The Day of the Duchess (Scandal & Scoundrel #3)(75)

September 1836



The next morning, Malcolm received word from his matchmaking wife that he was to ride with Lady Lilith and Lady Felicity Faircloth. No doubt Seraphina thought that it was time he come to know the remaining two candidates for future Duchess of Haven—as Miss Mary had left for Gerald’s warm embrace, and Lady Emily’s soup aversion was too overwhelming a character trait.

Not that he had any intention of marrying either of the women. Indeed, the notice from his wife—perfunctory and without even the hint of reference to the night prior—had him immediately considering storming the breakfast room and summarily dismissing all the houseguests, finally jettisoning the stupid plan he’d concocted to keep Seraphina at hand while he wooed her once again.

He was through with schemes. He was ready to have his wife returned. He was ready to win her in earnest. And that required being alone with her, dammit. He needed time and space and honesty to make her believe him. To make her believe in him. In them.

These women were simply in the way. There was no doubt that, of the original quartet of unmarried females he’d summoned to convince her he was interested in another wife, Lady Lilith and Lady Felicity were best suited to him. Lilith was clever and droll, with a passion for travel, and Felicity had a brain in her head and would make any intelligent aristocrat a decent companion. But Haven did not want a decent companion. He wanted his wife. The woman he’d wanted from the moment he’d met her on that balcony a lifetime ago. And that was simply the way it was.

And yet, he could not be rid of them—not without it becoming clear that the entire contrivance had been just that, an unsavory ruse that would anger half of London’s aristocracy and incur his wife’s wrath in the balance when she realized the intentions behind it, or lack thereof, as he had no intention of giving her the divorce she so publicly desired.

A divorce she would soon see she did not want, if only he could prove to her that their past had nothing to do with their future.

And so, the only thing he could do when he received Seraphina’s note about his companions for the morning ride was to reply, insisting that she act as chaperone.

He hadn’t for a moment thought she would agree. Indeed, he’d expected to have to fetch her—an eventuality that had his heart racing with anticipatory pleasure—which was likely why she did not argue with his insistence.

When she exited the manor house at five minutes to eleven, clad in a beautiful aubergine riding habit, hat perched jauntily on her head and—Lord save him—riding crop in hand, he lost his breath at the portrait she made, strong and powerful, as though the night before had not happened, or, rather, as though the night before had imbued her with even more purpose.

He could see the determination in her beautiful blue gaze, and he instantly realized that purpose; she wanted him matched. And soon.

He resisted the urge to laugh at the fruitless plan.

And then the laugh was gone, because her trio of companions arrived, despite their not being invited. Of course. Seraphina came armed to the teeth, with her private battalion of warrior women. Minus one, because Sophie, the Marchioness of Eversley, was increasing and, therefore, did not ride.

Thank goodness for small favors.

He refused to show his frustration, instead turning his back on the band of sisters, moving to help first Lady Lilith and Lady Felicity into their saddles. Neither seemed to require his assistance, both clearly excellent horsewomen, and it occurred to him that he might have one day enjoyed a ride with them.

Instead, he dreaded what was to come.

After assisting his guests, he turned to help his wife, who had—of course—already found her seat. He did not miss the fact that she’d chosen one of his most prized mares—a mount he’d had saddled specifically for her.

He looked up to her, fingers itching to touch her, to slide beneath the hem of her habit and find the soft skin above her riding boots. “Your American guard dog does not join you today?”

She raised a brow and cut him a look. “Mr. Calhoun has returned to London for good,” she said. “I can only assume he did so at your insistence.”

Surprise flared, followed by quick relief that his wife’s protector had disappeared. “As a matter of fact, I had nothing to do with it, though God knows I am grateful for it.”

“Damn coward,” Sesily interjected, and everyone turned to face her. “What? He is.”

Haven ignored his mad sister-in-law and headed for his horse, taking his seat. “We are headed to the eastern folly.”

“Isn’t that what people call your marriage, Sera?” one of her sisters said dryly, snickers following the question.

Sera replied dryly, “Not to worry, my ladies—Haven will almost certainly prefer a marriage to you than he did to me, and I imagine he shall be quite the husband.”

Malcolm’s teeth clenched at the words that came so easily when last night he had laid himself bare for her and she had come apart in his arms. In frustration, he spurred his horse forward, the group following behind, far enough away for him to avoid hearing them. He’d take the women out for their ride, return them, and then find a way to get the girls gone.

After a half an hour of riding, he slowed at the great stone folly on the far eastern edge of the estate—a medieval tower that had been built several generations earlier. Dismounting, he moved to help the ladies down from their respective horses. Not Sera, however. Sera dismounted on her own, moving quickly away from the group, pulling her sisters with her as though they followed on strings.