The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8) Read online

  “He is at home with his wife and daughter, I imagine.”

  “Did they leave you behind because you were bad?”

  “No, she is very good indeed,” Exeter answered before she could.

  Whitney looked up at the Duke of Exeter, who had wandered in their direction. He was grinning down on them, obviously very amused with himself today, judging by that smile.

  “We parted ways in London when I came to visit Lady Taverham. After this visit is over, I’m off to see the world.”

  Exeter surprised her by sitting on the other side of the blanket, stretching out in front of them. “She’s very brave,” he told Mabel before winking. “Most ladies are not as adventurous as our Miss Crewe.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the compliment. She thought she was brave sometimes, too, but it was the “our Miss Crewe” that made her nervous. She was her own person. She answered to no man, or woman for that matter. She made her own way, paid her own bills now, and would decide the course of her life without interference.

  Mabel, eager to act as hostess, offered the duke the platter. There were only a few little bits left to tempt him. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could be persuaded to eat.” He selected a piece of cheese and ham and thanked the girl.

  Whitney turned the page and made a few small adjustments to a sketch she’d started of the duke earlier in the week. She had not quite captured the warmth in his expression well enough in her opinion.

  Mabel returned to her side. “I think Whitney should get married,” she exclaimed.

  The duke chuckled. “Do you now?”

  “Yes, and then she could have a daughter. She could look after you, too.”

  The duke appeared to be highly amused, given the way he pressed his lips together and his eyes sparkled with mirth. Whitney hurriedly tried to capture his emotions on the page. She almost had his image perfect when he spoke again.

  “What do you say, Miss Crewe? Is she right? Should I marry?”

  Whitney had only been listening with half an ear, and frowned at him. “Hmm, you could if that is what you wish for. Just make sure to ask the right woman.”

  Mabel pushed the tray under his nose. “I would look after you. I’d be the best daughter ever.”

  Whitney’s breath caught at the plea in the little girl’s voice, and she set her sketch aside. “Darling, of course you would, but you are a daughter already. Lord and Lady Carrington love you very much, and I don’t think they could part with you for any reason.”

  The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and then she crumpled against Whitney’s side. “They don’t want me anymore,” she whispered.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “They’re always talking about having too many children underfoot.”

  Whitney hugged the girl. “They do not mean it that way. But you must remember it takes a lot of work to support a large family. Everyone must help each other,” she reminded her.

  “And we must be quiet,” Mabel whispered.

  Clearly the girl had heard that request a lot lately and taken it to heart. Whitney remembered what the fear of being discarded had felt like too well. Her aunt Ester had abhorred noise of any sort, and Whitney had not been a quiet child, either. “Quiet, but not utterly silent.”

  “Mabel,” Lady Carrington called. “Come over here for cake, sweetheart.”

  “See, you are wanted. She made sure you would not miss out,” Whitney pointed out.

  “I’ll be back,” Mabel promised without a backward glance, and then sped across the grounds to join the line of waiting children.

  “Goodness, she’s fast on her feet,” Whitney exclaimed.

  She smiled as the child was moved into her place in the line—by age, if Whitney was not mistaken—and waved back at her.

  Whitney returned her attention to her sketches, checking each one off. The portrait for Lady Ettington was done and could be given away tonight, as could the one she’d just completed of the duke. She turned the page and found herself looking into Lord Acton’s eyes.

  She was slightly ashamed of having drawn him again after promising that she never would. She couldn’t seem to help herself; no matter the time of day or night, the dratted man was always in her thoughts. Even when he was with Miss Quartermane, she could not forget the weight of his hand covering hers, or wrapped around her waist as they rode together. It was not right and it was not fair. If only she could have liked someone else, she might not be in such an uncomfortable position.

  Whitney covered Lord Acton’s face with another page.

  Exeter sat up suddenly, glancing around, and so did Whitney. Many of the guests appeared to be rushing away, most returning indoors with the children. She glanced up at the sky, noting there were still enough hours left to enjoy the countryside before darkness fell.

  As far as she knew, there were no entertainments planned for that evening, so she could not understand why everyone was leaving.

  “I wonder where everyone is going in such a hurry,” she mused, unwilling to follow them.

  “I’ve no idea, but I am glad.” Exeter cleared his throat. “Do you really think it’s not too late for me to marry at my age?”

  “You’re not old, Exeter, you are merely well seasoned.”

  “Seasoned? That isn’t complimentary.”

  She smiled, turning her pages. Yes, her work was complete on all but the family portrait for Lady Taverham. “On the contrary. Older timber burns hotter than greenwood.”

  He laughed. “Then I will take that as a compliment after all.”

  “You should. You are very handsome.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Everyone says so.”

  “I meant you.”

  She looked at him more closely. “Your face is very pleasing to look at. Beyond that I will say no more, because I am sure you’ve heard it all before from your slavish admirers.”

  “Slavish?” He frowned. “You make it sound as if they are mindless imbeciles.”

  “Some of the more eloquent ones are. Make sure when you choose a wife that she is able to discuss more than the cut of your coat or the curve of your lips as you smile. Otherwise, you might find married life a touch, well…boring.”

  “I will keep that in mind. What else should I look for in a wife?”

  Whitney laughed and climbed to her feet unaided. She had to complete her work this afternoon. To delay, even for conversation with the duke, wasn’t in her best interests. “I really don’t know. I rarely play matchmaker.”

  “But you have an idea?”

  “Everyone has an idea of who would suit and who does not. Compatibility surely is more than a meeting of position, connections and pocketbooks.”

  “I think so, too. I’ve little interest in marrying a woman whose only recommendation is her appreciation for my position in society.”

  “I quite agree. A man or a woman’s standing in society can change so swiftly through no effort on their own. Take me. My father was a gentleman of modest income, his brothers were in trade. I am only wealthy now because they died and left me their fortunes. Thanks to my connection to Lord Louth, I am invited everywhere and my eccentricities are overlooked. Mostly,” she amended.

  “But that is not all to recommend you,” Exeter murmured. “You make me laugh.”

  “Anyone could make you laugh if they tried hard enough. Did I see that even Miss Quartermane managed it the other day?”

  He conceded her point with a nod. “She surprised me by not being boring.”

  “I’m glad,” Whitney murmured. “She likes you very much, I suspect.”

  Whitney kicked herself for uttering that observation out loud. Alice was about to marry Lord Acton, and that was that.

  She turned away, but Exeter stayed her with a light touch on her arm.

  “I prefer your laugh to hers,” he confessed.

  “I like yours, too,” Whitney promised. “When you exert yourself to make th
e attempt. But come tomorrow, you’re going to have to find someone new to amuse you.”

  “So you are determined on going?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she exclaimed with a frown. Had he suddenly become dense?

  “And nothing could change your mind?” he pressed.

  Her thoughts skipped back to Lord Acton, and for a moment she was almost temped to say yes. If, and it was an impossible if, Lord Acton somehow did not wed Miss Quartermane, she might have reason to stay for his sake. She knew the agonizing torture that came when someone you loved was dying very slowly before your eyes. Whitney did not care for Emily, but she did care a great deal for the earl. She wished there was a way to stay and be his friend through the hard weeks or months to come.

  But he would have Alice to comfort him. To be his wife. Whitney was not needed here.

  “I highly doubt it,” she warned. “It would take more than a few pretty words to convince me.”

  “Perhaps this will change your mind.” Exeter leaned close, attention locked on her lips.

  She was sure she uttered “stop” but before she knew it, she was in the duke’s arms, and the recipient of a passionate and lengthy kiss.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Everett ran up the lower garden steps when he heard Whitney cry out stop.

  He rushed toward the sound of her distress, rounded a garden pond featuring a statue of Athena, and found her struggling in the Duke of Exeter’s arms.

  The duke was kissing her, but Whitney was beating at his shoulders as if she wished he wouldn’t.

  Blood boiling, Everett wrenched them apart, putting Whitney firmly behind him for safety. “I believe the lady said stop.”

  The duke blinked at him, and then drew back, fury in his eyes. “This has nothing to do with you, Acton. Kindly take yourself somewhere else.”

  He flexed his hands at his side. He wasn’t a man prone to violence—unless Whitney Crewe was being ravished against her will, it seemed. He steadied his temper. One did not attack a duke without personal provocation. “I don’t think so. I could hardly consider myself Miss Crewe’s friend if I abandoned her to a man who did not listen. She said stop. Very clearly, Your Grace.”

  Whitney clutched Everett’s arm, her actions supporting his decision to protect her as she used him as a shield. “Don’t fight,” she whispered.

  “Very well. Miss Crewe, we will talk about this later.”

  Whitney trembled. “There is nothing to discuss. You misunderstood everything I said, Your Grace.”

  “You’re a damn tease, then.”

  The duke was asking for a good drubbing.

  “I said there were others that admired you. I never said it was me!”

  He glanced at Whitney over his shoulder. “Is the person who likes Exeter an acquaintance of yours?”

  Whitney nodded quickly. “I just can’t say who it is right now.”

  Puzzled but taking Whitney at her word, he faced the duke. “You owe the lady an apology. For not listening, for the kiss, and the insult. Now.”

  Whitney flexed her fingers around his arm, and he covered her hand with his.

  “I apologize, Miss Crewe,” Exeter said stiffly at last. “For not listening, for the kiss, and the insult. I misunderstood your interest.”

  “Granted,” she whispered. “I would prefer that we never speak of this again,” she begged.

  “That I can do, since you’re leaving anyway,” the duke said, before he spun on his heel and stalked off.

  Whitney sagged against Everett’s back, burying her face in his coat collar. “Damn. Damn. Damn.”

  Everett warmed all over. Not from her cursing but the feel of her against his body. “He thought you liked him?”

  “He did,” she whispered. “But I don’t. Not the way he wanted me to.”

  A silly smile burst over his face, which he tried to force away.

  Whitney thumped his back. “You don’t have the right to look so pleased about it.”

  But he was pleased. He was utterly delighted that the distinguished Duke of Exeter stood no chance with Whitney Crewe. But if she didn’t like the duke, and clung to Everett with such fervor now, did that mean it was not too late for him. For them? “Are you all right?”

  “Mortally embarrassed, but I’ll survive.” She laid her cheek against his shoulder with a beleaguered sigh. “I thought he understood that we could only ever be friends.”

  “You do tend to make an impression,” he suggested.

  “Obviously the wrong sort, in his case,” she said, and then released him. “How am I ever to talk to him again? I will have to guard every word I say to make certain there are no further misunderstandings.”

  He sighed. “It will be all right. You are leaving tomorrow.”

  “I must. Even more so now.” She raised her fingers to her lips, eyes wide like saucers. “Oh, hell, this is the worst mistake I have ever made.”

  He tried not to smile again. Almost making love to him could have been the worst if she had not liked the experience so much. He was buoyed with hope, a rare feeling these days. Thinking to help her in any way he could, he offered his aid instantly. “Then perhaps you would allow me to shield you.”

  “Shield me?”

  He rocked back on his heels. “I am at a loose end today. Unless Emily succumbs to another fever, I had hoped to spend the rest of your last day here. With you.”

  “I see.” She glanced toward the house, frowning. “Does that mean Miss Quartermane is inside?”

  “No, she is not inside,” he promised, not bothering to explain where Alice was for now. The words to say he was no longer engaged had stuck fast in his throat, too.

  Alice and her parents had left his home already, a note left behind to explain that the engagement had ended. “I walked across from Warstone on foot. I’ve no notion of when you might see Miss Quartermane again.”

  All of that was true. The Quartermanes’ carriage had left his estate early that morning while he’d been with Emily. He had wondered if the family might have called here and taken their leave of everyone. Perhaps they had not after all. Perhaps the end of his engagement might remain a secret for a few days more. The awkwardness could come later, after Whitney was gone. He rather hoped it might, because he did not want to discuss why he wasn’t upset about Miss Quartermane with everyone.

  “Might I keep you company on your last day?” he asked.

  Whitney’s answering smile was unusually shy. “I would like that.”

  Everett held out his arm to Whitney and, when she wrapped hers about his, he silently vowed to make this the best day of their entire association.

  Rather than return and be confronted by the Duke of Exeter in a temper again, he took Whitney to the stables and introduced her to Lion. His horse draped himself all over Whitney, who laughed and fed him a treat from his pocket.

  “Oh you are a lovely old fellow, aren’t you,” Whitney told his horse as she patted him.

  Everett stood aside to watch her with his horse. She seemed very confident. “Do you ride often?”

  “Indeed, I usually do in the countryside, but haven’t spent much time on horseback this last season in London. I dislike the congestion on the roads. I prefer a good long gallop.”

  He smiled. “I host a hunt each year.”

  She nodded quickly. “I knew that. The last hunt I attended was two years ago now, but great fun. I plan to acquire my own horse on the continent. I do regret the days when I cannot ride about.”

  He sighed with pleasure at her confession. “I feel exactly the same way.”

  Next, they returned to the kitchen garden where they’d almost shared a kiss. Behind the privacy of those high walls, he captured her hand and held it. “I would like to return tomorrow to see you off on your journey, too.”

  For a moment, he saw sadness in her eyes. “I asked for the carriage to be ready for eight o’clock. Is that too early?”

  “I will be here no matter the time.”

&nbs
p; He released her hand when they left the privacy of the kitchen garden and strolled toward the open drawing room doors, where everyone appeared to have gathered. The sound of happy chatter drifted out to greet them as the sun set, and Whitney clutched his arm again when she saw the Duke of Exeter was in the room.

  He patted her hand soothingly. “You can do this, Whitney. We can do this together.”

  He led her inside and responded to hails of welcome, but he kept himself near Whitney all evening. The duke watched her in brooding silence and then left the room. Everyone suggested he would likely end up in the nursery, doting on his great niece and nephew yet again. It appeared no one but them knew about the kiss, and he was relieved beyond words that she was spared any awkwardness.

  Everett threw a smile at Whitney, which she returned. After that, the woman he loved relaxed and enjoyed her last night at Twilit Hill in the company of good friends. He did not question his feelings for her anymore. Now that he no longer had the prospect of marriage looming over his head, he could see his feelings for this woman had always been just beneath the surface.

  He had gravitated to her smile, like a drunk takes to drink perhaps. They might disagree on certain topics—marriage and decorum, to name just two—but they had always spoken together about them. Impassioned and eager to hear the other’s words. Nevermore would he feel she dismissed him as just another titled gentleman who thought too much of himself and his position.

  After an excellent dinner attended by every guest, the ladies left to take tea and the gentlemen consumed port and cigars. Everett kept a distance from the duke, but kept an eye on him.

  Not that he considered Exeter stood a chance of changing Whitney’s mind now.

  Few probably could.

  The Marchioness of Taverham approached him as soon as the gentlemen rejoined the ladies. “Were you not going to share the news with everyone that the Quartermanes left your estate today?”

  He glanced at her quickly, and then around to see who was listening. No one else was paying them any attention, and Whitney was surrounded by other women and laughing once more. “It hadn’t been my intention, no.”

  Her expression softened to regret. “I am so sorry.”