Page 25 of The Untamed Duke (The Secret Crusaders #3)

Chapter Two

How do you convince the ton you are not interested in a duke?

1. Pretend you don’t know him. Complication: Everyone knows him.

2. Pretend you’d rather marry a potted plant. Complication: Your father will fetch a potted plant.

3. Pretend you prefer someone else. Complication: Your father will fetch “someone else.”

4. Do not even try. Instead catch the next boat to America. Complication: In all likelihood, he will follow.

She didn’t even make it into the synagogue.

“Word is there’s news between you and Michael.”

Uh-oh.

Hannah blinked at the older lady. “There’s no news.”

The dowager’s smile didn’t lessen, as she pointed her bejeweled cane. “There should be news. If I was your age, there would be news.”

Hannah tried to chuckle, instead made a sound resembling choking on a piece of rotted fish. The dowager lifted an eyebrow, then wandered off, reminding her to produce “news” soon.

She made it another two steps.

“I heard an announcement is imminent.”

“Everyone is talking about it.”

“You’re so lucky.”

Hannah blinked at the trio of young girls, just a few years shy of their come out. Eager gazes watched her every movement. “Tell us everything,” a lovely girl with blond ringlets demanded. She was unendingly precocious, and quite reminded Hannah of herself at that age. No doubt, her mother was forever exasperated.

“There’s nothing between the Duke of Crawford and me,” Hannah said swiftly. Not quite true, but she wouldn’t share.

The girls were not to be deterred. “How did you know we were talking about the Duke of Crawford?” the child challenged, an eyebrow raised. Ah, yes, she would be a formidable force one day.

“I didn’t,” Hannah fibbed. “That’s how you know there’s no arrangement.”

“But your mama said to Rachel’s mama, who told Aviva’s mama, who told–”

Hannah closed her eyes, as the list proceeded to a dozen girls just past Bat Mitzvah age. When she started on the younger girls, Hannah interrupted, “I’m sorry, I really must talk to my mother.” She managed a smile. The girls may be curious, impish even, yet they were harmless. Before they could protest, she set a path to the temple’s entrance, a carved wooden door framed by colorful windows depicting scenes from Judaic history. She managed to avoid three more people (and not avoid three more) as she entered the sanctuary.

She touched the mezuzah attached to the doorpost, the small amulet that contained selections of the Torah, and calmness infused her, a sense of security and warmth, of home. Candlelight joined the natural light streaming through the windows, casting light on rows of chairs and a small stage with tall, spindle-backed chairs. Behind it stood a grand cabinet, carved with Hebrew letters, which contained a handwritten Torah. The hall was already filled with people who wished to join in prayer. Everyone was welcome here.

The hall’s spacious size diffused the patrons’ perfumes, casting a pleasing floral scent underscored by the scent of wood. In deference to the important surroundings, conversation remained low, a welcoming, melodic symphony. Her half boots thumped on the hardwood floor, as she pivoted to the congregation.

“Looks like the matchmaker wasn’t necessary, after all.”

Hannah stiffened, but her frown faded to a rueful grimace as she recognized the three approaching ladies. The speaker, Catalina Cortès, wore a wide grin, and the other ladies, Leah Abrams and Sarah Levin, commiserating expressions. “Is it true you and the Duke of Crawford–”

“No.” Hannah clasped hands with the three women, then gestured them into a corner. “Of course not. You know my plans to travel the world and crusade for orphans’ causes. There is no arrangement between the duke and me, no matter how much my parents wish there to be.”

“It was the same in Spain,” Catalina shared. Members of London’s Sephardic Jewish population, her family often attended the famous Bevis Marks Synagogue. “My parents expect me to marry, and soon. They have just the lord in mind.”

“Bryce,” chimed the other ladies at the same time.

Catalina’s grin melted into a frown. “I suppose I do not need to ask for guesses.”

Not even a little. The powerful man distinctly reminded Hannah of her own pursuing duke.

“My parents haven’t been quite as blatant, yet they wish the same.” Sarah gestured toward the front of the synagogue, where her mother carried on an animated conversation with the matchmaker. “They are appalled I’ve lasted three seasons without a match.”

“You had a dozen offers,” Hannah reminded her. “Per season.”

“A pity something was wrong with each and every one of them.” Sarah’s grin belied the somber statement. “Rotten luck that.”

Actually, luck had nothing to do with it. Every time Sarah received an offer, they huddled together to craft an excuse for why the match wouldn’t work. Quite the challenge, when many of the men were extremely eligible, if one were in the market for a strapping, independence-stealing lord. Some of the objections were questionable, to say the least. “Remember when you refused a lord because he smelled like tulips?”

Sarah grinned. “It was difficult, especially since I’m rather fond of tulips.”

“Yet, you weren’t fond of the suitor.”

“I’m not fond of any suitor.” Sarah smoothed down her pale blue dress. “I’m shocked my parents allowed it. They think we’ve formed a society of sorts, a group of ladies determined to maintain their independence, a society of unmatched ladies.”

“A society of ladies?” Hannah tapped her chin. “It’s not an altogether terrible idea. Certainly, there are other ladies who crave independence, yet have difficulty resisting society’s demands.” She lowered her voice. “Perhaps we could give ladies a place where they can be more than potential brides.”

“What about ladies who wish to wed, but on their own terms?” Leah asked. “I’d like to marry, just not straight away. I want to choose my own suitor.”

“Of course, you would be welcome.” Hannah put a hand on her arm. “The group is not about taking away choices, but about giving them. Encouraging women to do as they wish, using their intelligence to forge their own lives, and waiting until they are ready for matrimony. In the meantime, we could do the activities we choose.”

“Like make a difference to orphans,” Sarah offered.

“Or solve important problems,” Leah suggested.

“Or discuss intelligent ideas,” Catalina offered.

Hannah nodded. “It is a capital idea, yet we must find something better than The Society of Unmatched Ladies, something that encompasses who we are.”

“How about the Society of Intelligent Ladies?”

The three ladies turned, as an unfamiliar woman approached. Petite and curvy, with hazel eyes and deep auburn hair cascading down her back, she wore a cautious smile. “I am sorry for interrupting. I couldn’t help but overhear.”

“You are more than welcome.” In their culture, it was tradition to welcome strangers with warmth and pleasantries. “I do not believe we have met. I am Lady Hannah.”

“A delight to meet you. I am Lady Eleanor,” the lady introduced herself. “I like your idea of a ladies’ group that meets to discuss intelligent ideas.”

Hannah held in her delight. If strangers were already showing interest, no doubt their group would be a smashing success. “We’d love for you to join us. We don’t have details yet, but I quite like the idea.”

“And once Hannah has an idea, there’s no stopping her.” Lady Evie, her cousin and daughter of the Duke of Whitmore, approached with a wide smile. With long blond hair, green eyes and stunning features, she was watched by many as she traipsed the distance. “This is definitely happening. By and by, what are we discussing?”

Hannah chuckled. “We’re forming a group for ladies to discuss matters society doesn’t feel we should know. I was just asking Lady Eleanor if she was interested.”

“It sounds fantastic.” Pleasure pinkened Lady Eleanor’s fair skin, yet a moment later it faded into sobriety. “However, I would not fit into your group.”

Hannah frowned. Men were endlessly flattered, while far more often ladies were critiqued. It led to many women with a trifling view of themselves. “Everyone is welcome. You seem quite lovely.”

Again, fleeting pleasure melted into wariness. “It’s not that. It’s just…”

“Eleanor!” At the loud exclamation from across the room, every lady jumped. Not because of the volume, which was indeed the highest in the sacred space, and not because of the insistent tone that brooked no argument and no delay. No, because of who it was.

The matchmaker.

“I must go.” Her expression grim, Eleanor took a step, and Hannah just stopped herself from grasping the lady’s hand and sneaking her out the back entrance.

Fear of scandal stopped the escape, but not the words. “Do you need assistance?”

Eleanor stopped, wrinkled her brow. She relaxed into a soft smile. “Thank you, but no.” She grasped Hannah’s hands. “Even if circumstances do not allow me to join your group, I do hope we can be friends.”

Hannah clasped her back. “We already are.”

This time the smile was genuine and wide, and it transformed her face. Her head was higher as she turned and strode to the matchmaker, who watched with narrowed eyes.

Hannah sighed. “It’s obvious why she believes she cannot join our group. She is to be matched.” She straightened her spine, and her resolve. “I will explain the group is open to all, regardless of status.”

“Actually, it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Evie came to stand next to her. “Don’t you know who she is?”

Hannah shook her head. “We’ve just been introduced.” Eleanor stood with the matchmaker, listening silently as the older woman spoke. “She seems to be acquainted with the matchmaker.”

“She isn’t merely acquainted with the matchmaker.” Evie whispered. “She is the matchmaker.”

“What?” Hannah exclaimed louder than intended, eliciting several curious glances. She lowered her voice. “She can’t be the matchmaker. She’s talking to the matchmaker.”

“Our matchmaker is leaving to care for her elderly mother.” Evie explained. “Eleanor is the replacement. She may seem young, but she’s already a widow.”

It was not unusual for a young lady to be a widow, or to want to be a matchmaker. To also want to join a group of independent ladies? That was something .

The conversation grew louder, as more people entered the space. She had much to ponder, yet one decision had already been made. “I am still going to re-extend the invitation. Her activities do not matter – if she wants to join our group, she is welcome.”

Her friends nodded. She expected no less from the gracious women. “Shall we discuss this later? I must find my mother and ensure I am still an unmatched lady.”

A chorus of grimaces responded, condolences and wishes of fortune. It did not take long to locate her mother, surrounded by a group of women. The conversation was an intelligible tangle, as the women took turns, yet several words repeatedly emerged: Hannah, Michael, betrothal . She stepped quicker. “Hello, Mama.”

“Hello, my dear.” If her mother had been sharing too much, she displayed no remorse. “We were just discussing you.”

Darn. “Can I speak with you?”

“Of course.” Her mother shared an all-too-knowing look with the other matchmaking mamas, a promise to share all. They retreated down a few rows, to a place only marginally more private. “What’s the matter, Hannah?”

“Are you insinuating there’s something between Michael and me?”

“There is something between Michael and you.” The reply was calm, placid and exasperating . “A match is beneficial for all parties involved.”

The weight of thousands of years of tradition hung heavy on her shoulders. “Most beneficial for everyone but me. Don’t I matter?” Hannah touched her lips, yet the words had already slipped out.

For a sliver of a second, her mother’s cool mask slipped, betraying fervent emotion – unease, concern, an almost stark sadness. A moment later, the facade returned. “Of course, you matter, my dear. Everything I do is for you.”

If only she could believe that. Once they had been so close, and yet now it seemed as if her mother barely knew her. “I have made my wishes clear.”

“Your wishes defy reality.” Sparks flashed, in eyes identical to her own. “Do you not desire a family? A daughter?”

A pang of longing hit, so striking it caught her breath. In their culture, the mother-daughter bond was a powerful one, cast by familial bonds that passed from generation to generation. Their family was no different, yet somewhere along the way, something had changed. Protests went unheeded, and constant strife arose as efforts to discuss matters deteriorated into arguments. At some point, she’d stopped trying.

Perhaps one day she could reclaim the connection they’d once shared and extend it with a daughter of her own. For now, she must follow the path. “I am focused on other matters.”

“Ah yes, your adventures.” The duchess’ lips turned down. “I commend your dedication to helping orphans, yet travelling alone in this world is unwise and dangerous. Perhaps if you marry, and your husband decides–”

“I cannot wait for my husband to decide when or if I may travel,” she hissed. Such constraints were exactly why she must leave. “I shall find my own way.”

Her mother’s cool expression almost slipped again. “The duke has a penchant for getting as he wishes.”

Yes, he did. She breathed deeply, focused on calm. If she lost her temper, the gossip would rage for months. “You are choosing his side.”

“No.” Her mother shook her head curtly. “I am always on your side.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.” The words emerged harsher than intended, stung more than expected. Despite their arguments, the love remained strong between them.

Another moment… another flash in her mother’s expression. “Crawford is the greatest prize on the matrimonial market. Do you know what ladies have done to get his attention?”

“I don’t pay attention to such things.” Except that wasn’t quite true. She was well-aware of the various ways ladies attempted to garner the Duke of Crawford’s attention:

Swooned into his arms: A dozen so far this season.

Tried to lure him to a private location so they may be caught and forced into betrothal: Two dozen so far this season.

Pretended to be in distress for various ailments ranging from a massive wound (a splinter) to being chased by vicious wildlife (a squirrel): More ladies than she could count.

The Duke of Crawford was a grand prize indeed.

Yet she did not share their affection. “How did he convince you to embrace his cause?” she asked quietly. “You are set on the match.”

“Makes it clear who’s going to be victorious, doesn’t it?”

Blazes.

At the rich baritone, her mother’s lips stretched like a cat discovering a bathtub of milk. “Duke, what a delight to see you here, and so early. Dare I say it’s because of a certain lady?”

Hannah turned to the man who towered over the crowd, his heavily muscled form filling the white shirt and dark breeches to perfection. His golden hair was combed neatly back, his skin smooth and freshly shaved. He smelled of oak, spice and desire.

Suddenly, people surrounded them. The duke naturally drew people, eager to be near the source of power. Her mother – and the ever-growing audience – waited for Hannah to acknowledge his presence.

She should have nodded. Given a greeting. At the very least stayed silent.

Instead, she snorted .

It wasn’t a soft, ladylike snort. No, it was a gaudy, loud, they-probably-heard-at-the-docks sort of sound. “I’m sorry.” She swallowed a lump of air. “Something in my throat.”

“Can I get you something?” Michael’s tone was as smooth as the honey of a stinging bee. “Do you need assistance?”

“No, thank you. I am perfectly able to care for myself. There are no loose squirrels for you to vanquish, so you need not brandish your sword.”

He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Just last week, a lady requested my assistance for such a calamity.” He cocked his head to the side. “Yet you claimed to be unaware of my dealings with other ladies.”

Oops.

“Are you insinuating I watch you–” An unfortunately accurate assessment. “Because I don’t. I was just imagining the lengths to which some women would go to gain a duke’s attention.”

“And the first thing that came to mind was vanquishing squirrels?”

“Precisely.”

The blasted man choked back more laughter. Stares of fascination followed, as the crowd edged closer. Her path was a narrow one. Any sign of interest would be immediately noted, catalogued and exaggerated upon, until there were stories of swooning and splinters and squirrels. Any resistance would be interpreted as a strategy to invoke a chase to capture her. The only viable path was to treat him with indifference and poise.

That was the plan.

Instead, she blurted out, “Do not let us keep you.” She clamped her mouth shut, far too late it seemed. Murmurs drifted through the crowd. “I mean, you must have important matters to address. Of course, I am delighted for your early arrival.” Perfect. She’d vacillated between insolence and adulation, without a moment’s pause at indifference.

“I am pleased for your delight.” He winked. “If I realized how much you wished for my presence, I would’ve arrived even earlier.”

“That’s not what I–”

“In the future, I shall come promptly. Perhaps, I could even escort you.”

She just managed not to say she’d prefer a vicious squirrel as escort. “That is wholly unnecess–”

“Delightful!” Her mother placed a hand on her arm. “What she meant to say, that is wholly delightful. Don’t you agree, Hannah?”

Her mother glared at her.

The audience stared at her.

Michael smiled at her.

She. Was. Trapped. “Delightful, indeed.”

“Why don’t you take a turn with the duke, Hannah?” Her mother placed one hand on her back and the other on the duke’s, figuratively and literally pressing forward. “You have much to discuss.”

Before she could yell, “Watch out, a squirrel!” Michael grasped her arm.

The gentle hold captured her, searing her skin. “A splendid idea. I shall make certain she is returned for the service–” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “At least temporarily.”

Twitters and whispers responded to the statement’s heavy meaning. Yet escape was impossible, as she nodded to the riveted crowd, and the many frowning debutantes. Not that they would surrender their own chase, of course, even if Michael all but announced her the lead contender for the prize of duchess.

How could she convince them she wasn’t even in the game?

They padded through the room, alone in a chamber of people. She waited for him to boast, relish his victory, yet he made no mention of his triumph. “Did you truly wish for me to come early?”

The unexpected query elicited the even more unexpected urge to say yes, clearly a product of meticulously refined manners. She couldn’t actually desire his presence, not even if it brought excitement to the sweltering civilization of the ton . “You need not make any effort on my part, Your Grace. No doubt you are well-occupied with many matters, such as work… and ladies.”

He made no effort to hide his satisfaction. “My goodness, you almost sound jealo–”

“I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“Not at all!” Hannah bestowed a genuine smile at Esther, a hearty, middle-aged widow who headed the charitable activities of the synagogue. She was in charge of tzedakah, the practice of giving, through volunteerism, financial donations and other such endeavors.

The kindly women flushed pink. “I’m so glad I caught you together.”

“Pure luck.” Hannah hastened.

“Serendipity,” Michael drawled.

“Unlikely to happen again.” Hannah frowned.

“You’ll be seeing it more often.” Michael grinned.

Esther blinked. “I see. Thank you both for your assistance with the orphans’ gift baskets. We appreciate it, especially since it delayed you several times, Your Grace.”

What? “You made gift baskets?” It was no secret Michael was most generous with his funds, yet his time? Surely, it couldn’t be. He must have instructed a servant to do the actual work.

Michael seemed slightly uncomfortable. “It is no great matter.”

“Of course, it is,” Esther broke in. “Does it all himself. Said it wouldn’t be charity if he gave the servants extra duties. He even includes handwritten notes.”

Who was this man? “That’s actually nice.” She flushed at the duke’s startled look. “I didn’t mean–”

“That’s all right,” he said softly. “I can be nice.”

Yes, he could. And that made him very dangerous.

Esther looked back and forth between the two of them with an ever-widening smile. Beneficiary of her own love match, she worked nearly as diligently as the matchmaker to foster new ones. “Please excuse me. I have the big charity dinner to plan. Per your instructions, Your Grace, you and Lady Hannah will be seated next to each other.”

Hannah stiffened. Dangerous, indeed.

Asking him to change the seating arrangements would be like asking an Almack’s patroness to throw her corset in the Thames, yet of course she had to try. Once, twice and thrice, yet he wouldn’t budge. For minutes, they walked in silence, then somehow they settled into a surprisingly calm, and almost pleasant, conversation. He was a gifted speaker, and more than once, her lips sketched a smile before she could stop them. Finally, the temple director indicated the ceremony’s commencement. She would have run to her seat if given the option, yet Michael kept her next to him with a steady hand on her back.

She breathed lowly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“You don’t say?” He slowed his pace. “Do tell.”

“Convincing my mother – and the entire temple – to support your suit. It doesn’t change matters. We are not a match.”

He did not look the least bit discouraged. On the contrary, he seemed almost pleased by the challenge. “Most people enjoy my presence.”

Everybody enjoyed his presence. Yet it didn’t matter how charitable, enigmatic, or tempting he was, she must remain strong . Children she didn’t yet know were counting on her. She took her seat, her parents on one side and the duke on the other. And while she listened to a speech on the vital role of their foremothers, she did not notice Michael at all. Most certainly not his powerful form, the intensity with which he listened or the way he watched almost reverently.

And she most certainly did not notice how right it felt.

Hannah was planning something.

It was clear by the way she spoke to her friends in hushed whispers, the way her eyes darted left and right before she leaned closer to share some confidence. It was obvious by their furtive looks, and their stifled laughter. The prospect of her keeping secrets bothered Michael, mainly because of her penchant for delving into dangerous situations. She was trying to escape him.

Only she couldn’t escape a betrothal she didn’t know existed.

Yet if she discovered the truth, she’d do everything in her power to slip matrimony’s bonds. He must be smart, wily and careful. She’d crafted a granite view of him and could no longer see past her assumptions. She seemed surprised by his charitable work, yet hers didn’t surprise him in the least. Reportedly, she spent a lot of time in such endeavors, and despite what he led the ton to believe, so did he. It would take some time, but he would prove the benefits of a match.

The urgency of the courtship meant he needed to spend as much time with Hannah as possible. He would have arrived even earlier today, yet as he’d come down the stairs of his home, one of the boards slipped from under him, causing him to nearly tumble. For a moment, he’d been transported back in time, to a lifetime ago, when a similar accident with a far different ending shattered his world. It had shaken him more than he’d admit, and he’d caught himself just in time. Strange – the stairs had been recently renovated, yet perhaps something had happened at the recent ball Mother had given. The footmen had immediately resecured the boards, and he had set out for the synagogue.

He sat back in the cushioned chair and listened as the Rabbi gave a sermon on family bonds. Usually, the wise leader captured all his attention, yet today the woman next to him usurped more than he should have allowed. Nothing inappropriate, but an awareness of her presence, and a feeling of rightness for it. In some ways, it gave the words more meaning, as the religious leader spoke of passing traditions down through the generations. If all went as planned, he would share those traditions with this woman.

Soon.