Priscilla ignored the noise of the carriage wheels clunking over cobblestones and turned to look at her unwanted suitor. The beautiful man looked pleased with himself as he folded his arms and propped his feet on the opposite bench. His sneering smile gave the impression he was savouring a private amusement. Catching her gaze his lips relaxed into a more genuine gesture, but his eyes remained cold and unmoved. She felt like a ladybug about to be cocooned in a spider’s web saved to be eaten at a later date. She clutched her large reticule and wondered if it might be prudent to take out her embroidery.
“Are you comfortable?”
“Yes Your Grace.”
“Good. Your comfort is important to me.” The man’s eyes appraised her with obvious pleasure and then smiled as if she amused him. She could believe Lord Warenne wanted to marry her because he enjoyed her company. The man seated next to her made her feel like a horse up for sale. The only pleasant aspect of her ride with the Duke was that she had Lord Warenne’s gift to look forward to at the end of it. She’d left it wrapped up and hidden under a loose floorboard.
“Where are we going?”
“For a ride; there’s nothing to fear Miss Priscilla. I’m not going to hurt you.” Priscilla silently disagreed as she opened her reticule and took out the eternally unfinished embroidery stuck through with her largest needle and started making tiny slow stitches swaying as the carriage turned a sharp corner. “Do you always work embroidery when a man tries to court you?”
“Are you courting me? I remember rejecting your offer my Lord.”
“I remember some silly protest over our lack of intimacy, but once you get to know me you’ll find I’m excellent husband material. Half the women in London would poison their husbands to sit where you’re sitting.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who’d take a snake to his bosom.”
His smile was almost genuine. “What do I strike you as Madam?”
Priscilla’s hand holding the needle paused. She turned her head and took in the curious amused expression. “You strike me as a spider Your Grace. I suspect you enjoy spinning webs and catching people.”
His features crumpled into boyish laughter momentarily erasing years from his face. “We shall get along famously.”
“Why?”
“You won’t bore me.”
“How do you know?”
“No one’s made me laugh like that in almost seventeen years.”
“You can’t know many amusing people.”
“That’s a truth. Society’s boring sycophants can’t kiss my…hands fervently enough. Few people speak anything, but cant these days.”
“Why don’t you like Lord Warenne?”
The smile twisted into a sneer. “The man’s a pinhead.”
“Why must you call him that? How would you feel if he addressed you as Pinhead?”
“He’d regret it.”
“That’s hypocritical!”
The boyish laughter erupted again. “Madam, life has a pecking order and I’m at the top. I outrank him. I call him whatever I please.”
“You can’t have many friends if you treat people like chickens.”
“I don’t need many friends.”
“Do you devour everyone that stumbles into your web?”
The man’s eyes looked like frozen mud as his voice cracked like a warming icicle. “Madam; I do not find that amusing.”
Priscilla shivered with cold relief. All she had to do was keep insulting the man and she’d be free of his unwanted attentions. “I don’t find it amusing when you call Lord Warenne a pinhead.”
The beautiful man’s lips turned up as he snorted in amusement. “Lord Warenne…” The Duke sneered his rival’s name with contempt. “…would be enraptured to hear it.”
“Why?”
The beautiful man turned to gaze at her with amusement. “Because the fool’s in love with you.”
Priscilla flinched in shock. “He told you he loved me?” Her embroidery lay forgotten in her lap as she relived chocolate adoring eyes, electric fingers caressing her throat and his divine kisses. Even her beloved Jeremiah had never made her feel so… She struggled to find an appropriate word to describe her complicated feelings.
The Duke heartlessly interrupted her pleasant memories. “You can always tell when a man’s in love. He stares at his heart’s desire with an expression that would be mistaken for indigestion if his eyes weren’t so focused upon one woman. Wherever she goes, his eyes follow with longing. He’s a slave to the ache in his chest demanding he make her his own. It’s sickening. I urge any admirable man to avoid it like the plague.”
“Don’t you think that’s rather cruel? What if the next day he was to meet a woman who’d win his heart? Your unhelpful advice might ruin his life.”
“Life is cruel; then we die.”
Priscilla eyed the beautiful man with distaste as she realised if she didn’t start seeing life’s happy side of the coin she’d end up bitter and twisted too. “Has your life been so unlucky that you can’t see a single good thing?”
“There are a few momentary pleasures.” His eyes raked her with a gleam that threatened future intimacies. The thought made her want to burst into tears.
“Life is cruel in-between pleasures then you die? I think even Lord Warenne would say I’m a ray of optimism next to your fated doom. Don’t you see any good in anything? Aren’t you glad you’re alive?”
“No. Why would I be glad I’m alive?”
“Don’t you feel glad you have two eyes when you see a rainbow? Haven’t you ever heard a piece of music so beautiful it made you cry? When you step out of a carriage after a long ride; aren’t you glad you have two legs that work?”
“The day I rejoice in a sore backside my coachman will be dropping me off at Bedlam. Nothing good lasts more than a flicker. Wretchedness is merely made more acute by having sampled a minute portion of happiness, believe me.”
Priscilla shook her head as if to break free from mental chains of doom. “Tragedy is only one side of the coin my Lord. We can find happiness if we turn the coin over and look for the good.”
The Duke’s rudely snorted. “It sounds like Pinhead has been mesmerising you with tales of blue skies.”
“What if he has? Is it so bad to see the good? Is it so impossible to be happy?”
“There is no such thing as happiness.”
“I pity the woman you marry. Her life will be utterly miserable without even a hint of peace or happiness in her home. Even if she loves you, you won’t let her love you. The poor wretch will cry herself to sleep praying one day your icy heart will thaw, but it won’t. And then one day your heart will stop and they’ll put you in the freezing crypt where you’ll be miserable forever.”
“I don’t want anything to do with love. That’s why you’ll make an acceptable companion. I’ll never fall in love with you and you’ll never love me. You’ll do your duty without encumbering my bed with emotional hysterics. I loathe emotional hysterics.”
“You certainly weren’t born a romantic.”
“Romance is nothing more than cruel theatrics put on by one’s inner organs.”
The angry vehemence of his words made Priscilla’s eyes fill with compassionate tears as she suddenly saw a younger man made an early widower. “You loved your wife didn’t you? She died and broke your heart.” The Duke silently turned away and stared intently out the window at his side as if she hadn’t addressed him. “That must have been awful, but didn’t she give you a son? Surely having a part of her is better than nothing?” His only response was to tighten his arms across his chest. “I may wear the crown of doom, but I don’t revel in it. I want to be happy. I want to marry someone who makes me smile when he steps into view. I don’t want to marry a miserable wretch. I’m afraid you’ll have to continue searching for a more suitable miserable Duchess.”
“You’re eminently suitable.” The words crackled like a half frozen mud puddle.
“Why?”
The Duke’s head turned towards her enough so his cold brown eyes could look her up and down. “When you die in childbed I can bury you without any sense of loss. It’s the sensible option. You need a husband. I need legitimate heirs. We marry. Problems solved.”
“Luckily I have another option. Lord Warenne has asked me to marry him and I’ve a mind to accept.”
“You’ll come to admire my finer qualities. My last mistress hated me for years, but she still begged me not to leave her.”
“She’s was probably afraid of starving…why did you leave her?”
“She fell in love with me. Every time we met she’d water my chest with a warm shower of tears as she pled for some sign of affection. I wasn’t paying her for affection. It’s hard to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh with a woman who thinks that if she water’s one with enough tears love will somehow erupt like a fungus on one’s chest.” Priscilla felt sorry for the unknown woman as the Duke snorted in derision.
“Why didn’t you marry her?
The frozen mud puddles turned to look at her with irritation. “Don’t you listen? I told you I don’t want anything to do with love. I have no desire to wake up every morning and face a woman who longs for something I’ll never give her. How boring. I want pleasure and simplicity; nothing more.”
“Well if that’s all you want there are plenty of ladies who’ll oblige you, but I’m not one of them.”
The cold brown eyes were again amused. “That’s why you’re going to marry me.”
“I’m going to marry you because I don’t want to marry you? Have you been drinking?”
The beautiful man appeared not to have heard her. “Why does Lord Pinhead call you Penny?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I suspect he wishes to collect you and put you in a jar. I wonder if he’d take you out every evening to play with you or if he’d leave you out for hourly inspection. I’ll choose the latter.”
Priscilla clutched her embroidery for courage. “I’m glad Lord Warenne was the first to visit me this morning. I was feeling so wretched I might have accepted even your offer, but not after his Lordship’s visit.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t bear to marry you; the thought repulses me. Take me home!”
The man at her side unfolded his arms and slid closer until he whispered in her ear, “Did Lord Pinhead make love to you this morning? I see by your sudden feverish cheeks that he did. Did he kiss you? Did he tell you a story about how he aches for you? I assure you Madam there’s little difference between what he feels for you and what I want from you except I’m not suffering from acute indigestion.” Priscilla bent over her embroidery and prayed he’d disappear as the man’s lips hovered near her cheek. “You stink of eau d’amour. Never mind, it’ll fade into something more palatable after a few years as my wife.”
Priscilla flinched as he caressed her cheek with his nose. “Don’t touch me.”
“Am I not allowed the same liberties as my boyish rival?” Priscilla shivered in fear as cool lips skimmed the corner of her mouth. “How can I convince you of my superior worth if you don’t allow me an opportunity to demonstrate?”
“Don’t…” Long slender fingers encircled her waist. Please…don’t…” She cringed away from lips caressing the corner of her mouth. “…stop…I’m warning you…stop.” Amused laughter warmed her cheeks belittling her protest. Clutching her needle she jabbed hard into the back of his hand.
“Ouch!” The hands momentarily withdrew before grabbing for her weapon. She wounded his grasping fingers and then stabbed his leg for good measure. “Hellion!” The beautiful man slid back to his own corner rubbing his thigh. “What did you do that for? I was only kissing you.”
“I warned you.”
“You didn’t say anything about stabbing me. I’ll have to clear my house of all sharp objects. It’s a good thing I like eating soup.”
“I’m not going to marry you. Take me home or else.”
The man eyed her embroidery through narrow slits. “We haven’t finished our ride.” He casually let down his window and returned his attention to Priscilla.
“It was finished before it started. I don’t like you. I think you’re a boring hateful wretch and I’d rather die than be your Duchess.”
“Playing hard to get?” The man lounging in the corner suddenly lunged for her embroidery. Grabbing the fabric he pulled it from her slippery fingers and tossed it out the window with a triumphant smile. “Now we can safely finish discussing our impending nuptials. Your dramatic resistance is noted, but I’m afraid I’ve made up my mind and as anyone will tell you…”
Priscilla’s eyes filled with tears as she stared horrified past the man’s moving lips and out his window as the lashing rain. They’d left Bath and were heading north east through the countryside. “Where are we going?”
“Scotland. Relax Hellion; I’m not going to ravish you. As my wife you’ll receive the utmost courtesy.”
“Since when has kidnapping become a courtesy?” Lord Warenne would think she’d willingly absconded to become a Duchess. Tears gushed from her eyes. He’d hate her. He’d never kiss her again.
“There’s no need to cry Hellion. You’re perfectly safe.” She cried louder as the beautiful man reluctantly slid back to her side and scowled at her tears. “You look awful when you cry.” She sobbed harder as she imagined what Lord Warenne would do if he found her crying. He’d take her in his electric arms and whisper sweet happy words in her ear. “Come Madam; being a Duchess is no mean thing.” She flinched as a masculine hand came to rest on her thigh. “Truly, it won’t be as bad as you think. I’ve never hurt a woman; I’d hardly start with my wife. You’ll have every luxury…”
“Everything, but kindness or love.”
The man rolled his eyes as he sighed loudly in irritation. “Love and kindness are highly overrated. A comfortable bed, a full belly, a purse of gold and the occasional pleasure are adequate believe me.”
“I want to marry Lord Warenne.”
The Duke sneered, “Well you’re not going to marry Lord Pinhead. You’re going to marry me; you suit my needs. Besides, our union will make Lord Pinhead pin himself into a shroud. I can see him now as he gets the news…he’ll pale as his heart’s blood drains away to the sensation of acute drumming agony…”
Priscilla turned to stare in horror. “That’s why you want to marry me; to injure Lord Warenne? Are you mad? What has he done to deserve a broken heart?”
“Madam if I didn’t want you I wouldn’t marry you. The fact Lord Pinhead will be crushed by our union is merely a bonus.”
“No. You want to marry me because Lord Warenne is in love with me. I’ve never met anyone so…evil.”
“You clearly haven’t met my cousin Lyndhurst.”
“Take me back to Bath.”
“Madam; fighting your fate will do nothing, but irritate me. If you think to scratch out my eyes I warn you, you’ll be wearing that dress until you come to your senses.”
“Take me back. Now!”
The Duke’s lips curled up in amusement. “Protesting against your fate is unproductive. I suggest you quietly accept your future happy state and cease your senseless…” The Duke grimaced in agony as Priscilla plunged her eight inch hat pin deep into his leg before pulling it out and stabbing at his arm. “Kill me and they’ll hang you…” The words were hissed between clenched teeth.
“I don’t imagine there’s much difference between hanging and suffocating as your unloved bride…Your Grace.”
“Hellion! Give me that hatpin…Ouch! Blast it…that hurt.” He rubbed his leg as he blinked away unmanly tears. “Fine, I’ll take you back, but you will marry me.”
“Not unless you want to suffer.”
“You’ll willingly accept my proposal; I always get what I want.”
“You must want to suffer, because that’s what you’ll get. Turn this coach around before I do something insensible.”
The Duke leaned out of the open window into the rain and shouted, “Take us back to Bath. Miss Stanley wishes to return home.” Ignoring her, he rested an elbow on the open window with his face turned into the rain and rubbed his leg. Priscilla clutched the hat pin like a dagger until the outskirts of Bath appeared on the horizon. She reluctantly tucked it back into the crown of her hat and through her hair and wondered what Lord Warenne would say when she told him she’d marry him without delay.
Go to chapter 11