“Have you forgotten? This it is not first time I have ridden a horse with a bullet in my shoulder. Thank goodness Devonshire is a poor shot. The bugger was aiming for my heart. Where is he?”
“I heard he headed back to London. Good thing, too. Your brother threatened to challenge him to a duel.”
“Good man. Now, as soon as I dress and eat something more substantial than the watered-down porridge the doctor prescribed, we will go for that ride. Or join my sisters for a snowball fight.”
He chuckled, watching as his sisters rejoined Miss Mercer, carrying armfuls of snowballs they had made. Miss Mercer had made an impressive lot herself.
“I have brought someone with me,” Jeremy said in a flat tone. “She awaits outside your door. Before you react, promise me you will listen to what the Lady Montgomery has to say.”
Chapter Fifteen
The nextmorning,Madeline slapped a slice of ham on her plate. Next, she heaped a generous portion of eggs and potatoes from the buffet table in the dining room onto her plate. She did not care that proper English ladies had the appetite of hummingbirds. She was hungry.
She was not agitated, and certainly not jealous. The duke was free to speak with anyone he pleased. He was certainly free to speak with that brazen, loathsome, cheating, fiancée of his. When she and his brother and sisters had thrown snowballs at his window, he was alone, smiling at them. Her heart had fluttered, and her face had warmed under his steady gaze.
A short time later, she and the others had gone inside for hot cocoa and biscuits, and she had learned that when Jeremy and the duke had gone for a ride, Lady Montgomery had joined them.
She was such a fool. Madeline plunked a slice of bread onto her plate and looked for the best place to sit down.
She had spent a late night, drawing, and was the last to arrive for the meal. The duke’s sisters had already dined and were with their governess. Her mother had asked for a tray to be brought to her room. A few lords and ladies conversed in groups, drinking their tea and stealing glances her way. Unwittingly, she had drawn attention and knew that she was viewed as a curiosity.
Comments ranged from the innocent to the absurd when news spread that she had prevented another attack on the duke’s life. Were all American women as brave as Madeline? She wanted to tell them that yes, American woman were brave, but not all were foolish enough to fall in love at first sight. In her defense, when she’d seen him galloping toward her carriage, she thought he didn’t have as much as two farthings to rub together. She should have heeded her mother’s advice and erected a giant wall around her heart the moment she learned the infuriating man was a duke.
Surprisingly, no one knew that Lady Montgomery had been involved, or at least it hadn’t been mentioned.
She heard the duke’s voice, deep and unguarded, conversing with Lord Dumont. A gaggle of ladies swarmed around them, blocking the duke and his friend from entering.
But a glance from him was all she had needed to freeze her blood.
The duke had shaved, combed his hair back, and wore a midnight-blue jacket, tan breeches, and Hessian boots. He looked magnificent, unapproachable, and epitomized rank and privilege. She preferred the disheveled, bearded version. She found she was less attracted to this version.
Liar.
Madeline had lost her appetite. She abandoned her plate of food and fled. She found the library, her personal sanctuary, and snatched one of the books from the shelf. A fire had been lit and roared out warmth and a cheery welcome. Ignoring the fire, she headed toward the window seat. She was not interested in the amber glow of the flames. She needed natural light.
Sketching would help ease her racing heart. She had allowed herself to dream the impossible. Learning that the duke spent time with Lady Montgomery and seeing him dressed formally brought her back down to earth. He was a duke, and she was the daughter of a woman who owned and operated a brothel. Their lives couldn’t be further apart.
She settled on the cushioned bench seat and drew out the blank sheets of paper she had brought from America, as well as a drawing in progress. She had a few sheets of paper remaining and would ask Winfield how she could purchase more. She was stuck in this castle for the foreseeable future.
She had heard that some painters sketched in the margins of books when paper was scarce. She would not draw in any of the books in the library. They did not belong to her. The duchess valued reading as an acceptable accomplishment for young women—if done in moderation, of course. If Madeline could persuade someone to take her into town and purchase a few books, that would solve her problem.
Madeline scooted closer to the window. The book she had taken from the shelf slid to the floor.
“The Mysteries of Udolpho, by Ann Radcliffe,” the duke said, retrieving the book and handing it to Madeline. “It is my mother’s favorite.”
The duke’s voice, strong and deep, vibrated through her, confusing her in both mind and body. “I find that surprising,” she said without turning to hide the warm blush that his presence produced. “Your mother said she did not like reading.”
“That is what she wishes people to believe. Reading is one of her passions.”
“You shaved your beard and combed your hair.” The words sounded like an accusation in her ears, and she meant them as such. She did not recognize this man. He dressed formally, his cravat tied to perfection, his long coat and tan breeches immaculate. This man did not ride a horse in wild abandon. This man rode in carriages, ordered servants about, and expected women to swoon. She tucked the sketchbook closer, waiting for his response.
She decided she did not like this version of the Duke of Conclarton.
He rubbed his smooth face. “My friend Jeremy suggested I join the land of the living.”
She could only nod.
He looked confused at her nonverbal response and plunged forward. “Regarding my mother, there are a lot of surprising things about her that I am still learning. Your likeness of my sisters is quite good. I find that surprising.”
