Chapter Seventeen

The following morning Leo sat down at his desk early in the hope that dealing with the mountain of correspondence that had piled up since he dismissed Capper, his secretary, would distract him from Rosalind and their forthcoming interview.

Interview? Conversation!

He scrubbed an impatient hand through his hair. Interview, indeed. What was he thinking? That he would set out a list of requirements for his Duchess and tick them off one by one?

An unsettled night, passed in the company of several glasses of brandy, had left him tired, crabby and feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

Can I trust her? Am I about to make a huge mistake I will live to regret?

He shoved his chair back and paced over to gaze unseeingly from the window, bracing his arms against either side of the frame.

What was the alternative? Let her go? The very idea of losing her again shook him to the foundations of his soul. How had he moved from bitter blame—believing the very worst of her and her motives—to this...this neediness? It went against every rule by which he had led his life since Margaret’s death. But that sleepless night had resulted in one huge, shocking insight: he was in love with Rosalind Allen. He was willing to risk, once again, trusting a woman. He would no longer allow Margaret and her lies and infidelity to sour his chance of happiness with another woman. Another wife.

In the first few seconds after Rosalind had turned to greet him last evening, a calming peace had flooded through him. And then his defences had rolled into place, that voice of doubt in his head reawakening all his old suspicions. His honour drove him to offer marriage and it was only her stubborn refusal to accept the inevitable that had convinced him to re-examine his distrust and begin...hesitantly, fearfully...to believe he might be mistaken.

He pushed away from the window with a derisive snort. Fearfully, indeed. It was fortunate nobody other than he could read his thoughts. The idea of anyone getting a sniff of such weakness sent a judder down his spine. He crossed his study to his desk and stared down at his correspondence. Damn Capper. If only he had not refused Alex the monies to pay off his gaming debts, Alex would not have gone into hiding, driving a frantic Cecily to beg Leo to come back to London. Leo would not have left Rosalind without a word and he would still have a secretary.

Perhaps he should put Alex to work on this lot... Leo straightened, a solution suddenly presenting itself to him.

Freddie! Perfect!

It would solve Leo’s immediate problem and, hopefully, demonstrate to Rosalind that his intentions—contrary to his threat of a marriage in name only—were honourable and that he would take care of her family.

He glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. Eight o’clock. Still four hours to wait and too early to call upon Lascelles or Stanton. He strode to the door and sent a message to the mews to saddle Conqueror and have him brought round. A ride in the park at this quiet hour was exactly what was called for.

Even the weather had brightened. From the grey drizzle of the past week, this day had dawned clear, with barely a cloud to mar the pristine blue of the sky. The sun still hung low, but the temperature was definitely on the rise. Spring, with all its promise, was in the air. Leo trotted Conqueror along Upper Grosvenor Street to the Grosvenor Gate and through it into Hyde Park. He turned the horse’s head to the south and allowed him to break into a canter.

* * *

Half an hour later, Leo reined Conqueror to a halt at the sight of a rough-haired, fawn-coloured hound lolloping across the grass near to the Serpentine. There surely could not be another dog that size in London. He stood in his stirrups and scanned the park—almost empty at this time in the morning apart from a few grooms exercising their masters’ horses. There: emerging from the far side of a clump of bushes, was Rosalind, clad in an ankle-length amber pelisse and matching bonnet, a maid by her side. Leo grinned, picturing her disgust when told she must not venture out unaccompanied. In London society a lady did not walk alone, particularly in a public park.

Hector bounded up to Leo, who curbed Conqueror’s first impulse to gallop away. Once he had his horse under control again, he looked up to see Rosalind now headed in his direction. Hector, seeing this, whirled in a circle, then galloped back to Rosalind, tail waving like a flag. Leo dismounted, pulled Conqueror’s reins over his head and walked to meet her. Rosalind hesitated, then spoke to the maid, who dropped behind her, out of earshot.

Perhaps Rosalind, too, had calmed down over night? Had the shock of meeting again driven her, too, to say things she did not mean? Or was this meeting destined to be as fractious as that of yesterday evening? A flash of insight suggested that instead of dictating their future—as was his natural inclination—perhaps he might behave more as Leo Boyton rather than the Duke of Cheriton.

‘Good morning, Your Grace.’

Rosalind halted several paces away. Hector trotted over to Leo and pushed at his gloved hand to encourage Leo to fondle his ears.

‘Good morning, Miss Allen. I am surprised to see you out walking so early after your late night.’

She smiled and his heart turned over in his chest. There was a hint of apology in that smile.

‘And I, you.’ She came closer. ‘I spent a restless night.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘As did I.’ He crooked his arm. ‘Would you care to walk with me?’

‘Thank you. Yes.’

She placed her gloved hand on his sleeve and they began to walk, Conqueror plodding quietly on Leo’s other side. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the maid maintained a discreet distance, but her eyes bulged with curiosity.

‘We need to talk about—’

Rosalind fell silent as Leo covered her hand with his, gently squeezing her fingers.

‘Hush. The sun is shining and the birds are singing. May we not just enjoy our walk and these beautiful surroundings?’

‘Very well.’ Her doubt was audible. After a short pause, she said, ‘But, after last night, I did want to say—’

His hand still covered hers and he squeezed again. ‘And I wish to say that, at this moment, I want nothing more than to haul you into my arms and kiss you until you are breathless.’

She gasped and her fingers tightened on his sleeve. A sidelong look revealed a wash of pink colouring her cheeks. ‘Y-you cannot say such a thing.’

‘Can I not? I thought I just had. After everything we have shared, are we to pretend a mere casual acquaintance even in private conversation?’

A smile trembled on her lips. ‘Perhaps not. But do not think I am ignorant of your quite blatant attempt to distract me.’

‘Was it successful?’

She pursed her lips and a dimple appeared in one cheek. He had missed that dimple.

‘Somewhat,’ she said. ‘But I do wish to...’

‘Hush,’ he said again but, this time, she continued to speak.

‘Please allow me to finish.’

Leo inclined his head. He could not continue to press her into silence if she was determined to have her say. He only hoped they could discuss whatever was on her mind without it becoming a clash of wills. She was one of the few women of his acquaintance who did not hesitate to disagree with him if her opinion differed from his. It made a refreshing change from those women who, in their eagerness to curry favour, would agree with him if he were to assert the sun was green.

‘My apologies. Please continue.’

‘Thank you. It is about Susie. I dare say you have forgotten all about her, but I think it only right I should tell you what I have decided about her future.’

‘I confess she slipped my mind last night, but I had not completely forgotten her. When I...’

He paused, his instinct to conceal any hint of weakness coming to the fore. But had he not sworn to be Leo Boyton today, and not to hide behind the invincible, infallible guise of the Duke of Cheriton? He must be truthful, however much the very idea shook him.

‘I returned to Buckinghamshire yesterday. To find you.’ His voice cracked at the remembered pain when he had arrived at Stoney End and found it deserted. ‘Afterwards, I did wonder what had become of Susie. Do I understand she is still with you?’

‘She is.’

‘What did the vicar discover about her?’

They had reached the banks of the Serpentine and they strolled along its bank as Rosalind’s voice revealed her anguish for Susie as she narrated the little girl’s history.

Poor child. Destined to suffer because of her father’s sins. At least my uncle did not disown Lascelles, even if he did refuse to wed his mother.

‘I shall speak to my son, Avon,’ he said to Rosalind after she completed Susie’s story. ‘He is a patron of Westfield, that orphan asylum I told you about, and I am sure—’

‘No!’

Leo halted and raised a brow. Conqueror took advantage and lowered his head to nibble the grass.

Rosalind flushed. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to be brusque. I must tell you... I have decided to raise Susie myself and to give her an education. I cannot bear the thought of her going into service. She... It is not her fault her father was a scoundrel.’

Her feelings about Susie echoed his own, but, as for her plan to raise her...

‘You are mistaken if you believe she will be happier in our world,’ he said. ‘If her birth becomes known, she will be ostracised.’

‘Our world? There is no such thing. She will not be of your world, but of mine,’ Rosalind said.

‘And if it should become our world?’

Rosalind set off again, at an angle across the park, away from the water’s edge. Leo pulled a reluctant Conqueror’s head up and followed. He caught her up several strides later, and then kept pace.

‘I gave you my answer last night,’ she continued. ‘There is no need for us to marry. No one will ever know what happened.’

‘And if there are consequences to our lying together? Will you be happy bringing another Susie into this world?’

She halted. ‘Then mayhap I shall have to think again. But I shall never be happy in this world. I do not belong here.’

‘You arrived in London only yesterday. How do you know how you will feel in another week? Another month?’

She raised a sceptical brow, her eyes bleak. ‘I know.’

Her voice carried such conviction he had to believe her. Or at least, he must accept that she believed what she said was fact.

‘Allow me the chance to make you happy,’ he said. He would do all in his power to change her mind.

Her eyes dulled before her lids lowered, masking her thoughts. ‘I cannot.’ More conviction, but tinged with regret. Leo took heart.

‘If it wasn’t for your maid, I would take you in my arms right now and kiss you.’

‘Then for the first time I appreciate Lady Glenlochrie’s insistence that I should not walk in the park unaccompanied,’ she said, her smile wry.

‘And a kiss is not all I desire, my sweet Rosalind.’

Pink tinged her cheeks and her breathing quickened, igniting his blood. Their path had led them alongside a clump of shrubs to their right and the empty park stretched away to their left. A quick look affirmed that the maid had halted several yards behind them.

Leo lowered his voice. ‘That afternoon is seared into my memory, sweetheart. You are seared into my memory and on to my soul: your image, your scent, your taste.

‘We belong together and sooner or later you will accept the truth of it.’

She stared up at him, wide-eyed, seeming not to notice as he surreptitiously nudged Conqueror around so the horse’s body blocked them from the maid’s view.

‘You are exquisite, my darling Rosalind...’ Swiftly, he cupped her chin and bent his head to hers, capturing her lips.

Her gasp took his breath and he seized the chance to explore the sweet heat of her mouth as she swayed towards him, her luscious curves pressing against his chest. He should not succumb, he knew. He should have a care of her reputation, just as she—though her gold-brown eyes were at this moment soft and dazed—should have a care of her sister’s good name. Shielded as they appeared to be, this was still a public park and the town was full of eager gossips.

Sweet Lord! How I want her!

He struggled to regain control of both his mind and his body. Using every ounce of his mental strength, Leo tore his mouth from Rosalind’s, almost panting with the effort required. He held her by her upper arms and supported her until he was sure her legs would not buckle.

‘That,’ he whispered, ‘is why you will be my Duchess.’

An inarticulate cry erupted from her lips and, in the swiftest of changes, Rosalind stiffened, her expression hard. ‘No.’

That one swift word—so resolute—winded him, robbing him of speech. He could do nothing but stare as Rosalind pulled away from him.

‘Bessie! Come. His Grace has recalled an urgent appointment and it is time you and I returned home.’

Bessie was still out of sight, behind Conqueror. Leo grabbed Rosalind’s arm.

‘Why? You owe me an explanation.’

She stared at him, cool as the Serpentine on a winter’s day. ‘I owe you nothing.’

‘I shall call on you at noon. As arranged.’

‘There is nothing more to discuss.’

Stubborn, infuriating woman!

‘Quite apart from our own future, we have yet to come to an agreement about Susie’s. You should at least visit Westfield before making such a momentous decision. The decision to raise a child you know nothing about is a serious one.’

‘I have experience of raising children, Your Grace, and I will not abandon Susie to some...some institution.’

Rosalind tilted her chin, spun on her heel and marched away, Bessie trotting along in her wake. Hector—who had been foraging in the bushes—emerged and bounded after them, leaving Leo to wonder how the hell that had gone so very wrong. His former sense of well-being had dissipated and he rode back to Beauchamp House plagued by uncertainties.

Why was she so adamant she would not marry him? It made no sense. She had given herself to him. That kiss proved she was not indifferent and she could not deny the material benefits of marrying him. Did she distrust him? He sifted through ideas to prove to her that she could trust him and rely upon him. He would visit Lascelles and Stanton, as he had promised, and then...more than ever, he was convinced the way to her heart would be through her family.

As soon as he arrived home he would send for Medland and find out what he had discovered about Sir Peter Tadlow. And, later, he would speak to Freddie and offer him the role as his secretary—he knew in his bones that bored young man would leap at the opportunity.

Her insistence on raising Susie might prove more of a problem, however. His determination to wed Rosalind—driven equally by love and honour—did not mean he would meekly agree to a course he believed to be wrong. He would reserve judgement until after he had seen the child again and he would persuade Rosalind to visit Westfield and see the place for herself. Ultimately, if he agreed to raise Susie, then the child would become a member of his family and no one in society would then dare to cut her.

Cheered by the prospect of taking action, he handed Conqueror over to a footman to take round to the mews and ran up the steps to his front door. Rosalind would soon see he was neither as arrogant nor as untrustworthy as she appeared to believe.