Page 31 of Never Dare a Duke
Why did just a simple look from him make her relive the moments when they’d been far too close? She could only shiver when she remembered the moonlight glistening in his black hair as he’d so brazenly trapped her near the terrace balustrade. It had changed everything she thought about her reaction to men. She’d always assumed her work for the newspaper would be more important than any man, but apparently she’d been meeting the wrong men.
Not that the duke was the right man for her—he was just the first one to prove that she could be interested.
After a lively discussion of who shot the most birds, Abigail, Gwen, and Mr. Wesley followed at the rear as the large group tour began. Abigail saw the duke, a head taller than many of the gentlemen, near the front, walking at his sister’s side. Lady Elizabeth asked her brother to discuss the history of the different wings of the house. He spoke with calm authority, reluctant though he’d initially been. Abigail looked on the sober, polite man, and felt a little thrill at what he was like underneath, the side he’d allowed only her to glimpse.
Next, Lady Elizabeth discussed the rooms where the ghost had been sighted: the library, the duke’s study, the great hall, and the duke’s dressing room—which they were not allowed to tour, of course.
“And those are the only places where the ghost has been seen?” Gwen asked.
“I had rather assumed that if only servants have reported a sighting,” Mr. Wesley said, his face reddening as people turned to watch him, “then the ghost had been seen in the servants’ quarters.”
“No, not at all,” Lady Elizabeth said brightly. “We, too, considered that unusual.”
As the tour continued, Abigail found herself dwelling on this new ghost clue. The ghost had been espied only where the family frequented. That would make it most likely to be the ghost of an ancestor rather than of one of the servants or guests.
But she was not here to research a ghost, she told herself, suppressing her curiosity. She would tell Gwen her supposition and let her friend—and the vicar—work on it together. Abigail had a tutor to find.
After luncheon, when the guests had gathered to take a walk about the grounds, Christopher was trying to make a quiet exit to the privacy of his bedroom when the butler announced that the afternoon post had been delivered. Since he, too, was waiting for letters, he remained behind and watched the general air of excitement.
Miss Shaw received a letter that had been tucked into Lady Gwen’s mail, and she seemed oddly confused and surprised as she stared at the envelope.
Christopher received several letters, most of which he already knew what the content would be. But there was one letter that surprised him. Michael Preston had written to him.
Christopher was so caught up with curiosity—and worry—that he didn’t even think to retreat to his study. He unfolded the letter and quickly perused the contents. Michael wrote that he was worried about his sister’s pursuing Christopher so openly and that he would do his best to control her. He was glad Christopher had left London before Madeleine could make a fool of herself on an even greater scale before Society. And then he actually apologized for her behavior, which twisted the longtime blade of guilt within Christopher’s gut.
From the moment Madeleine had made clear that she felt entitled to be his duchess, Christopher had experienced a growing feeling of foreboding. He was not so worried about his own reputation as he was his mother’s and sister’s—especially Elizabeth, who was making her debut. They didn’t need for his youthful sins to surface once again.
He reminded himself that he had Michael on his side. Michael would be able to control his sister and make her realize that she was not going to have what she wanted. And perhaps the rumor of his courtship of Miss Shaw would play another role—dissuading Madeleine Preston. Miss Shaw was proving very convenient.
Seated on a sofa nearby, Abigail found herself watching the duke’s expression. She’d been surprised when he hadn’t used the mail as a convenient excuse to leave. Now, as he read one letter, he seemed thoughtful and concerned. She wished she knew what he read, but she could hardly research every aspect of the duke’s life.
She slowly opened her own letter, feeling uneasy that her mother had written to her so soon. It had been sent to Gwen’s residence, and the servants had forwarded it. Her confusion only increased as her mother went on to describe the further adventures of Mr. Wadsworth, the gentleman suitor her father seemed most fond of.
Why ever would Abigail’s mother think she wanted to know which breakfast he’d attended, or how well he danced?
Did her mother press his suit because she and her father were even more concerned about their finances? Was this their way of trying to prepare her?
Abigail realized that she’d lost sight of the urgency of her mission. She was enjoying the duke’s company more than she was following clues. She would have to find the tutor this afternoon, and the only way to do that was to leave the house, alone, as stealthily as possible.
Chapter 9
After luncheon, Miss Shaw seemed to disappear. As Christopher skirted a game of croquet, he saw that Miss Shaw was not among the players. He put her out of his mind as he headed for a meeting with the bailiff of the estate, only to see a bonneted, petite woman setting off by herself down the hedgerow-bordered lane that led to Comberton. He would recognize those curves anywhere, regardless of how Miss Shaw disguised them beneath a plain shawl.
With a houseful of people, she was going for a walk alone. Did she not understand the danger? Or was she going somewhere with a purpose, deliberately escaping a chaperone? He could only assume she was meeting someone.
Even as he hesitated, he remembered his appointment with the bailiff. At the horse barn where they were to discuss the breeding program, he rescheduled the meeting. And then he set off in search of Miss Shaw, walking instead of riding, since he didn’t want to overtake her.
Though it was foolish, he still couldn’t shake his instinctive feeling that something was…off about her. He could understand a friendly offer to help him, even if she didn’t benefit. But she might actually suffer under the arrangement, and that was self-destructive.
By the time he caught sight of her again, she had put up a frilly parasol to protect her skin from the sun. It bobbed with each step she took, and even proved helpful as an advance signal when she was turning to look back over her shoulder. Christopher was able to duck behind a tree in time. He felt foolish that he was reduced to hiding on his own property, but his determination did not falter.
The lane rose and fell along the gentle hills, until at last, a mile away, he saw Comberton, a small village nestled along the confluence of two streams. Smoke rose from chimneys jutting from thatched roofs. Miss Shaw’s pace picked up when she finally saw her destination, and he could only reluctantly admire her stamina.
Christopher didn’t think he’d been to the village in almost a year. There was always something more important to do, and he’d been in London most of the time. But he’d been a boy here, treated as any other boy, not a duke’s son. He’d been a foolish young man here, then a duke who took care of his people. The villagers did not treat him as if he were royalty but as one of their own. He never needed a carriage and grooms to visit, because they left him alone to go about his own business. If there was one place he could keep hidden, it was here.
And that was what he did as he watched Miss Shaw. She seemed to be walking with great purpose, going past the grocer, the little bookshop, and the draper. She didn’t even browse the window displays.
Instead, she turned down another lane, walked up the pavement to a small cottage, and knocked. Christopher recognized the elderly man who answered the door, though it had been several years since he’d seen him. What business could Miss Shaw have with Mr. Yates, his childhood tutor? But Mr. Yates smiled at her as she spoke, then his eyes lit with understanding. He stepped back and invited her in.
