Beguiling The Duke. Eva Shepherd
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‘Perhaps, then, we should sit awhile?’
He led her to a seat on the stone bridge that curved over the lake. While they looked out at the water and the woodland backdrop Rosie tried to think of a scheme that would convince Lord Ashton that, despite her claim to detest art, it would still be a good idea for him to show her the collection.
‘Miss van Haven, there is something I must tell you. I hope you won’t be offended, but it is essential that I tell you the truth.’
‘I’m sure nothing you say will offend me, Your Grace.’ After all, Rosie was the one who was trying her hardest to be offensive.
‘You were invited here for the weekend under false pretences and I must let you know the true situation.’
She tilted her head. This was intriguing. ‘False pretences?
‘It was my mother’s idea to invite you. I believe she has given you and your father the impression that I am interested in meeting you with the intention of looking towards a possible marriage. That is not the case. You’re a very pretty young lady, Miss van Haven, and I’m sure you will one day make some man very happy, but I’m afraid that man won’t be me.’
Had she heard him correctly? ‘You don’t want to marry me?’
‘I’m sorry, Miss van Haven. As I said, I mean no offence. I don’t wish to marry anyone. I don’t know if you are aware that your father and my mother have put this scheme together without my approval, or even my knowledge. So, my apologies for the gross deception, but I don’t want to marry you.’
Rosie clapped her hands and laughed with delight. ‘That’s wonderful news!’
With his eyebrows knitted together, he once again looked at her as if she were a curiosity. ‘Wonderful? Am I to assume that you don’t wish to marry either?’
She shook her head vigorously, still smiling and clapping. ‘No, I most definitely do not. Why else do you think I put on that performance when I first arrived? Why else do you think I said that trees are horrid? Who thinks trees are horrid? No one! I was trying to make you dislike me so you wouldn’t want to marry me.’
She had expected him to laugh as well, but he continued to frown. It seemed an inability to smile was another thing he had in common with those statues of Greek athletes.
‘None of what you said was true?’
‘Of course not.’ She shook her head at his obvious statement.
‘Why did you feel the need to put on such an act?’
‘So you wouldn’t want to marry me, of course.’ Rosie was beginning to wonder if the handsome Duke was perhaps a bit dim-witted.
‘You’ve been lying and pretending since the moment you arrived?’
Her smile faltered. ‘Um... Well, yes, I guess I have. But I had to.’
The furrow in his brow deepened. ‘Would it not have been easier to have told the truth—that you didn’t wish to marry?’
‘Well, perhaps, but it might have got complicated if you had been determined to marry me.’
‘And play-acting isn’t complicated? Lying isn’t complicated?’
Rosie shrugged, unsure how to answer.
He looked out at the lake and sighed deeply. ‘I’ve always found that lies inevitably cause complications, and often have far-reaching consequences for too many people. Telling lies might benefit the liar, but it almost always causes a great deal of problems for everyone else.’
Rosie wondered at his reaction, which seemed to be about something more than just her deceptive behaviour. His face looked so solemn, even melancholy, almost as if he was recalling some past hurt, some previous act of deception that had wounded him.
Her immediate impulse was to put her hand on his arm—to comfort him the way she often longed for someone to comfort her. She knew what it was like to have suffered in the past, to feel the need to hide your internal wounds from the world. But she did not know this man—would never really know him. So instead she did what she always did. She kept smiling.
He turned his attention back to her. ‘Is anything you’ve said today been the truth?’
‘Um...well, I’m definitely American.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh.
‘Anything else?’
Rosie looked out at the lake, bit the edge of her lip and struggled to find anything to say.
‘In that case, shall we try and sort the truth from the lies?’
Rosie shook her head, then nodded, unsure whether telling the truth was a good idea or not.
‘Let’s start with trees. What do you think of trees?’
She laughed lightly with relief; that was something about which she was happy to tell the truth. ‘I love trees. And I love the gardens designed by Capability Brown. I’ve seen many sketches of his work and I was hoping I’d get a chance to see some of his gardens while I was in England. I love the way he combines a natural look with little whimsical features—like the fountains and sculptures. It’s quite stunning.’
The furrow in his forehead disappeared and he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. ‘And I take it you don’t object to birds either?’
She laughed again. ‘Who wouldn’t love birds? Of course I love birds—and all other animals.’
‘And art, sculptures, plays, books, paintings?’
‘I’m not a complete philistine. I love art, sculptures, books, paintings, plays...all forms of culture.’
‘In that case I suspect you would enjoy seeing the family’s art collection?’
Rosie clapped her hands again. She had got her wish. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, please. I’d love to.’
‘Then I’d be delighted to show you. But I think there is one thing that I must do first.’
As he moved towards her along the bench Rosie’s breath caught in her throat. What was he doing? What was happening?
‘Your hat became dislodged when you spun your way down the entrance hall and is now sitting at a somewhat comical angle. Please allow me to set it right.’
Still holding her breath, she forced herself not to gasp when his fingers lightly brushed her temples as he attempted to remove her hatpin.
The whisper of his hands on her cheeks as he gently pulled the hat straight was as light as a feather, but the sensation was all-consuming. Fire erupted within her. Her cheeks burned and her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he must be able to hear its furious drumbeat.
He was so close she could feel the warmth of his body, could sense his physical strength, and she had to fight hard against the invisible force that was tempting her to move even closer towards him.
He gave the hat a final tug and leaned back to observe his handiwork. ‘There—that’s much better.’
Rosie released her breath and gasped in another, trying to relieve her light-headedness. Instead she breathed in the masculine scent of leather and musk and her heartbeat increased its ferocious tempo.
She swallowed several times and tried to breathe slowly, to regain the composure that his touch had so easily stripped away.
This would not do. This would not do at all. It didn’t matter how handsome he was. It didn’t matter what effect his touch had on her. The Duke was not for her. He didn’t want to marry Arabella. And if he had no interest in Mr van Haven’s daughter—a woman from New York’s elite society, a woman with a substantial dowry and the prospect of an enormous inheritance—he certainly wouldn’t be interested in Mr van Haven’s impoverished ward.
It