Least Likely to Marry a Duke (Liberated Ladies)

No one could actually stop him rebelling, of course. The worst he would suffer was silent condemnation and the attentions of the satirical cartoonists. His staff would keep their mouths shut and carry on managing the land, controlling the finances, wrestling with the legal issues, even though it would be like a great ship without its captain at the helm. But if a female without substantial funds of her own took her own path through life the result would be vocal criticism, the closing of doors and a life of social isolation and genteel poverty. Even Will had been shaken out of his rigid good manners to condemn her intellectual interests and where they led her.

‘We were speaking of your reputation,’ Will reminded her after the silence had stretched on for several minutes, interrupted only by the strange peeping call of a pair of moorhens, the rustle of the wind in the trees, the slap of wavelets on the shore.

‘I thought we had exhausted that discussion. When we eventually reach shore again it will all seem like a storm in a teacup. Papa will take my word for it that I am not compromised, Mr Hoskins will follow whatever direction Papa takes, your loyal staff will remain silent.’

And the only sound will be the rattling of the shackles you have grown up with, chaining you to proper behaviour.

‘We will talk further when we are rescued,’ Will said. He sounded as though he had unclenche

d his jaw, the better to grind his teeth. ‘Now I will collect wood for a fire.’

‘Very well,’ Verity said, with as much meekness as she could muster. She had probably pushed him to the end of his tether. ‘I will go back to the hut.’

She walked off before she could see his reaction to this act of obedience because she would probably want to push him in the lake again if he looked smug about it. Besides, she wanted a cup of tea. Needed one. If those provoking children had left any with the supplies...

There was not only tea and a pot, but a flint and steel striker for lighting a fire. Verity picked up her hat, hitched up her skirts above her ankles and went to collect kindling and small sticks. It took her fifteen minutes, but she had a fire going, the kettle filled with water and hung over the fire on the primitive hook and chain that were fixed in the chimney, and was returning with an armful of larger pieces of wood when Will appeared.

‘You have a fire.’ He gestured to the trickle of smoke emerging from the chimney.

‘And you have not.’ Verity looked past him in the direction of the headland. No smoke. ‘The striker is on the hearth.’

‘You lit it?’

‘Yes, all by myself. Remarkable, isn’t it?’ Sarcasm was unworthy, but, really, what was she supposed to do? Sit thirstily and wait on his convenience, presumably. ‘Tea will be ready by the time you return.’

‘Thank you.’ Will strode into the hut, remembered to duck under the lintel just in time and emerged, striker in hand.

Verity indulged herself by admiring the sight of him bending to pick up a few branches she had abandoned as too heavy. Without his coat, the flex of his back muscles, the pull of his breeches over his thighs and his admirably taut buttocks, made a sight that any well-bred lady should have averted her eyes from and any female with a pulse could not help but admire.

A cat might look at a king, even if courtiers must bow so low they never see him, she thought with a smile. And a plain miss might admire a duke, even if the wretched man has had an iron rod inserted in his spine and his brain pickled in the vinegar of duty.

And someone had to make the tea while others stomped about being manly, she supposed, building up the fire, then peering into the basket of supplies. It was an impressive collection. Either the children had an ally in the cook or had bribed a footman or had undertaken barefaced theft, because there was certainly enough food to keep two adults well fed for at least twenty-four hours.

‘What is amusing?’ Will enquired from the doorway.

‘Was I smiling? I was just reflecting that the world had better be braced for a shock when Araminta, Althea and Basil are let loose in it. Perhaps you should simply transfer them to the Home Office immediately and let them add the three to their roster of intelligence agents. They seem capable of cunning undercover scheming, well-executed manoeuvres and thoughtful provisioning. Look.’ She gestured to the supplies set out on the table.

From the set of Will’s jaw the immediate future of his brothers and sisters did not look promising. House arrest for all and a tanned backside for Basil seemed the most likely outcome.

‘They are intelligent,’ she ventured. ‘And their unconventional upbringing seems to have made them very creative.’

‘You are too tolerant. If they were cast adrift on a desert island they would be perfectly suited for the life,’ Will snapped. ‘As it is, somehow, I have to make them fit for society, not encourage them to behave like a pirate crew. At the moment they have no concept of common decency and they are completely self-centred and unscrupulous.’

‘Shall we drink tea outside?’ Verity poured it into the two serviceable pottery mugs that stood beside the two plates and two sets of cutlery on the table. Possibly the combined effect of tea and her best attempt at conventional ladylike behaviour might improve Will’s mood.

Not that she was averse to the effect it had on him—that jaw, when clenched, was certainly a fine feature and temper made the blue of his eyes deeper—but if he was in a better frame of mind when they were eventually rescued, then it might mitigate the results for the children. She was angry about what they had done, but they were not to blame for their upbringing.

‘Thank you. I will take it back to the fire.’ He shook his head when she offered sugar. ‘I need to keep that burning until it is hot enough to add damp vegetation.’

‘To produce more smoke? What a good idea.’

* * *

Will took the mug and made his way back to the fire. The faint pathway was now well trodden and he could make his way without concentrating on where he was putting his feet. As that gave him more opportunity to think about Verity Wingate and the predicament they found themselves in, it could hardly be said to be an improvement.

He took an incautious gulp of hot tea and sat down on the rock beside the fire. It was burning well and slowly with a hot, dense, interior and he added some more of the thicker branches, building it up ready to begin covering it in a mantle of green foliage to make smoke.

Building a fire was calming, almost meditative, but it could do nothing to solve the dilemma he found himself in. He was trapped in a highly compromising situation with a woman he found physically attractive, however maddening her character was.