep pang in her chest along with the mention of Hal. “Perhaps I could let some things go when it comes to the inn, but there is no formal understanding between Stonehaven and myself. And as we’ve seen before, there are many eventualities that can befall a gentleman while courting. It would be reckless of me to let the inn fall to wrack and ruin after all our hard work, and before a marriage proposal has actually been made.”

Pausing in the act of brushing out her long, wavy dark hair, Lucy pointed the silver-backed brush at her sister. “That’s not it. I think you like it.”

“Like what?” Gemma turned away, fussing with her sleeves.

“Five Mile House! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… running a coaching inn, being a landlady! I’d wager you even enjoy the chores.”

“That is preposterous,” Gemma said firmly. “No one could enjoy laundry day.”

“Perhaps not laundry day,” allowed Lucy, who had done her own stints at the washtub. “But everything else…I thought you’d jump at the opportunity to cease working so hard on this place.”

“Perhaps I would have, once.” Gemma smoothed her skirts and sat in the chair to allow Lucy to put up her hair.

Lucy came over and began to plait the heavy mass into several thick braids to coil at the nape of Gemma’s neck. “It’s strange. Life here is so very different to life in London.”

“I know what you mean. I thought I should die of boredom when we first arrived, and that I would miss my friends so much—but there’s no time for being bored when there’s so much to be done, and after all, it’s hardly as though there’s less fascinating tittle tattle in a small town than there was in London. People here know absolutely everything about one another! And now that we’re corresponding, I am forced to admit that my London friends aren’t truthfully very interesting when one gets right down to it.”

Gemma snorted. “Nor mine. Endless rounds of drinking, debauchery, losing money at cards, racing carriages at breakneck speeds and betting on brawls. But your life in London when we go back needn’t be like that, Luce. You deserve a debut, and a Season, and a chance to?—”

“To exhibit myself on the Marriage Mart like Mr. Cartwright’s prizewinning calf?” Lucy made a face. “I suppose.”

“To find someone who will give you the future you deserve,” Gemma corrected. “And allow you to take your proper place in society.”

“Is that how your debut worked out?” Lucy gave her an arch look in the cheval glass.

“No, and I want better for you,” Gemma said firmly. “You deserve to find happiness.”

Lucy pushed in one last hairpin and patted the top of Gemma’s head. “I’m not convinced that a London season is the path to happiness, but…you deserve to be happy too, you know.”

“I will be,” Gemma promised with a bright smile. “As soon as I bring Lord Stonehaven up to scratch and get one of his precious rocks on my finger!”

An hour later, long after Lucy had run down to the courtyard to greet the mail coach, Gemma was still thinking about that conversation as Lord Stonehaven held her hand to help her over a fallen log in the old growth forest near Kissington Manor.

They were both wearing gloves, as was proper. Perhaps that was the reason his touch felt as impersonal as brushing against a stranger in the street.

But Lord Stonehaven wasn’t a stranger. He was a man she was coming to know as kind, thoughtful, serious about his studies yet able to laugh at himself.

She liked his face; it was quite a nice face. He was tall and had good shoulders, stronger and less stooped than one might expect of a scholar. He had all his own hair and teeth.

So why couldn’t she feel anything when he touched her? Why couldn’t she fall in love with him?

Falling in love was hardly a prerequisite for marriage, she reminded herself as she tripped over an exposed tree root and Lord Stonehaven steadied her. Despite what her father had believed. It had never really formed a part of Gemma’s plans. She only knew that the closer she drew to achieving her goals, the more guilty she felt for using this gentleman for her own ends.

She stumbled over yet another patch of uneven ground and cursed silently, vowing to pay more attention to her surroundings before she ended up with a broken ankle. Perspiration trickled down the back of her neck; her corset chafed where she was growing damp and overheated under the many layers of clothing ladies were expected to wear at all times.

A stiff breeze swept through the woods, shaking branches and rustling leaves. Gemma sighed in delight as the fresh air cooled her heated cheeks and wafted against the back of her neck.

“We should go back,” Lord Stonehaven said abruptly, his nice face creased with concern. “I had not realized quite how rugged the terrain would be. This area of England has some of the steepest hills, due to the formations of the band of chalk that threads through the downs. You are fatigued.”

“Nonsense,” Gemma huffed, holding her hat onto her head with one hand to fight the breeze that seemed determined to rip it off her and send it swirling down the hillside in a flutter of lavender ribbons and silk violets. Her white cotton muslin gown was sprigged with posies of embroidered violets, which looked very well with the purple of her spencer.

All of which looked ridiculous when paired with Wellington boots, but there she was. “I’m faring perfectly well, thanks to the marvelous footwear you gifted me.”

Lord Stonehaven drew her to a halt with one gentle hand on her elbow. He gazed down at her, his long, angular face softened by his slight smile. “The cave I wanted to show you is still some little distance away.”

Even as her heart sank into her ugly boots, Gemma put on a determined smile. “Wonderful. Lead on, your lordship!”

“You are most agreeable, Lady Gemma. A kinder lady I have yet to meet.”

It was difficult not to grimace at this overestimation of her character, but Gemma managed it by glancing around the glen in which they’d paused.

They were on the estate of the Duke of Havilocke now, she knew, though she had never explored in this direction before. The manor house lay somewhere behind them, grand and imposing even in decay. The woods they walked in were older than the house, the forest canopy so dense it nearly blocked out the gathering blue-gray rainclouds rolling across the late April sky.

They were going to get wet, she realized fatalistically. Thank goodness she’d brought an umbrella that doubled as a walking stick.

“I’m not kind, I assure you,” she told Lord Stonehaven, attempting a lightness she didn’t feel. “I’m terribly spoiled and determined to have my own way in everything. You need only ask my sister for confirmation.”

He didn’t chuckle as she’d meant him to. “One’s sisters are not always the most reliable judge of one’s character, I find. For instance, my sisters believe me to be hopeless when it comes to interacting with other human beings. And I will admit to preferring rocks, much of the time.”

She laughed a little, her mood lightening, and received a swift smile from Lord Stonehaven in response.

“But the truth is,” he continued, “I understand more about people and society than my sisters think. I have the habits of a scientific observer of nature, Lady Gemma. They are long ingrained in me, and I cannot turn them off whether I am in a ballroom or a feldspar cave.”

Oh dear. Gemma did not like the sound of this. Deciding to brazen it out, she laughed and tilted her head coquettishly. “Oh? And what have you observed about me, Lord Stonehaven?”

“Well, for one thing, you don’t like walking in the woods. And you aren’t terribly interested in rock hunting. But you indulge me anyway, because you’re a good person.”

Gemma bit her lip. This was becoming unbearable. “Lord Stonehaven…”

He didn’t let her finish. “I think that you are someone who has been disappointed by life. Perhaps many times. But you have not let those disappointments turn you coarse or mean, or let them drive you into yourself like a tortoise retreating into its shell. You are remarkable.”

This was strong stuff. Gemma’s breath came fast and shallow as Lord Stonehaven took her hand and gazed down into her eyes. Was he about to?—…

“Lady Gemma.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a smile. “Will you do me the very great honor of consenting to become my wife?”

It was happening. Everything she’d worked and hoped and fought for, within her grasp. She only had to reach out and take it.

Panic struck like a bolt of lightning. The first drops of rain began to pitter pat on the leaves overhead. Gemma stared up at the earl, locked in place as if she’d been turned into a pillar of the stone he loved so much.

The moment stretched between them, quiet and heavy with the unfulfilled promise of an oncoming storm, and Gemma knew, with a deep and sudden surety, that she could not do this.

She was a fool. But she could not force herself to say yes.

It felt as though the effort to open her mouth and refuse the earl’s offer would break her jaw, but before she could manage it, his kind face turned solemn.

“I know you do not love me, if that is what troubles you. It needn’t. I have never expected to find love; indeed, I had all but given up hope of finding someone I could like. I am also aware of your reputation. It doesn’t worry me. I also have a reputation, for being a crashing bore. We are the same, don’t you see? You need a husband. I need a wife. We can help one another, and be friends. Nothing more need enter into it.”

He uttered this surprising speech entirely without bitterness. No self-pity dripped from his words; he was entirely matter of fact as he offered her a way to take the help she needed for her family, without the guilt of playing him false.

They could have truth between them and start a life together. Surely there were worse foundations for a marriage.

Stunned, Gemma finally managed to return the pressure of the earl’s hand on hers. Giving his fingers a squeeze, she croaked out, “Lord Stonehaven, I don’t know what to say. You’ve given me so much to think about. May I take a little time?”

Gracious as ever, he nodded at once. “Of course, take all the time you need. Meanwhile, let me escort you home. And promise never to drag you on another rock hunt again.”

They hurried back to Five Mile House under a darkening sky filled with threatening banks of rainclouds that spat at them intermittently the whole way. Lord Stonehaven took charge of the umbrella, holding it solicitously over Gemma’s head and keeping up an easy patter of light small talk about Henrietta’s newest project of painting local landmarks around the village, from the church to the bridge over the Westcote Brook. Gemma responded absently, most of her mind still obsessively turning over and over the earl’s offer.

By the time the earl had deposited her, still mostly dry, at the side door of the inn, Gemma was ready to tear out her own hair if it would cause a respite from the incessant swirl of thoughts careening through her brain.

Lord Stonehaven took his leave and went upstairs to attend to his correspondence. Gemma stood in the doorway, feeling as though she would run mad if she set foot inside. She ought to be tired from the long walk she’d already been on, but her legs felt restless.

Without conscious thought, they carried her out of the inn’s courtyard, past the stables and out to the main road.

They took her through the village, over the bridge, and up the hill.

The skies opened up and released a deluge of rain that ran off the brim of her hat in a stream and turned the shallow chalky dirt of the trail to a slurry of sticky pale mud.

Gemma kept walking.

She walked through the rain, slipping and sliding in the mud, her spencer soaked through in minutes. It was midday but looked like dusk, the rain coming down in sheets that blurred the path ahead and rushed in her ears like a mighty river. Gemma’s mind went mercifully, beautifully blank with it. There was no room for anything but the rain.

Until her traitorous, foolish legs walked her straight up the hill to Kissington Manor and deposited her on the imposing front steps.

What am I doing here? She thought despairingly.

But when the door of the manor opened, revealing Hal in his shirtsleeves, staring at her on his doorstep as though she’d taken leave of her senses, Gemma knew what she was doing there. And she didn’t question it.

Instead, she threw her wet, dripping arms around Hal’s shoulders and hauled him down for a deep, scorching kiss.