On a Wild Duke Chase: The Wayward Woodvilles Book 2 Read online

  He shifted on the chair, pulling at his cravat. Was the room all of a sudden hotter?

  "Are you both looking forward to attending London next year? I hope to see you both there," he said, wanting to move the conversation away from animals. He liked pets as well as anyone else, but there was really only so much one could talk about on the subject.

  "Of course, Lord Leigh. My father opens up the London house, which is one of the grandest in London, Miss Woodville. You simply must come to visit me there when you're in town. You would be more than welcome."

  Miss Woodville beamed, and he could see she was genuinely pleased to have been invited. "Thank you for your kind invitation, Lady Susan. I would be honored to visit you there."

  "We shall go for ices at Gunter's Tea Shop. What a jolly party we will make. Maybe the other ladies present at this house party will join us also."

  Duke scrambled with ideas of what to talk about next, but no matter what he interjected, Miss Woodville moved the conversation back to her topic, leaving him out of the conversation entirely most of the time.

  He knew when he was bested, and he sat back, listening to their conversation with not a little bit of annoyance, wondering why Miss Woodville would interject herself so forcefully. He thought they were friends. It was odd and not something he thought to witness.

  To his shock, the ladies stood and wandered over to another group, discussing plans for the Season and what gowns they wished to order from the modiste. Duke sat, stupefied at having been deserted when his conversation prior to Miss Woodville happening upon them had been going well. Or so he thought.

  He needed to at least try to form an attachment to one of the three ladies he had chosen as his prospective bride. He didn't want his marriage to be just one of convenience for him if he could help it. But he had to marry for money, that he could not alter.

  The idea of leaving his mother in Bedlam—a place he did not know the conditions of or if she was cared for appropriately or not—for another day would never do. He stood, starting for Lady Martha, the Earl of Daniels’s, daughter. Miss Woodville was nowhere near the woman, and hopefully, she would stay where she was so he could see about her being suitable without any interruptions this time.

  Chapter

  Eight

  The following afternoon Isla saw her next opportunity to step between Lord Leigh and Lady Francesca, who seemed to be having quite the tête-à-tête during their stroll about the lawns. She sat with Harlow on a stone bench on the terrace, the scent of wisteria floating through the air and bathing them in dappled light was glorious. Her plan to keep Lord Leigh away from the unsuspecting ladies who did not know he was only after their money also added to the lovely day.

  "I watched Lord Leigh last evening, and he looked genuinely shocked that you had slipped yourself into his conversation with Lady Susan. I'm not so certain Lady Francesca will be so forgiving of you if you interrupt them. She seems to not have many admirers."

  Which was true, and a pang of guilt ran through Isla at being the one to possibly bring to a close her conversation with his lordship. But better that than have him run off with her inheritance and leave her cold and alone, living a loveless marriage while her husband gambled all her money away at his club.

  And possibly other places too that she should not even think about.

  "No," she said, shaking her head. "This is for the best, and Lady Francesca will thank me for rescuing her one day. When she's happily married with a brood of children to come home to after balls and parties, she will be indeed happy I stepped between Lord Leigh's courting of her when I did."

  Harlow threw her a disbelieving look. "Something tells me that may not be the case."

  Isla studied the pair as they walked through part of the garden that seemed to have an abundance of roses growing in it. Lady Francesca pointed out several things in the garden, but Isla could not see what had them so interested from where they sat.

  "I will return. Wish me luck." She grinned at Harlow and started toward them. She bit back a smile when Lord Leigh spotted her determined strides, the schooling of his features and tightening of his mouth telling her he was not at all pleased.

  Well, he would have to get used to disappointment. For ladies too are displeased and through being pitched into marriages that benefit the gentleman, but not the ladies.

  "Good afternoon, Lord Leigh, Lady Francesca. May I walk with you? It is such a beautiful day."

  "Yes, of course," Lady Francesca said, a welcoming smile on her lips.

  "No, I think," Lord Leigh said in unison to Lady Francesca's answer, his eyes going wide as if he had not meant to say that aloud. "I mean to say," he stammered, "you do not have a bonnet, Miss Woodville. And correct me if I'm mistaken, but do not ladies hate freckles across their noses above anything else? You would not want a set of new ones to sprinkle your skin before the Season."

  Isla shrugged, ignoring that he said a new set of freckles as if she already had some over the bridge of her nose. Which she did, of course, but his opinion on the matter was not warranted. "Never mind that, my lord. I'm not one to concern myself with such trivial matters. I have only to worry when it is warranted."

  "Really?" he drawled. Isla was not sure she had ever heard anyone sound so uninterested as he did right at that moment. "Do tell us. Lady Francesca and I are curious."

  "Well," she started, walking beside them as they traveled down toward a copse of trees that led into the dense forest beyond. "There are many things that I choose to concern myself with. Women's rights, of course, I do think that women and men, no matter their station, ought to have the vote. Sometimes I wonder how our country runs at all without there being a woman in charge."

  Lord Leigh snort laughed, and she glared at him, hoping he understood she meant every word that spilled from her mouth.

  Lady Francesca, however, arched a displeased brow at his lordship. "What is wrong with women running countries and businesses, my lord? A woman can give birth to a child, which a man cannot. We are resourceful and granted, we may not be as strong in body, but we make up for it more than enough with our minds."

  Isla's opinion on Lady Francesca being cold and aloof vanished at the woman's words. She was a bluestocking! How marvelous. "Hear, hear, Lady Francesca. I often wonder how it is that simply by being born a lord, you have the right to sit in the House of Lords. For all we know, a halfwit may be sitting in one of those chairs making decisions on our lives." She shook her head, ignoring Lord Leigh's stunning countenance. "I do not know about you, but I believe that may be the case already. It should not be allowed."

  "Lord Flowers comes to mind," Lady Francesca said.

  Isla nodded. Although she did not know who Lord Flowers was, she would take Lady Francesca's word on it.

  "He fell from his horse and is lucky to be alive. I think he deserves his place at the House of Lords."

  "He also drinks in excess and is rarely sober. No, Lord Leigh, I think you are incorrect in your estimation."

  His lordship halted, staring at them both as if they had lost their minds along with Lord Flowers. "Since we're being so very honest all of a sudden, do tell me what else you think is worth worrying over and fighting for," he asked Isla, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Well, as for that, I would have to say the unfairness that women face during the Season. Or even at house parties such as the one we're enjoying now."

  "How so, Miss Woodville?" Lady Francesca said, a curious tone to her voice.

  Isla gestured toward Lord Leigh. "For instance, how do we know if the gentlemen who are here, courting some of the ladies, which we know does occur, are only doing so for their own selfish reasons?"

  Lord Leigh narrowed his eyes on her, and she wondered if he had an inkling of where her point was headed.

  "Do tell how us gentlemen are here under selfish reasons, Miss Woodville. I'm all ears."

  She smiled up at him, and his eyes narrowed farther. "Well, for all sorts of reasons. They may need a w
ife due to being a widower and in need of a caring hand for their children. Or they may be the sensitive sort who does not wish to be alone. Or, and which is the most common ailment that infects a woman's marriage, she is under the impression that her union is a love match, when in fact, she is merely the means to keep her husband from dun territory. They are the issues I take seriously, my lord. I do not believe any of those could be termed as trivial."

  Lady Francesca’s laugh startled Lord Leigh from his shocked stupor. "I think we'll be fast friends, Miss Woodville, do come with me and meet my friends." Isla smiled at Lord Leigh as Lady Francesca turned her toward a group of ladies. The sight of his gaping mouth as they walked away was a sight she would never forget. She would best him if it were the last important thing she did in the world.

  Before she married a man who loved her for who and what she was. Not because she came with a fortune to line his wanting pockets.

  * * *

  Duke spent the afternoon trying to right himself of the notion that Miss Woodville had an inkling as to why he was at this house party. That three of the wealthiest women in London were here, all searching for a husband was no secret, but that he needed their money was.

  His friends knew, of course, how terrible his father had been with the handling of the family financials, but that was only part of the story. His mother did not deserve to be sent away by his father, a jealous man who thought her unchaste. That he did not know if it were true or not, but she was not mad, no matter what his father believed.

  He could not allow her to stay in Bedlam in Spain.

  Tonight the house party had moved to the large drawing room upstairs, and servants had hung lanterns about the gardens to give the night a magical feel from the view above. The drawing room had a long balcony that the guests could stroll while also sitting indoors to play cards or listen to the pianoforte. The sound of Sir Dung singing a duet with Lady Martha did little to improve his temper.

  He cared for none of it. He sat outside in a position that gave him a view of the room and one guest in particular. The one he wanted to strangle.

  Miss Isla Woodville.

  He ground his teeth. She had to know. Had someone told her of his plight? He frowned, not liking that any of his friends here would out him in such a way to the ladies, but then, he supposed, when such large fortunes were up for grabs, each to their own. All is fair in love and war.

  He rolled his shoulders, finishing the last of his whiskey before placing the glass on the railing. Miss Woodville was engaged with most of the ladies present, going from group to group, a complete alteration to how she had been when she first arrived. He had thought she would not socialize at all or meld into the group of women, most of whom ruled the beau monde, but here she was, one of them, accepted and liked.

  And keeping him from getting to know the ladies he wanted for his wife. Which one he could not say at present, and he doubted he ever would be able to decide if Miss Woodville kept sticking her nose into his business when it was no concern of hers.

  He turned and looked out over the gardens, forcing a calming breath. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he rubbed his nape. A light, airy voice sounded behind him, making his hackles rise.

  "Lord Leigh, are you enjoying your evening? You are all alone out here and are not inside enjoying the affluent company."

  Affluent? The chit had to be on to him. "I would prefer to remain outdoors and alone." He wanted to cut her with his words, but instead of insulting her, she chuckled, the sound husky and low. It sent a trigger of annoyance through him along with something else he would not admit to. He wanted to punish her for her impertinence. To interrupt conversations she was not part of was beyond rude. Her actions reeked of her common upbringing. But how to make her pay?

  The thought of laying her over his knee and spanking her arse sent heat straight to his groin. He closed his eyes, his fingers tightening on the railing lest he reach for her and carry her off on his shoulder like some heathen.

  "Are you angry with me, my lord? I hope I have not offended you in any way."

  Her words were as sweet as the wine, but she did not fool him. He turned, staring down at her, and fought not to do what he had imagined a moment ago. She raised her determined chin, defiance lighting up her blue eyes. Little minx knew exactly what she was doing…

  "I could ask the same of you. But perhaps it is not anger that you feel toward me, but jealousy. Is it because I have not singled you out that you're hurt by my denial of you, and therefore you are trying to halt any affections that may grow between other ladies of our party and me here?" he asked her, knowing he would never tell her the whole truth. To do so could ruin him completely, and then he would be unable to marry anyone. To have someone in Bedlam was the worst of family skeletons. No one wanted to have children if madness ran in the family's bloodline. Best that she think him a fortune hunter and nothing else.

  "I am not jealous, but I did think you were different from any of the other gentlemen here. I was wrong in that estimation. You are just like the rest of the rakes in town, a road full of pits and divots that we ladies must cross without falling into and ruining our silk slippers."

  He blinked, unsure what the hell her analogy meant. "Are you trying to say that we lie, madam and that you fall for our tricks?"

  "Do you not? Each time you speak to Lady Francesca or Lady Susan, are you really interested in what they're saying, or are you just saying all the right and pretty things that ladies like to hear? As if we're halfwits who have no brain between our ears. You know we can hold a conversation that includes more than lace and modiste visits or the latest on dit. We read and are educated just like you and should be allowed the same opportunities.

  “I'm certain we could reach great heights should we be treated as equals. But you, no. You do not care for any of that. You merely wish to tell us frivolous things to make us think you are sensitive and will be a great husband, and yet like so many in the past and future I would suspect you will be a disappointment once the vows are spoken."

  Duke had never been given such a set down, and certainly not from a chit who was not his equal. He walked past her, brushing her shoulder with his, and moved away. Better this way than wrenching her into his arms and kissing the wench until she forgot all about her bluestocking ideals and remembered why men and women managed so well together, no matter what pretty things were said by the men before.

  "I see that I am correct in my assumption." She laughed behind him as if she had won their little quarrel.

  "I can assure you, Miss Woodville, that no matter how I may have my wife fall in love with me, no matter for what reasons I enter the marriage state for, I can assure you that my wife will never stray from my bed and will be well pleased having entered the marriage state. So I would advise that you stop your games of dropping into other people's conversations and keep yourself away from me. I would hate for us to have a falling out."

  Not that he wanted to have a falling out with Miss Woodville. She was like a breath of fresh air in his normally stale life. It had been a long time… In fact, never had he debated with a woman and with one who seemed determined to halt his courtship toward heiresses.

  She had to know he needed the funds. There was nothing else to explain her anger.

  "I cannot do that, my lord. When I see an injustice like marrying a woman for her money, which I know is your intention, I cannot allow such a travesty to occur. The ladies deserve more."

  "The ladies know that is how it is done in our society. But perhaps because you are gentry and not nobility and have not lived in our social sphere, you do not know how things are done."

  "Really?" She raised one mocking brow. "I may not be nobility, but at least I will marry for love, not money."

  "That is irrelevant. My wife, no matter how marriage to me will come about, a marriage of convenience or not, will not go without. Not in any aspect," he said, leaning toward her and lowering his voice.

  Her mouth opened on
a small gasp, and his attention dipped to her lips. She was a beautiful woman, and they were alone in the shadows on the balcony. He could easily steal a kiss, give her a taste of what his wife would enjoy, and often. He was certain that any financial transaction made between his family and hers would be soon forgiven when she was pleasured by him.

  "I do not understand your meaning, and I do not think no matter what you offer your wife, when she realizes she has been duped into a union solely to save your financial hide, she will be heartbroken. I will not allow that to occur to these ladies. They are my friends."

  He scoffed, stepping back. "You are a fool if you think any of these ladies would do the same for you. They know how society works. They are here for reasons just the same as me. Maybe not for money, but a title, a dukedom, a marchioness title, or viscountess such as my wife will be gifted. Do you not see, marriage is a transaction and nothing more? If you wish to be a success in London next year, you ought to lose your delicate sensibilities. They will crush you and make you a bitter old wallflower. But mayhap you already are."

  She stormed up to him, her defiant chin making his hands itch to clasp it and hold it steady as he devoured her mouth. Damn it, she was beautiful and more so when she was angry like a little raging inferno.

  "I am not bitter, but you certainly make me feel the emotion toward you with what you're doing. The ladies here deserve to know that you're marrying them for their fortunes and nothing more."

  He crossed his arms over his chest, merely to stop himself from wrenching her against him. Her breasts rose and fell in her temper, and it was a struggle to keep himself from ogling them or wanting to slide his tongue along the pert, white flesh that taunted him.

  "I'm certain they already know that, Miss Woodville. Your efforts will be in vain. The lure of having a title will outweigh any insult they may feel for me regarding their fortune. And anyway," he continued, "why such the uproar? You do not know why I need the funds, and I would also like to know how you came to know of my circumstances?"