Chapter 15
“What wonderful weather for our garden party, Miss Holt!” Lady Jackson gushed, passing Cecily on the terrace on her way back to the house.
“I must see the butler about the punch. It isn’t quite right.
Would you please go out and speak to Colonel Lyons over there?
He is our neighbor but has been overseas in recent years, so he does not know everyone. ”
“Of course,” Cecily agreed, glad to do anything for her kindly hostess.
Initially, only the back of an officer’s blue coat was visible as he stood alone near the fountains.
She somehow pictured him as an older man with a thick mustache and red cheeks from long campaigning.
Maybe he had commanded his men against Napoleon and had some favorite war stories to share, just like these weathered old soldiers often did.
Cecily’s indulgent smile changed when she saw two familiar figures walking up the garden from the river, clearly among the guests who had arrived by boat.
Both were tall and dark-haired, although one was older than the other, his face handsome with the roughness of experience rather than the smoothness of youth still possessed by his brother.
So, he has come at last!
The joy sparked by the sight of the Duke caught her by surprise. He appeared to be in deep conversation with Patrick, or rather lecturing him on something that the younger man did not want to hear.
While neither of the men looked in her direction, a cloud of butterflies rose in her stomach, and she felt the urge to run to the Duke and throw herself into his arms. That was certainly unseemly behavior at a polite garden party, regardless of any betrothal.
Unnerved by the urge and having a duty to look after Lady Jackson’s guest, Cecily turned away and marched over to the fountain instead.
“Good afternoon, Colonel Lyons,” she said pleasantly. “I trust you are enjoying the party. Lady Jackson thought that you might appreciate some company.”
When the officer turned around, Cecily was surprised to see that he was only in his late thirties and handsome in a rugged, sandy-haired way.
At least he looked happy to be approached, and she guessed he might enjoy rambling on just as much as an older man, which suited her current distraction well.
“I am enjoying it all the more for meeting you, Miss…?” he trailed off, raising a questioning eyebrow.
The hairs on the back of Cecily’s neck stood up as she felt she was being watched. Maybe it was Mary, who had been told to stay at lawn games with Harry and Oliver and not mingle too much with the other guests.
“Miss Holt,” she supplied. “I am also Lady Jackson’s guest. She tells me that you have recently returned from overseas. Tell me, did you fight Napoleon?”
“Well, not personally, no.” He chuckled. “Although my regiment did see action in France, and I’ve brought back a few mementos, including a hole in my shoulder and the musket ball that caused it.”
“How gruesome!” Cecily gasped, the feeling of being watched growing ever stronger as she pursued this light conversation. “It seems that you had a lucky escape out there.”
Colonel Lyons produced a key chain from his pocket, weighted with a small metal ball. “I have had the musket ball made into a fob for my keys,” he told her. “I thought it might as well do me some good as well as ill.”
“That is most original,” Cecily laughed. “You must show Lady Jackson’s sons. Harry and Oliver will have many questions, especially Oliver. He is very interested in the war.”
“Ah, Lord Jackson’s younger son, I presume? Maybe he is destined for the army.”
“Second sons must find some profession,” Cecily stated with conviction. “The army is a very respectable option. If you allow me, I shall take you to meet them both.”
Lack of a profession had turned out to be one cause of the argument between Mary and Patrick during their failed elopement. Mary had sensibly inquired about her future husband’s plans, and he had casually said that he was sure his brother would provide them with a house and increase his allowance.
While Cecily’s original instinct had been to assume that both Mary and Patrick were equally to blame for their falling out as for their running away, her sympathy now lay mostly with her sister.
At least Mary knew that they could not live on dreams and aspired to a more independent life than accepting charity from the Duke.
“Please allow me, Miss Holt.”
Colonel Lyons offered his arm, and Cecily took it, strolling with him down the garden toward where the younger people were playing some game with hoops and hooks on a large board. As they walked, she saw the Duke leaning against a large willow and watching her intently.
So, he was the one watching me.
Cecily nodded to him and received only a curt nod in reply, which confused her greatly. Why had he not approached her, and why did he look unhappy?
After delivering Colonel Lyons into the care of Lady Jackson’s eager sons and their friends, she stopped to escort an elderly lady to a bench and then returned in the same direction past the willow tree. The Duke was no longer there, although the feeling of being watched was as strong as ever.
Scanning the gardens, Cecily could not see him, though she did notice Patrick gazing rather pitifully down at Mary in the younger crowd on the lower lawns.
Should she go and talk to him? This would be the first time he had seen Mary since they tried to elope, and Cecily definitely did not want the two of them to cause a scene here.
Before she could make any move toward Patrick, the Duke came out from the conservatory behind her.
“We must speak, Miss Holt,” he said, taking her hand in his.
“Your brother,” Cecily objected with a frown, although she made no attempt to withdraw her fingers from his warm grasp. “I ought to speak to him about Mary.”
“They’re old enough to take care of themselves,” the Duke argued. “Or are you trying to escape from me again, Miss Holt?”
“What are you talking about?”
Entirely baffled by his attitude, Cecily allowed him to draw her back into the conservatory and behind some expansive potted palms.
“Dashing soldiers, hobbling dowagers, my hapless brother—perhaps you are keen to spend your time with anyone here but me, Miss Holt,” he replied, to her astonishment. “Who is that damned bluecoat anyway?”
“Colonel Lyons is a neighbor of Lady Jackson, and she particularly requested that I talk to him since he knows no one here,” she retorted indignantly. “As for the others, are you telling me that you are one of those men who are so insecure that they must keep their wives at their sides?”
“You were laughing with him,” the Duke accused her.
Now Cecily’s bemusement turned into anger.
“Yes, because he said something amusing. Why should I not laugh? What has gotten into you? Are you… jealous?”
The question seemed to surprise them both, and they looked at each other for a long moment. Then, instead of answering, the Duke pulled her into his arms and kissed her there, in the conservatory, which was only screened by the thick green leaves of the palms.
“Yes, I do believe I am jealous, Miss Holt,” he conceded, a trace of his usual detached humor coming back into his face, although he did not release her from his embrace. “Have I any cause?”
“None,” Cecily breathed, pressed tightly against him and feeling the powerful beat of his heart as well as the racing of her own. “When I heard nothing from you, I thought you might have changed your mind, but I am already promised to you, and I—Oh!”
Again, the Duke answered her with a kiss, this time even deeper and more improper than the ones that came before. His arm came around her waist to hold her close, and his other hand cupped her breast, the tip hardening to his touch through the thin fabric.
Cecily melted helplessly into this indecent passion, her own igniting, and her fingers tangled in his hair to hold his lips to her own.
“I have not changed my mind about anything,” the Duke told her, his words broken by hungry kisses. “We will soon have an end to such ridiculous doubts and jealousies. You are to be mine before the week is out.”
His words resonated deep within her, and she knew she would not have stopped him at that moment if he had stripped her naked among the palms. But then, he stepped back, still breathing heavily, and took a paper out of his pocket.
Cecily took it and gasped as she read the words, then looked up wide-eyed at his triumphant face. The note was from Greyhaven’s rector, confirming that he would conduct the marriage ceremony at Greyhaven Park at eleven o’clock on the sixteenth of this month.
Only five days away!
With a bow, the Duke walked away, leaving her standing there with the note in her trembling hand.
* * *
“Nathaniel, there you are!” his cousin called out, lowering a cup she had been sipping from critically as her butler looked on, a bottle of rum in one hand and a plate of sliced oranges in the other. “Come here and taste the punch.”
Nathaniel made his way to the large silver bowl on the terrace drinks table and took the cup he was offered. When he first arrived, his temper had been frayed by Patrick’s nonsense and then further tested by seeing Cecily strolling about the gardens with that damned soldier.
Now that he had held her against him once more and tasted the sweetness of her eager lips, his dark mood had lifted.
Soon, he would have a duchess to handle family responsibilities and a soft, warm, responsive bed partner with whom to quench his lust. While Cecily was largely unaware of her own nature, Nathaniel was confident that her desire matched his own.
Once he had opened her eyes and her thighs to all the pleasures that awaited them, there would be no more silly frustration on either side.
His gut-wrenching reaction to seeing his bride-to-be laughing with Colonel Lyons had been childish and out of character. Where in God’s name had it come from? But then, how could she have imagined he wished to break off the engagement either?
Both were absurd, and the sooner he had Cecily crying out her pleasure and need beneath him, the better for both of them. Yes, he believed it was pure sexual frustration that made them both act so irrationally.
“Very good, indeed,” he pronounced, to the satisfaction both of his cousin and her butler. “I shall take a full cup myself.”
“I did not know whether to expect you today,” Isabella said in smiling accusation as the butler ladled out the punch. “You didn’t reply to my last note.”
“By the time I was sure I could get here, my reply would have overlapped with my arrival,” he answered with a shrug. “There has been much to plan for my marriage. I don’t remember it being quite so much fuss the first time.”
“That is because you left it all to Lady Victoria’s family and to me,” Isabella replied, her tone one of fond semi-reprimand.
“You only had to sign where I told you, get out of bed in time on the day, and repeat the vows after the vicar. If you have stirred yourself to plan your own marriage this time, I am only relieved. Now, when is it?”
“The sixteenth, at eleven o’clock,” Nathaniel answered.
“The sixteenth!” Isabella exclaimed, taking a large swig of punch to fortify herself. “We won’t have half of the trousseau ready by then, Nathaniel. What does Miss Holt say? Doesn’t she think it’s too soon?”
“She is ready,” Nathaniel stated confidently, thinking of Cecily’s lips parting under the pressure of his own, her hand caught in his hair, and her breast pressing warm and full against his palm.
Cecily was more than ready for him.