The Duchess of Love (Duchess of Love .5) Page 6

  “Oh, yes,” Ditee said.

  “Good day, then.” Venus smiled as pleasantly as she could. “And welcome to the neighborhood, Mrs. Blackburn, Lady Mary. I hope you have a”—dreadful, hideous, horrible—“nice visit.”

  “Thank you. We don’t intend to stay long, of course,” Lady Mary said. “The country is so boring, don’t you know?”

  “But I’m sure your presence will enliven it.” Venus strode off up High Street before she could say more.

  “Those women were unbearably rude,” Ditee said, falling into step beside her. Her book remained closed.

  “Yes, they were.”

  They walked a few moments in silence.

  “Do you think they really are betrothed to the duke and Mr. Valentine?” Ditee’s voice sounded uncharacteristically small and sad.

  Damn it all, how dare those miserable men hurt Ditee? Venus was so angry she’d like to kick something. No, someone, and in a very sensitive part of his damn handsome body. “They said so, didn’t they? I can’t imagine why they would take it into their heads to lie about something like that.”

  There was no point in entertaining false hope. Anger, though … fury … revenge—yes, she’d gladly entertain all those emotions.

  They reached the vicarage. Ditee opened the front gate and held it for Venus.

  “You go on in, Ditee. I’m going to walk for a while.”

  “Oh.” Ditee frowned as if she was having trouble understanding the simplest concepts. “Are you going to take Archie with you?”

  “Not this time.” The stupid dog liked Mr. Valentine—but then Archie also liked rolling in dead things. “I’ll see you later.”

  Drew stood in the garden with Nigel, Mrs. Edgemoor, and Bugden, the gardener, a vegetative emergency at their feet.

  “What am I to do about these poor bushes?” Bugden asked, appearing to be on the verge of tears.

  They were a sorry sight. Five or six large shrubs had been picked clean of all greenery. Drew couldn’t tell from Bugden’s increasingly emotional speech—and consequent descent into the local dialect—whether the culprit was a giant hare or a hairy caterpillar.

  He flinched. Something had hit him in the shoulder. Were there other garden marauders about?

  Ah, there—he distinctly heard Bugden say “creepy crawler.” It must be the hairy caterpillar who was the villain in the bushes’ demise.

  Mrs. Edgemoor and Bugden had turned to Nigel for guidance, but Nigel was gazing into space, likely contemplating the fair Aphrodite.

  “I’m afraid you’ll just have to dig them up,” Drew said. “They look very … dead.”

  This unfortunate word choice sent Bugden off on another impassioned speech. Apparently the plants had been flourishing just the day before; the vicious, sneaky bugs had crept in on their many legs in the dead of night to attack the poor, defenseless bushes, devouring them with incredible speed.

  “Yes, well, that is a terrible shame.” Clearly some sympathy was in order, whether for the denuded shrubbery, which was long past caring, or Bugden, who obviously took the caterpillars’ actions as a personal affront, or even Mrs. Edgemoor, who was wringing her hands and almost moaning. “However—ouch!”

  Some hard missile had definitely collided with his other shoulder. He glanced down; had that large pebble been there by his foot before?

  Nigel emerged from his woolgathering. “What is it?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Drew smiled. He’d go looking for his assailant as soon as he dealt with the plant problem. He was quite certain his attacker was not a hairy caterpillar. “The sad truth is I suspect nothing will resurrect these bushes.”

  “Aye, yer right there.” Bugden looked gloomily at the plant corpses.

  “So all we can do is remove the remains.”

  “But the garden party is tomorrow,” Mrs. Edgemoor said. “It’ll look a fright.”

  It already looked a fright, as if fire or drought—or caterpillars—had come through, but Drew felt it wisest not to point out the obvious. “Perhaps a few potted plants would do the trick?”

  “Hmm.” Bugden nodded. “That might work, and I know just where I can get some. There are too many in the music room anyway.”

  Mrs. Edgemoor looked unconvinced. “I’m not sure …”

  “Now, Maud, ye know I’m right. Come, let’s see what we can do.”

  Bugden and Mrs. Edgemoor went off to discover what indoor plants they could dragoon into outdoor duty.

  “Well done,” Nigel said. “You appear to have averted a major disaster.”

  Drew laughed. “Yes, well—ow!”

  Something large and hard hit his arse with enough force to leave a bruise, he’d wager. He looked down. That was no pebble by his feet; that was a rock.

  “I think the hedge over there is trying to get your attention,” Nigel said.

  Drew looked in the direction Nigel indicated. The hedge shook emphatically.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll go commune with nature.”

  Nigel snorted. “Just be sure you don’t come to an unhappy end like these bushes. The garden is obviously full of danger.”

  Drew caught a quick glimpse of chestnut hair and a green-cloth-covered arm, and then another projectile flew through the air to land at his feet. This one was the largest yet. “Indeed it is.”

  “She has a good arm, but she must be tiring,” Nigel said, choking back a laugh.

  “Ah, but I believe this was sent as a warning only.”

  Another rock landed, this time headed for his toe. He moved his foot quickly.

  “The lady grows impatient.”

  “Yes. I’m off. If I don’t return by suppertime, send Bugden out to collect my poor corpse. He can dispose of it with the late, lamented bushes.”

  Drew strolled over to the tall, green hedge. What wild bee was in Venus’s bonnet now? Had she come to punish him for not kissing her in the village earlier?

  He wished that were the case; he’d be happy—very happy—to rectify the omission.

  And that wasn’t the only omission he should rectify. Nigel was right. He should tell her now who he was. The longer he waited, the deeper the hole he dug, making it all that much harder to climb out and into her good graces.

  But he didn’t want to tell her, not quite yet. He wanted to know if she cared for him, for Drew Valentine, before he introduced her to Greycliffe. Once the duke was out of the bag, as it were, he’d never know her true feelings.

  He peered cautiously around the hedge. “Did you wish to talk to me, Miss Collingswood?”

  “Of course I wished to talk to you, you serpent.” She hissed very much like a snake herself.

  “About what?”

  Her large brown eyes flashed with temper, and it looked as if steam might come out of her ears at any moment. “You know very well what I wish to discuss. And do come here behind the hedge. Do you want to be discovered?”

  “Perhaps I fear for my safety,” he said, stepping behind the vegetative screen. They were in the beginning of the maze. He’d seen it from his bedroom window, but he hadn’t yet had time to explore it. “You were flinging rocks at me, after all.”

  “Oh, don’t be a cabbage-head.”

  If he remembered correctly, the maze’s center had a sizable tree that looked as if it would shield anyone under it from prying eyes very nicely. Chances were slim he could take advantage of it, but hope sprang eternal. Perhaps he could discover how she felt about him now and then steal a proper kiss before confessing his sins. “Do you know the key to this maze?”

  “Of course—and don’t change the subject.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. Let’s stroll to the center and you can show me the way of it.” He tried to take her arm, but she shook him off.

  “I’m more likely to show you the way to perdition, you lying blackguard,” she said, “not that you need any directions to that destination.” She strode off.

  He followed her, addressing her back. “Here, now, I never
actually lied. I may have let you assume—”

  “Let me assume!” She whirled around and pinned him with a venomous look before turning and continuing her brisk pace forward. Her hips swished back and forth in a very enticing manner. “You more than let me assume. I thought the whole point of this garden party was to further Ditee’s match with the duke.”

  “Er, yes …” He cleared his throat. What exactly were they speaking of? Best to proceed cautiously. “That is, yes, of course. I think your sister and my cousin would make an excellent match.”

  “Ha!”

  She walked even faster. She had long legs, but his were longer. Still, she was obviously used to walking distances in the country; he had to hurry to keep up with her.

  “Is there a problem?” A stupid question. Obviously there was a problem, but for the life of him, he couldn’t discern what it was.

  “Yes!”

  They reached the center of the maze. As he’d hoped, there was a bench underneath a splendidly leafy tree. Anyone—or two—sitting on the bench would be completely invisible to someone in the house or on the grounds. Unfortunately, even the most inveterate gambler wouldn’t take odds on his chances of persuading Venus to join him for a protracted bit of lovemaking. From the sharpness of her glare, he’d be lucky to emerge with all his body parts intact.

  He clasped his hands behind his back, but quickly thought better of it—that position left his tender bits too unprotected—and dropped his hands back to his sides. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Could you explain the difficulty?”

  He’d never really thought looks could kill, but he might have to revise his opinion.

  “Your London friends stopped in the village looking for you,” she said.

  Damn. “Do you mean Lady Mary and Mrs. Blackburn?”

  “Whom else could I mean? Little Huffington is not exactly littered with Londoners.”

  “Well, I wasn’t certain since I wouldn’t consider them friends, precisely.”

  This was the wrong thing to say. If Venus had been angry before, she was now utterly furious. He half expected her hair to transform into snakes and her eyes to shoot lightning bolts. He glanced around the clearing to be sure there weren’t any other, more prosaic weapons at hand.

  “Oh, no.” She spat the words as if they were some vile-tasting tonic. “They are far more than friends.”

  “They are?” What the hell had those two harpies said?

  “Don’t try to deny it. Lady Mary told us she is betrothed to the duke.”

  “She is not!” He saw red for a moment. He’d like to shake that lying jade until her teeth rattled in her head. How dare she say they were betrothed? He might—perhaps—expect her to try such a lie on poor Mrs. Edgemoor: Lady Mary wouldn’t see a housekeeper as meriting any respect. But to lie to Venus …

  Venus waved her hand, as if she didn’t really care. “And”—now her voice started to break—“she said Mrs. Blackburn is affianced to you!” The last word came out on a wail.

  What? But Venus had just said Lady Mary claimed to be his—oh, right, Venus thought he was Nigel.

  He’d waited a fateful moment too long before stepping toward her and extending his hand. “Venus—”

  She slapped his fingers away. “Don’t touch me, you despicable blackguard.”

  He was not used to being insulted. Anger flared in his gut. He tried to swallow it, but his voice sharpened. “Be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable?!” She swiped at her nose with her sleeve. “You want me to be reasonable?”

  “At least lower your voice. You’re shrieking like a fishwife.”

  “What? Are you afraid everyone will discover what a disgusting, dishonorable liar you are?”

  How dare she call his honor into question? If she were a man, she’d be meeting him in a duel. “I haven’t lied to you.” Perhaps he’d let her assume a few things, but he’d never out and out lied.

  She swiped at her face again. Didn’t the girl carry a handkerchief? He reached for his.

  “So you’ve always been completely honest with me?” She sounded just a little hopeful.

  He froze, his hand still in his pocket. He wanted to say yes. If he said yes, maybe she’d calm down and let him put his arms around her and explain. Maybe they would end up on that lovely bench doing delightful things with their hands and lips.

  But the truth was she thought he was Nigel.

  She wasn’t stupid; she saw his answer on his face. “You, you … toad.” She snatched up her skirts and ran.

  He let her go. Catching her would only lead to more shouting. She didn’t want to hear him—and, frankly, he didn’t know what to say.

  He sat down on the bench and dropped his head into his hands.

  His life was a complete mess.

  He hadn’t lied to her; he just hadn’t corrected her. She’d been naked, for God’s sake. He couldn’t be expected to think rationally in such a situation. It wasn’t his fault she’d assumed he was Nigel.

  He leaned his head back against the tree trunk. No, he should be honest with himself for once. He had misled her—and he’d do it again in a heartbeat. He’d wanted her to see him, not his title.

  Unfortunately now all she saw was a lying rogue, and that bothered him far more than he could have imagined.

  Bloody hell.

  He must beg her pardon, grovel if he had to—and after their brangle just now, he’d probably have to. Today. He couldn’t put it off. If she discovered his identity at the garden party tomorrow—especially with Lady Mary watching—she’d never forgive him.

  It was getting late, but there were still some hours of daylight left. He’d ride over to the vicarage as soon as he left the maze.

  He stood, his mind made up, and strode out of the clearing. He turned right and then right again and then—damn it, he was back in the center. Very well, he’d turn left instead. Or … left, then right. Or right, left, left …

  Nothing worked. He was trapped like a rat—Venus would surely find that most appropriate.

  He stood in the bloody clearing and shouted for help.

  Chapter 6

  Venus never cried. Crying was a stupid waste of energy. It made her eyes ache and her head throb.

  She sniffed. And her nose run, too, damn it. Of course she didn’t have a handkerchief.

  She stopped and took a deep, shuddery breath.

  What was the matter with her? She pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. Had she completely lost her mind? She’d certainly lost her temper. Mr. Valentine had been correct. She had sounded like a fishwife. He must be laughing at her, the silly rustic who’d fallen in love with—

  Oh, God, she wasn’t in love with the villain, was she?

  Her knees folded, and she sat down abruptly on the grass.

  She couldn’t be—she’d only just met him. Yes, he was sinfully handsome with his blue eyes and wicked smile and naked—She slapped her hands over her burning cheeks.

  He’d haunted her dreams, but it wasn’t just his appearance that attracted her. It was everything about him. Just talking to him—arguing with him more often than not—thrilled her. She was always thinking of him, always wondering what he would say about something, how he would smile …

  Bah—she’d been building air castles. All this time, he’d been betrothed to Mrs. Blackburn, who must be several years older than he. Not that it was any of her business. He could marry old Mrs. Fedderly with her blessing if he wished.

  She stood up, scrubbed her hands over her face to get rid of any lingering tears, and brushed off her skirt. Enough. She must think of Ditee. She needed to tell her Lady Mary had lied: she was not betrothed to Greycliffe. Mr. Valentine had looked genuinely horrified at the notion, and no matter how slimy and disgusting he was, he couldn’t be that good an actor.

  It was past suppertime when she let herself into the vicarage.

  “There you are,” Mrs. Shipley said. “Your mama has been asking for you.”

  “Oh.” Venu
s sniffed and tried to smile. “I was out walking.”

  “Been crying, have you?”

  She ducked her head to avoid Mrs. Shipley’s eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be crying?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason your sister’s bawling her eyes out.”

  Venus’s stomach knotted. “Ditee’s crying?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I? She’s been locked in her room since she came home from the village.”

  “Oh, dear. I’d best go talk to her.”

  “Good. Shall I tell your mama you’re home?”

  “Oh, no, no need to disturb Mama. I’ll just go up and see Ditee, and then I think I’ll go to bed myself.”

  Venus could feel Mrs. Shipley’s eyes boring into her back as she went up the stairs.

  She tapped on Ditee’s door.

  “Go away.” Ditee’s voice was muffled as if she had her face buried in her pillow.

  “Ditee, it’s me, Venus. Let me in.”

  “No. Go away.”

  “Ditee, I spoke to Mr. Valentine.” Venus paused; she could almost feel Ditee listening. “He said the duke is not betrothed to Lady Mary, and I think he was telling the truth.” About that at least.

  Silence, and then she heard feet hurrying over the floor. The door flew open so quickly, Venus almost fell into the room.

  “You’re certain?” Ditee asked. Her face was blotchy and red, but she still looked beautiful.

  Venus nodded. “Mr. Valentine was quite definite on the subject.”

  “Oh.” Ditee stared at her for a full minute and then made an odd sound—a cross between a sob and a laugh—and threw her arms around Venus, hugging her so tightly Venus could barely breathe. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  Venus hugged her back. At least one of them was happy.

  “Sleep well?” Nigel asked as he strolled into the breakfast room.

  Drew looked up from the table and considered winging his slice of ham at his cousin. “Not particularly.”

  “I did,” Nigel said, filling his plate with roast beef, smoked herring, cheese, and eggs. “A clear conscience is a wonderful thing.” He sat down next to Drew. “I’m going to tell Aphrodite that I’m not the duke at the garden party today.”