Page 13 of The Taming of the Duke
“I wouldn’t hide fromyou, old chap,” Hardwick said. “I apologize if you’d had a wasted journey.”
“Not entirely,” Dax said. “I took the opportunity of visiting Hurstpoint Place, seeing as it’s only two miles away.”
“Leander’s seat? I didn’t know you two were acquainted.”
“He was my house captain at Eton,” Dax said. “Something of a rogue, but I’d rather hoped marriage would have settled him.”
“And had it?”
“Probably not. I’d have felt sorry for his wife, were she not of the same ilk.”
“Ah—the insatiable Mrs. Leander.”
Dax lowered his voice. “She demanded I escort her for a walk in the gardens on pretense of something or other, then propositioned me behind the box hedge.”
“Tell me that’s not a euphemism!” Hardwick laughed.
“Fortunately not,” Dax said. “But Lord save me from bored wives. It seems as if as soon as she furnished Leander with an heir, she began to work her way round Hampshire society, collecting lovers the way a man collects birds in the shooting season.”
“And you plan to visit him while you’re here?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“If you do, I’d advise you take a woman with you and pass her off as your fiancée—that’s about the only way to keep Mrs. Leander from ripping your breeches off with her teeth.”
“Don’t tell me she’s thrown herself inyourpath?” Dax asked.
Hardwick nodded. “After Beatrice gave me a son, Mrs. Leander seemed to think I’d be in want of a little variety in the bedroom. However, wives are not merely for the procreation of male offspring.” He lowered his voice. “And, there’s none so skilled as my wife in the bedchamber—and, for that matter, in many other rooms about the house.”
“Ah,” Dax said. “Now, I understand your secret of eternal youth.”
“It’s marriage, dear boy,” Hardwick said, his voice filled with contentment.
In most circumstances, Dax would have reached for the nearest chamber pot to vomit in, but Hardwick had suffered heartbreak and he deserved happiness. His first wife had been—for want of a more respectable word—aharlot, and Hardwick’s motto wasonce betrayed, never fooled again.
Hardwick called out to a tall, elegant young woman who was greeting a couple beside the main doors. She turned and smiled, and the riddle was solved.
She was stunning.
“Might I introduce my wife?” Hardwick held out his hand, and the woman approached them and took it, then she regarded Dax with eyes the color of liquid chocolate.
“Beatrice, my love,” Hardwick said, “this is my friend, Daxton Hawke, Duke of Petrush.”
She dipped into a curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said. “A pleasure. Augustus has spoken much of you.”
“Oh, dear,” Dax said. “For that, I can only apologize. Most of it’s true, I’m afraid.”
“I sincerely hope so,” she replied with a smile. “I hear that under your somewhat rakish exterior—something I can see for myself from merely looking at you—that you’re the most loyal friend known to man.”
Dax felt himself coloring at her frank appraisal. “Your husband has grossly exaggerated my qualities.”
“I trust not,” she replied. “My husband is known for speaking the absolute truth, and I would be most aggrieved to learn that he’d disappointed me with regards to you.”
Dax took her hand and bowed over it. “Then, let me concede, Lady Hardwick.”
“Thank you,” she said. Then she glanced over Dax’s shoulder, and her face lit up with joy. “Oh! That’s Giles and Henrietta arriving. Do excuse me, Your Grace. Your room’s all ready for you if you’d like to freshen up before supper. And, I hope to see you dancing tonight—there will be plenty of young ladies in need of a partner capable of steering them across the dance floor without bruising their toes.”
She ran toward a carriage which had just drawn to a halt, her lithe body reminding Dax of a deer leaping over a fence.
