The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

N ight had fallen when Elsie started up, a heavy cool darkness had flooded the cave they were in. The storm from yesterday had cleared though, and sheer bright moonlight played across the rocky stones, bathing the space in a silvery soft glow. As they’d slept, the two of them had rolled almost as a unit, with Elsie coming to rest slightly on her front, with Kit curled up beside her, his arm casually draped over her waist. She was surprised how easily she’d fallen asleep. It would not seem the most natural place to find respite. Yet she had, and how nicely it had felt to be so close to the heat of another’s body in such a location.

Aware of how improper their positions were, Elsie jumped upright. She hurried to the edge of the cave. Below were the soft waves, the cove still full, and yet, it did not seem to her untrained eyes as if it was as choppy or as rough as before. Distantly she could make out the strange little cottage she’d been so curious about earlier in the day. It was utterly untouched by the waves, protected by an encirclement of rocks that kept a barrier between itself and the water. It was rather unnerving and an unnatural sight .

She turned back to look at Kit—or as she should probably be thinking at least internally, at the duke. It was important to keep those two as separate entities in her mind. One was the man who’d likely saved her life twice. The other, the cold noble who would decide her sister’s future. Either way, it was crucial she remembered he held the power with both dynamics.

“Has it cleared?” He was getting to his feet, seemingly unruffled by the experience of being huddled up together, warmed and entwined as a pair.

Kit stroked Lancelot’s head as he moved closer to her and nodded at Elsie in such a manner that she felt as if she was nothing more than a good friend. So much, she thought, for any romantic illusions she might have built, better to squish those out of her head right away.

“No,” Elsie said, “although it seems calmer. Quieter than before. Do you think it worth descending and trying to make our way back?”

Kit peered down. He had drawn on his coat as he’d walked over, and the sleepiness that she enjoyed slipped away from him with casual ease. “It’s an option. I would certainly like to be back at the manor sooner rather than later.” He lifted his eyes up to hers, dwelling on her for a moment, and Elsie recalled that if she were a proper lady, a woman governed by society’s rules, then she too should be worried about being trapped in such a position with such a man.

But nothing had happened despite how tempting she had thought it would be if he had kissed her. That did not count. It was not enough to ruin her good name. It had not happened, and one could not be punished for what one imagined despite Grandmother Keating’s views on the matter.

“It does seem to be retreating,” Kit mused, upright again and close to her. “The alternative is that we wait here until it is completely drained and descend then. But that would leave us vulnerable if we slipped climbing down the rocks.” By the term we , Elsie thought he meant more specifically her, but given her torn dress, not to mention her numerous experiences as a child climbing everything that was available in Berwick-upon-Tweed, Elsie thought she could manage the descent with either the water there or not. Her preference was to leave the disconcerting cave, swim back through the calmer waves, towards the pathway and get back to the relative safety of the manor.

“I think we should go,” Elsie said. She sucked in her breath and raised her chin. “I for one am hungry and getting back to the manor…”

“Would it be better than a lonesome cave?” Kit asked. Then she caught his smile. “Don’t fear. I know you won’t start considering the manor house a ‘friendly’ location anytime soon.”

Ignoring the desire to smile back in a similarly warm manner, Elsie said instead, “It would be easier to get down and into the water rather than risk falling without the safety of the waves.”

“Very well,” Kit said. “Right. I’d best go first. If we create a sling, I can go down with Lancelot on my back.”

Using the end of the dress, they did just that, and when he started his descent, Elsie watched from the edge as the pair of them slowly moved away from her. Closer and closer to the water below. It was a less hurried affair than their ascent. Kit managed to climb down the front of the cliff. He went slowly, and for that she was grateful, as it reduced his risk of falling. Or Lancelot slipping out.

Once at the bottom she was pleased to see the water came up only to his waist. He looked up the front and waved, a smile visible from where she perched.

As she started to climb down herself, Elsie was impressed at how skilfully Kit had managed the stones, they were slippery beneath her fingers. Briefly an insight bloomed within her mind, that he must be rather strong—after all she had seen those muscles under his wet shirt just a few hours ago—to manage the climb, whereas she was clinging on and hoping not to slip .

Surely it was not common for a man—as her mind turned back over the shape and the heat of his body, one of her hands slid a little off the rock she was using, and below she heard his bellow of fear. Scolding herself Elsie forced her thoughts back to the cliff front.

When she reached near enough to the bottom though, she felt his strong hands grasp first her legs to keep her steady, then her waist, to ease her away from the rocks.

“There we go, I’ve got you.” He held her, and it unnerved Elsie how much her breathing was laboured, and how eagerly she clung to him now that she was off the cliff face. It was a little flattering she thought as he too seemed a touch reluctant to lower her the rest of the way.

“Do you want to avoid a re-soaking? I can try to carry you out of the cove.” Kit cut into her whimsical hopes, and Elsie was disappointed to realise yet again he was just being a gentleman.

“I can swim or wade as it is not very high.” She said with as much dignity as she could, and when Kit lowered her down into the water. She was rather pleased when he reached across and took her hand, interlacing their fingers both damp and needful.

“This way.” He had already turned and started taking long steps cutting through the water, with Elsie in his wake. Her eyes rooted to Lancelot still strapped to the duke’s back. The blasted animal looked as if he might be smiling, completely at his ease, and Elsie wondered suddenly if she too had worn such a daft expression of content when she dozed, cuddled up in Kit’s arms in the cave.

A realisation hit her as they moved through the water, although she was not sure how she could ever tell him. He had an aura of deep reassurance and strength—which was a gift perhaps, and one, ironically the man did not seem to know that he possessed. It seemed he did not want his title, or any of the pressures of the role, but it struck Elsie that actually Kit would be greatly skilled at such an opportunity. Of course, she could hardly tell him that. It would feel far too much of an overstep, and besides what she knew—an impoverished daughter of a vicar—her viewpoint was of little value to society or more importantly to him.

How inappropriate to have such a thought about a man, Elsie scolded herself. But that feeling wouldn’t leave her as they moved through the shallow waves and towards the pathway , she had scrambled down hours ago.

“I suppose,” Elsie said. There was a wobble to her voice as she stepped out of the water and onto the pathway. “This could be classed as a great adventure.”

Kit, who was a few feet ahead of her on his knees freeing Lancelot, glanced back at her. The look he gave her was one of scepticism and doubt. “I would hasten to correct that misconception. No one local comes down here. Your maid must have misunderstood what the household was talking about.”

“She knew I wanted to see the sea. Just not that close. Surely some people came down here, after all what about the cottage?”

“I told you it is said to be haunted.”

“I mean…” Elsie raised her hands to her arms and hugged them against her cold, clinging day dress. Now she was out of the water and out of the danger, her body was even more aware of her own tremors. “It does seem as if a haunting or a curse is a common theory in these parts. You would think everyone would have gotten bored or…” Her attempt at humour did not seem to land with Kit, who started shaking his head.

Striding closer, he placed his arm around her, it did not have the same kindness as it had in the cave, but almost seemed to scold her with his touch. With a forceful step he marched them both up the pathway towards the top of the cliff. Elsie was too self-conscious to utter any objection at how quickly they were moving.

“I really would recommend you staying at the manor house,” Kit said as they reached the cliff’s top. “It’s far safer. ”

Elsie wondered if that was true. There were the cobwebs, the odd and distant staff, his unwell sister, and everywhere she turned he liked to bring up a curse or an ill omen. To her mind, the safest course of action was leaving the place as soon as possible. With that in mind, she turned her head and looked sideways at him. “How was yesterday’s work, clearing the road?”

“Slow.” Kit released her as he pulled off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders as he had done in the cave. “Come, miss. I will gather my horse, and you can sit on him back to the manor. That should warm you up a little.”

Miss? He wished to reinstate a proper formality, that much was clear, and Elsie had thought there was a moment of hope of at least a friendlessness between the two of them.

With a sigh, hiding any disappointment that any closeness they had created seemed to have slipped away, Elsie replied grandly, “Yes, of course, Your Grace.” Moving forward, she fell in step with him until they saw his horse tied to a tree. Kit—or His Grace, Elsie corrected herself—stroked the horse’s side and then turned to Elsie, his face expressionless. He seemed drained by today’s events—the forest’s dense greens created a dim light on him.

“Can I lift you up?” His tone was polite.

Mutely Elsie nodded, not knowing what else to say, and she found herself lifted up in the air and then placed in the saddle. Deposited there by him, before he walked around to the horse’s rein and started to lead them through the woodland.

Watching his straight back, Elsie knew she could say something, begin a conversation or she could at least try to. When she was better at being in society, something would spring to her mind. But nothing occurred to her. She could not think of how to begin with him as if he were a stranger, nor could she strike up a topic of talk referring back to the cave. His Grace didn’t want that—he had made that clear. So instead, she let her eyes linger on him, study his body, with an interest that was far from ladylike. After all she’d been cuddled up next to him, it felt defiant and rebellious to ogle him. It was an indulgence on her part but now she could, without the interruption of the water or the presence of the household trying to serve them dinner, she could allow herself the opportunity. Elsie noted the well sculpted shape of his legs, the heat of which had warmed her earlier. Her eyes trailed higher to his arse, which was rounded and held by some rather handsome buff-coloured trousers. For someone buried deep in the countryside, His Grace dressed very nicely. With a naughty idea slipping through her head, Elsie felt sure he would be even better without such items clothing him.

“Nearly there,” he said. He cut into her wanton meandering thoughts, and hastily Elsie lifted her eyes over him and out towards the horizon where the trees were starting to ease away and reveal the fields close by, and beyond that the manor house. It loomed there, cold, and large in its very stillness. It seemed to exist there, luring her closer without any alternative option of where she might go. A dead spot, her active mind suddenly burnt with the term, and unable to help herself she suppressed a shudder.

It should have been comforting to have the known sight of a building, where there would be beds, food, even a roaring fire to warm her up. That would have been the normal reaction, but instead for a wild moment, Elsie thought she would rather be back in the cave. Back with a gentleman who she didn’t know, but who both scared and thrilled her in equal measure.

“There you are, miss.” A great cry could be heard as her maid broke away from the shelter of the building. Samson crossed the gap towards them, her round face gleaming with fretfulness. “Everyone was worried, and they’ve been searching, but no one could find anything. Nor could anyone see you in the cove.” She looked between the two of them, noticing Elsie’s ripped skirt and the fact that she currently wore the duke’s coat.

“I think a hot toddy by the fire would be in order,” the duke said as he turned in the direction of the stable. There was the immediate shuffling of feet as several servants jumped to it once they had a directive. “Let me help you down.” He looked up at Elsie, and for one fleeting moment, their gazes locked. For all of his change in behaviour since they’d left the cove, there was something else there now. An emotion which Elsie could not entirely label or wish to pinpoint swirled in the depths of his eyes—there was pain, suppression too, of sensation that burnt beneath the surface within Kit’s face. What did he want her to know?

Unable to think of a response or something suitable to say, Elsie dropped her gaze, and the duke lowered her to the ground. The stable was full of people, their talk and questions clustering together. They would see the two of them in this state and assume a great deal.

She hastily pulled away from him and walked after her maid, the duke’s jacket still clamped around her. It was hard to concentrate on the manor house and the staring open-mouthed servants, watching Elsie in her torn dress and bedraggled appearance. Behind the pair of them followed Lancelot, seemingly unaware of the tension that ran through the surroundings.

Up the stairs and into the bedroom, it had been aired, and the curtains partly open, allowing in a soft breeze. The bedroom had been cleaned too, but there was a rather invasive element to the chamber—it created the impression of being intruded upon.

Someone had lit a fire before they arrived, and Samson set about slowly pulling off Elsie’s gown and hurriedly finding another dress should Elsie want to put it on. But Elsie refused, she was happy in her chemise with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. There was no desire within her to go downstairs and face or talk to the duke again.

“That will do the trick, a nice warm bath,” Samson said comfortingly as she looked at Elsie. It seemed like the little maid was feeling guilty for suggesting visiting the cove. She walked off to the door and had a silent conservation with the other servant who’d come to the door. As they talked in low voices, Elsie walked away from the middle of the room. There was something to what Samson had said—a bath would improve the condition of Elsie’s body. What could be done about her scattered thoughts on the duke, well perhaps a bath might help with that too.

Sinking down on the edge of the bed, Elsie watched the interaction until Samson accepted the tray from the maid with a nod of her head. A glimmer of a smile touched Elsie’s lips as she saw that on the tray was a selection of sandwiches and the promised hot toddy, its golden liquid glinting in the late afternoon light. The duke had insisted that Elsie receive the drink, and there was something rather sweet about that gesture. Then again, perhaps a servant had just followed through on the duke’s request.

“The tub will be brought up soon,” Samson said. “They’ve promised it will be hot.” She lowered the tray down onto the nearest table. “Do you want me to stay with you, miss?”

“No,” Elsie said, “I will be fine until the tub arrives.”

Samson nodded and slipped out of the chamber.

With a sigh Elsie dropped back on the bed, hoping the cushioned surface would be soothing but as soon as her head landed, it brushed against a piece of paper. Rolling over, Elsie lifted the page up. It was not in an envelope, hastily scribbled and written across the cream surface. It read: get out whilst you still can.