Miss Dane and the Duke

Antonia saw him turn to go and stepped forward to Marcus’s side. She needed something, someone, to hold on to because her knees had positively turned to jelly. Just as she stepped into the moonlight Jeremy turned again. ‘You may rely on my discretion, Your Grace – Good God. Antonia?’ Jeremy said it again on a note of rising disbelief and Antonia saw herself through his eyes; hair tousled, gown damp about her ankles, her bodice awry. She felt ready to sink through the ground with sheer mortification.

‘Jeremy,’ she began, desperate to explain to her friend how she came to be there, that it was not what he thought.

He immediately bristled and she saw his fists clench at his sides. Oh, Lord. I sounded desperate, he must think I need rescuing. He will be calling Marcus out in a moment…

Instead he took a step forward, held out a hand to her and growled, ‘Sir, I demand to know what you are doing here with my fiancée.’

‘Your fiancée?’ Marcus swung round towards Antonia. ‘So that was what you were doing here and why Blake was so reticent in his explanations. A tryst in the moonlight, of all the ridiculously romantic nonsense. And it appears there are no lengths you would not go to in order hide the fact from me, Antonia. You were most convincing just now in my arms, but no doubt in a few moments you would have discovered a headache and run away home. A pity your lover is less inventive.’

‘Marcus, he is not my lover. Jeremy, for goodness sake, tell him the truth.’ They both stood there, glaring at each other, two enraged males an inch from outright violence. ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake! I could push you both in the river to cool off.’

‘I bid you both good night.’ Marcus gave no sign of having heard a word she said. ‘I wish you well of your union. It will, I am certain, bring joy to your friends.’

He snatched up the rest of his clothing from the river bank and strode off out of sight, managing to look magnificently ducal despite his bare feet, soaked shirt and tousled hair.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Antonia stared blankly at Jeremy who wore an expression compounded of sheepishness and defiance.

‘How dare you?’ she stormed, consumed by so many roiling emotions she hit out regardless of who suffered. ‘How could you say such a thing, to imply that you and I are to be married? Where does that leave me now?’

‘In better case than you were in five minutes ago,’ he retorted hotly. ‘You should look to your reputation, Antonia, and consider yourself fortunate it was I who discovered you just now. I may not be a duke, but your name will be better protected as my wife than as that man’s mistress.’

They glared at each other in the moonlight, as she felt her underlip quivering. She was not going to cry. She was not.

Jeremy took one step forward, then another. ‘Really, Antonia, what would you have had me do? I had to think quickly, and it was that or hit him on the jaw. If I could have managed it,’ he added with rueful honesty.

‘I wish you had,’ Antonia responded mutinously. Suddenly she felt very, very tired. She sat down with an unladylike thump on the river bank.

‘No, you do not,’ Jeremy said firmly. He sat down beside her and put one arm round her shoulders in a comradely manner. ‘Fist fights are bloody, unpleasant and rarely achieve anything. Now, tell me what this is all about so we can find a solution to this coil.’

‘This is not a legal problem you can resolve by consulting a few dusty tomes,’ Antonia snapped, then relented immediately. ‘Oh, Jeremy, I am sorry, you are a good friend to tolerate my temper.’ She twisted round to meet his eyes. ‘I did wonder if you had a partiality for me, at first. But you have not, have you? I am right?’ she persisted.

Jeremy smiled. ‘There was a time when I felt fairly sure I was going to fall in love with you. But there is nothing quite as dampening as the discovery that the object of one’s interest has her affections fixed firmly elsewhere. That said,’ he added firmly, ‘it is no reason why we should not deal very well together, you and I.’

Antonia kissed his cheek with real affection. ‘You are a dear, Jeremy. But I cannot, I love him, you see.’

‘Then why do you not marry the man, then?’ he asked with a touch of impatience. ‘Has he not asked you? He is obviously deeply attracted to you.’

Antonia smiled wryly. ‘Oh, he has asked me to be his wife. But then I discovered that Marcus Renshaw is a man who is attracted to many women. In my case, the attraction is embellished by the thought of getting his hands on Rye End Hall and its lands.’

‘The lands are neither here nor there, I would guess. I assume you are referring to one woman in particular? One with expensive gowns, a curvaceous figure and a fine pair of eyes? I can quite see her attraction,’ he added mischievously.

‘Mutton dressed as lamb,’ Antonia responded indignantly. ‘And married mutton at that. You are as bad as he is. I wonder what she looks like first thing in the morning.’ Without the paint and the curling irons and the expensive corsetry…

‘Mmm…’ Jeremy said speculatively.

‘…before her maid and her hairdresser and goodness knows what cosmetics have come to her aid.’ She looked at Jeremy sharply. ‘You are teasing me.’

‘Of course I am teasing you. Women like that are commonplace in London. She is doubtless an entertaining and compliant mistress – and one with an elderly complaisant husband, there usually is. A gentleman like Allington is going to expect his entertainment – he is, after all, not a monk.’ He paused and cast her a doubtful glance. ‘You must forgive me being so free-spoken, Antonia, I will say no more if I am offending you.’

‘No, Jeremy, you are telling me nothing that I had not already fathomed for myself, I have had London Seasons, after all. But how could he continue the liaison while he paid court to me?’

‘Er…’ Jeremy was clearly searching for a tactful way of expressing himself.

‘Oh, I know that in arranged marriages these things happen. But I truly believed he had at least respect and affection for me. But to flaunt his mistress so openly… I could not marry a man who was so careless of my feelings.’

‘Then marry me. I can assure you I would never be careless of how you felt. I can offer you the respect, affection and the companionship you deserve in a marriage which would maintain you in a fitting manner.’

‘But not love, Jeremy,’ she said wistfully. ‘You can’t offer me that.’