He knew exactly what he wished to do when the good doctor finished removing the plaster.
He was going to take his wife for a walk in the gardens.
The thought surprised him. Only months ago, his first thought would likely have been something more carnal, but not anymore.
The day was the kind that made one believe spring would really return at any moment, and he itched to get out there in the sunshine, feel its warmth on his shoulders and its promise in the breeze.
And he wanted to hold his wife’s hand.
The thought should have seemed absurd, considering what they had done over the past couple of weeks while he’d been on bed rest. Their activities had been far more scandalous than the holding of hands. But whereas before he would have seen the month as a spree of debauchery, it was anything but.
He’d spent the month learning his wife.
He’d explored her body, yes, but he’d also discovered her tastes, learned of her interests, studied her manners.
The Duchess of Margate was extraordinary.
He’d known it all along, but the past several weeks had proven his point. She was loyal and kind, astute and conscientious. Her family was the most precious thing to her, and madly, he hoped he was included in it. Duty had sent her across the icy roads to him, but he wished and prayed that it was something more that kept her here after the first of March.
He knew he couldn’t be so fortunate. He didn’t deserve her attentions or her company. But maybe, just maybe, she would think differently of him now.
The wrenching of breaking plaster brought his thoughts to the present as Dr. Malcolm tore the first piece of material from around Ryder’s ankle. He flexed his foot immediately, feeling the sting of unused muscles attempting to work.
“Easy, Your Grace,” Dr. Malcolm cautioned. “Your body will not be used to such mechanics. You’ll need to progress slowly.”
Slowly? He hadn’t the time for it. March was only days away now, and he must convince Viv to stay. He was running out of time.
With some more chiseling, the plaster cracked, a line running clean up his leg to his knee. More ripping ensued and finally, gloriously, the plaster came free. He moved to straighten the leg, but Dr. Malcolm stopped him with a hand.
“We must ensure it’s properly healed before you attempt to move it.”
“Should it not have healed?” He hadn’t considered what would happen if he didn’t heal properly. He wanted to be free of the cast to woo his wife suitably. He couldn’t face a setback now.
“There’s no reason to believe it might have been hampered in its healing, but it’s better to be sure of these things.”
The doctor bent over his lower leg, massaging at points along his shin. Carefully, he continued his exam deeper into the tissue of the calf muscle. The skin there was prickly as it came back to life, and the sensation of the doctor’s probes felt oddly disconnected from Ryder’s body. It was as though the good doctor were examining another patient entirely.
“My leg feels as though it’s been detached,” he found himself saying.
Dr. Malcolm straightened. “That’s to be expected. The nerves in your leg are deadened from so much time inside the plaster. You will need to be careful as the feeling comes back.”
The doctor moved to his bag and removed a small device with a rounded head. He tapped the device against Ryder’s knee and on both sides of his ankle. Ryder could see nothing in response, but the doctor seemed satisfied.
“Your muscles are responding to sensation. I must say, Your Grace, you appear to have recovered.”
Viv’s exhalation was loud enough to draw his attention. She stood nearly across the room, her back to the bank of windows there, and he couldn’t see her face clearly for the shadows.
But the sound of her relief had his chest tightening.
He watched her and wished to God he could see her face better.
Did she care that he had healed? Or was it only that she saw this as a release from her duty?
“Can he walk on it, Dr. Malcolm?”
“Yes, but he should be careful. Might you have a cane on hand? He may require support until he can regain the strength in that leg.”
Ryder bristled. “He is perfectly capable of walking on his own.”
The doctor returned his instruments to his bag. “Your Grace, it is not a slight against your capabilities but rather a function of biology. The muscles in your leg have not been properly used for nearly two months. They will have weakened. You must work to recondition them.”
“Recondition them? You mean exercise.”
The doctor buckled his bag. “Yes, exactly.” He turned to the windows. “Today would be a fine day to attempt walking outside, I should think.”
Ryder found himself smiling at the doctor’s suggestion.
Malcolm picked up his bag. “With a cane, of course.”
Ryder’s smile dropped.
“You do not wish to undo all of the hard work your body has been doing these last several weeks, do you?”
Ryder couldn’t prevent his gaze from sliding to Viv, who pointedly looked away, one hand going up to cover her mouth as if hiding a knowing smile.
“No, I shudder at the thought.”
The doctor gave a neat bow before heading to the door. “Then I recommend moving slowly and with assistance. Should you experience any setback at all, do not hesitate to send for me.” The man gave no goodbye and simply slipped from the room.
Viv removed the hand from her mouth as she said, “If you had a valet, you could dress more quickly.”
He growled in response. “Were you ever taught how impolite it is to point out one’s shortcomings?”
“Shortcomings? I was merely making a practical suggestion.”
He frowned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She moved away from the windows, and he could finally see her face clearly.
“May I make another suggestion?”
His body tightened at her words. “What kind of suggestion?”
Delicately, she touched only the tips of her fingers to his newly freed leg as she drew near enough.
“Your Grace, I believe you require a thorough bathing.”
Her touch was better than the first sip of the finest liquor.
“I have a salve you can put on your leg here. Do you see how the plaster has dried out the skin? It will require extra attention to heal.”
He could think of just what kind of attention would do it good. When she rolled his leg, however, they both saw the destruction the phaeton accident had caused. A jagged red scar burned its way up his calf.
She said nothing, only stroked the angry skin with her delicate touch. He couldn’t prove it, but he was dead certain her touch could heal anything.
He wanted her to stay, to keep touching him, but she moved away before he could catch her. She went to the bell pull in the corner.
“I’ll have Mrs. Olds arrange a bath for you so you may dress.”
“Will my lovely wife be assisting me with this bath?”
She turned a narrowed eye on him.
“The good doctor did say I should not move about unsupported.” He plied her with his most seductive grin.
“The good doctor did say that, didn’t he?” She crossed her arms. “But how about this? You work on the bath, and I shall find a cane for you.”
He perked up at her words, almost feeling the sunshine on his shoulders.
“I should think that a marvelous compromise.”
Mrs. Olds arrived quickly, and a bath was arranged. The footmen who had helped him in the past weeks arrived to remove the chair Daniel had made for him.
“Wait,” Ryder said as they tried to wheel it from the room. “I think I should like to keep it.”
“For what?” Viv asked as she gathered up bits of the plaster on the bed. “Please do not tell me you are thinking of getting in another accident with your phaeton?”
He laughed. “Surely not. But don’t you think with some tuning it might be a fine instrument for racing?”
She dropped the pieces of plaster she had gathered.
He smiled devilishly before instructing the footmen to carry the chair to the barns for storage.
The tub arrived next with a bevy of maids with buckets of steaming water. He practically salivated at the thought of a warm bath, the heat encapsulating his tired muscles.
A bath and exercise would do him good.
He clasped Viv’s hand as she moved to dispose of the plaster.
“Please, I beg of you. I must stand or I will simply expire from the agony.”
Her smile was soft and knowing, and she laid aside the bundle of plaster, offering him her arm.
He dropped his legs over the side of the bed, the rush of blood to his newly healed leg sending a tingle from his thigh to his toes. Gently, he placed his foot on the carpet as Viv slipped her arm beneath his, securing herself on that side as extra support.
He concentrated on placing both feet on the ground and only when he had a sure footing did he attempt to stand.
And immediately sat back down.
The room swam around him, the light from the windows suddenly harsh and puncturing.
He covered his eyes with his hand.
“Ryder? What is it? What’s wrong?” Viv’s voice was frantic, and he covered her hand with his own.
“I’m fine. I simply haven’t stood in near two months.”
He opened his eyes to find his words had not at all calmed her.
He attempted to stand again, and this time actually made it upright.
He held onto Viv, his legs almost like water beneath him. The tub seemed so very far away, but he wanted nothing more than to slip inside it. He gave Viv a playful tug in that direction.
“Are you sure?” Her voice held a note of humor.
“Do you think me incapable?”
She eyed the bed where he had only recently sat. “Not incapable, Your Grace. Rather out of practice I should think.”
“I fear you are correct.” He stumbled his way toward the bath, but with Viv’s help, every step seemed more solid, a little more sure.
Until they reached the tub.
“Do you think you can stand on one leg long enough to lower yourself in?”
He eyed the rim of the copper tub. “Perhaps.”
She helped him slip off his banyan and pulled the nightshirt over his head. She wrapped her arms about his waist as he bent forward and placed a hand on either side of the tub.
“Ready?” he asked, although he wasn’t sure of whom he was pondering such a state.
Her grip around his waist tightened. “Yes. Do be careful please.”
His arms had grown stronger with the need to pedal the chair about, but with the last three weeks of ordered bed rest, he had felt his body turn to little more than fluff. He drew a deep breath and willed his muscles to work. Quickly, he slipped his good leg over the edge of the tub and plunged it into the water, removing the weight from his newly healed leg as quickly as possible and relying on his arms to hold him up.
The warm water was sheer bliss. He sank into it, his head going back to the rim as he closed his eyes in ecstasy.
Only to have his euphoria interrupted by snickering.
He opened only a single eye. His wife leaned on the edge of the tub, her body shaking with mirth.
“I will demand retributions for your insolence later, Your Grace.” He snapped the eye shut. “For now, I shall indulge myself.”
Her lips were soft against his, and the kiss startled him. Before he could deepen it, she slipped away.
“I shall go in search of your cane, Your Grace. Please do not use this time to concoct some new water sport.”
He opened a single eye again. “Bathtub racing? I’m sure it’s been done already.”
He sank into the water while her laugh faded as she left the room. He allowed himself several moments to simply soak, letting the warm water bring his sadly underused muscles back to life. Then he picked up the soap Mrs. Olds had left and went to work.
It was only minutes later that he dumped the final pitcher of fresh water over his head, rinsing himself of the remaining suds.
Viv was right, however. This really would be easier with a valet. Perhaps it was time he hired one.
Once again relying on his arms for most of his strength, he pushed himself from the tub. He used the stool Mrs. Olds had set the towels on to brace himself while he dried.
Already, he could feel how much improved his leg was. The short walk from the bed and the healing qualities of a hot bath were just the thing. He padded about the room, marveling at the wonder of walking on his own feet. He would never take such a thing for granted again.
He tugged on clothes, fastened buttons, and tied ties, his fingers flying with anticipation.
A small knock came at the door just as he finished tying his cravat. It was rather overdone for the country, but he didn’t care. He was rather compelled to look good for his wife on their promenade, even if there was no one there to witness it.
Viv strode in, her hands clutched around a bright purple monstrosity.
“It appears, Your Grace, the only cane in residence was last used in 1796.” She held the thing out to him, her smile wicked.
“No man would select such a thing.” He backed away from her offering.
“It wasn’t a man who selected it, Your Grace. It was the fourth duchess who did so.”
Of course, the Rogue Duke could make even the ugliest of walking sticks appear perfectly acceptable.
The gardens were bleak this time of year, but he seemed not to notice or care. He plunged out onto the terrace that bordered this edge of the back gardens, his walking stick clicking against the stones.
He stopped at the edge of the stairs that led down amongst the flower beds, and she paused, watching him. He held his chin high as he drew a deep breath, and she realized this was the first time he’d been out of doors since his fateful trip to see the hops workers’ barracks the previous month.
Had it really been so long ago now?
The early spring air had a bite to it that was likely refreshing to him, having been cooped up in the house for so long. She found herself copying him, drawing in a much deeper breath, filling her lungs with the newness of the coming spring.
Calm swept over her as her lungs expanded, and she followed his gaze out to the very end of the gardens where, in summer, the roses disappeared into the rolling fields that led to the sea.
Peace.
She felt peace.
For the first time in four years, the niggling sense of unfinished business no longer plagued her. She studied her husband now, knowing more than ever that she had been wrong.
They had been wrong.
She had believed herself in love, and he had believed they were in a typical society marriage in which both partners did as they pleased. How could they have been so stupid?
Eliza was right. Perhaps it was all a matter of misunderstanding. Words truly were so powerful.
But what did that mean for the future?
When she’d come to Margate, she had only expected to bury her husband. She had prepared herself for widowhood.
She’d never considered what might happen should he live.
That she might get another chance to love him.
“Do you smell that?” he asked now.
She gave the air a good sniff. Margate was quite close to the channel, and the air always carried a slightly musty scent, thick with the tang of salt.
“The ocean?” She tilted her head, wondering what he might be going on about.
He turned, a grin on his lips and a concerning narrowness to his eyes. “Freedom,” he whispered.
“Ryder.” She did not feel at all guilty at the sternness in her voice as he took the stairs down into the gardens at a mad clip.
She chased after him, picking up her skirts to keep from tripping.
He’d made it to the first small fountain set amongst the slumbering flower beds and stopped to see if she were following. She paused, catching his watchful gaze.
“Are you going to ensure I keep to the path, Your Grace? I shan’t wish to be scolded.”
She swallowed at the way he said scolded, like he was offering her the chance to lick chocolate from his body.
She put fisted hands to her hips. “I shan’t care if you fall into the fountain, Your Grace.”
His grin faltered, and if she hadn’t been looking at him, she might have missed it. He said nothing further, and instead, turned back in the direction he had been frolicking. She wondered why her mention of the fountain should cause him such grief but trotted after him before he could get much farther ahead of her.
He turned off the main path and onto one of the smaller side paths as he made his way into what, come spring, would be the house vegetable garden. The neat rectangular beds were dark with rich soil, resting until it was time to plant once more.
He had stopped at the head of one such bed, his arms crossed, the walking stick dangling from his fingers.
She came up beside him and followed his gaze to where he studied the quiet garden.
“Do you think Mr. Stoker can convince the other estates to give us some of their hops?”
She was surprised by his question. When they were first married, he’d asked little more of her than the condition of her health and if she thought this ball or that soiree was truly necessary to attend. She was left slightly unbalanced by his talk of something far more important.
“I think if anyone were capable of the feat, it would be Mr. Stoker. He seems to have a manner about him that all but forces one to do his bidding.” She pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. The afternoon sun did not reach this corner of the garden as it lay too far from the beds, and a chill bit at her arms. “And I would assume he has a reputation in this area as the former hops manager at Margate.”
Ryder scratched his chin at this. “I suppose he does.”
She nodded. “There you have it. I don’t see why there is cause to worry until there is cause to worry.”
His laugh was soft. “I’ve never heard you say that before.”
His words hung in the air between them as they both realized why he might not have heard her say it. It wasn’t as though they had spent a great deal of time in one another’s company over the past several years.
She rubbed her hands together. There was no sense dawdling in the past.
“I say a great many things, Your Grace. I find not everyone listens.”
His laugh was richer this time. “That is something on which we can agree.”
“Do you mind moving a bit into the sun? It’s rather cold over here.”
He stirred and set the walking stick to the ground, looking over his shoulder at her as if seeing her for the first time.
“Your Grace, should you like to promenade with me?” he said, a twinkle in his eye that gave her a moment’s hesitation.
“Promenade? I hardly see how that’s relevant as there’s no one here to see us do so.”
“You’re here,” he pointed out. “And I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”
She shrugged again. “I suppose it will have to do.”
She took his proffered arm, and he led her back into the warm afternoon sun. She turned her face up to it, letting the rays make their way under the rim of her bonnet.
“Ah, that feels rather splendid after so many weeks of ice and rain.” She watched him through the flutter of her lashes as she squinted against the light. He, too, had turned his face up to the sky, his features awash in the warm sunshine.
He looked younger.
She could almost see the man she had married in there.
She didn’t want to hope. She didn’t want to believe that he had changed or maybe he’d just stayed the same and they only realized who they really were just then.
Either way, it caused her a great deal of apprehension. There was so much unknown, but it all would suggest a level of vulnerability she wasn’t sure she was ready to accept.
He’d broken her heart. Was she stupid enough to let him do it again?
Was she stupid enough not to give love a second chance?
She gave herself a mental shake.
He’d not said anything of love. He’d spoken of forgiveness and moving on. He’d asked her to stay for reasons she still did not fully know.
But love?
That was her own imagining, and she would do best not to let her mind get carried away. He was still the Rogue Duke, and even if he no longer sought the warm bed of a willing woman, he still sought the thrill of the race and the danger of the chase.
Who was to say he wouldn’t leave her when the time came?
She focused on the feel of her arm in his and the heat that radiated from his body. These were the things of the present, and of that, she could be certain.
“I daresay, have we resorted to speaking of the weather? I find myself cringing at the thought.”
She laughed. “I hardly meant it like that. I am only remarking that it was a rather deplorable winter, and I am glad to see the other side of it.”
“I didn’t realize having to spend time with your husband was such a terrible fate.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant. Although it wouldn’t have been so terrible to not be forced to ride hell for leather across two counties in the rain and ice, but that is a topic for another time.”
“You wound me.”
“I do no such thing.” They drew short as they reached the main garden path once more. “I think you’ve had enough exercise for one day, wouldn’t you agree? It’s not as though you should attempt to walk to Canterbury on your first day.”
His frown held a hint of resignation. “I suppose I shan’t.”
He allowed her to turn them back toward the house.
“When must the hops be planted, should Mr. Stoker secure them?” she asked as they made their way back to the house.
“As soon as the ground is ready. Likely sometime in middle to late March, although we could push it as late as April. I should think we would need a sample crop first to test the theory.”
“A sample crop?” She had never before believed hops to be very interesting, but Ryder’s enthusiasm was catching.
He nodded. “I’ll want to grow some for my own brewing to test their quality. I can’t attempt to sell something I haven’t tried myself.”
The statement rang with a sincerity she was coming to expect from him. The thought had that sense of hope ringing once more in her chest, and she swallowed against it.
Just because Ryder was far more mature and sensible than she had believed him to be did not mean he was interested in anything to do with love and commitment.
He stopped at one of the stone benches along the walk and drew her down upon it.
“I don’t want to go in just yet,” he said, turning his face to the sun.
He looked almost boyish, and her heart swelled at the image.
She tucked her hands into the folds of her wrap.
He must have noticed the gesture because he asked, “Are you cold?” He was already moving to take off his jacket, and she stopped him with a hand.
“Just a bit chilly, but it feels marvelous after the heat of the fires all winter.”
He put his arm around her anyway, drawing her against his side. She fell into him, the intimacy of the moment overwhelmed by the domesticity of it. Sharing a bench in the garden on a spring afternoon. Never would she have thought to find herself in such a place. Not with Ryder. And certainly not feeling so at peace with it.
“How is your inventorying of the house going?” he asked.
She glanced briefly up at him. “I hadn’t realized you were paying attention.”
“You kept flitting into the room with those atrocious dust covers on your sleeves. I wasn’t sure if you were cleaning up or preparing for surgery. Either was concerning.”
She smiled as she said, “It has gone quite well. The linen cupboards are back to rights as is the silver and china. I should say, Margate may even be prepared to a host a ball come summer.”
As soon as the words were out she regretted them. They hadn’t spoken of the future. It was supposed to be only them, now, and here for this month alone. She worried very much that she had ruined everything, but if one such silly comment had the power to destroy the peace they had found, then what good was such peace?
“A ball?” He scoffed. “I should think we’d host a house party and do all those obnoxious things like croquet and charades.” He looked down at her. “I bet you’re diabolical at charades.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I could certainly best you if your backgammon prowess is any suggestion.”
“She wounds me again,” he muttered.
She laughed and pulled away from him, making to stand and take them back to the house to warm up, but he kept his arm snug about her.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m resting.”
“You’ve been in bed for three weeks. What could you possibly be resting for?”
“I have plans for this evening.”
Her chest tightened at this. Had he invited guests, knowing the plaster was to be removed?
“Oh?” she asked carefully.
When he looked down at her again, his grin was absolutely naughty.
“I plan to make love to my wife.” He leaned down, his lips so close to hers. “A lot,” he whispered just before he kissed her.