The Duke’s Seduction of Lady M. Raven McAllan

had heard, stripped off the remains of her stockings, and wondered what else could go wrong.

      There was no way she could be seen as she was. The lace had ripped in such a way that one rosy nipple was only just covered and if she moved – or breathed – too sharply it would pop out for all and sundry to see. Why oh why didn’t she carry a reticule full of pins to effect running repairs, or a shawl to cover herself? A lady would, surely?

      One more sign that whatever her title, a lady she was not.

      A mind full of what she needed to do the following day and a tatting hook wouldn’t answer.

      But the wool she tatted with could. Except her saddlebag was attached to her saddle which, in turn, was on the back of Darcy. Who, by now, would be halfway to the Grange and about to cause mayhem, worry and confusion when the Nivens discovered her without her rider.

      Mary sighed, and bit her lip. Something had to be done. She tied her hair up with the tattered hose and wondered if she was about to set a new trend. Now what? How to cover her bosom and hold her head up in public was uppermost in her mind.

      Then she remembered the ribbons on her bonnet and nodded in satisfaction. Where was it? Mary scanned the immediate area, grabbed the chip straw confection from the bush it had landed in, avoided the prickles and considered her options.

      It was no good, there was nothing else for it. The bonnet, one of her favourites, would have to be sacrificed in the name of decency. With strength born of determination, Mary ripped the mauve ribbon ties from their anchoring and resorted to biting off the long streamers and pretty knot, which adorned the back. Then she set to weaving them in and out of the tattered lace until, although not elegant, the dress was once more decent. She tucked the knot in her cleavage for good measure, and looked down at the result of her labour. Not too bad. She’d still better not breathe too deeply or make excessive movements but with luck the repair would hold until she arrived home.

      Now she had to decide which way to go for the best. If she carried on, she would only have to negotiate half the hill and the village street looking like a hoyden. However, that track, although she preferred it on horseback, was longer than if she climbed up towards the castle, skirted the keep, and followed the road for a few hundred yards. Then she could head back down another better kept footpath and through the churchyard. Annoying though it was to turn away from her destination, sadly, there was nothing else to do, and it was much the most sensible option. She let out a sigh long and loud enough to be heard in the village should anyone choose to listen and identity it as such.

      Mary tucked her hair behind her ears, and put the remains of her bonnet back into the blackthorn bush. Hopefully she could collect it later, when it didn’t add to her disreputable appearance. With a mental prayer that nothing else would go wrong, Mary began to trudge upwards.

      The flies were out in force and the sun at its zenith. Within a few minutes she was sweaty as well as dusty, and wished she had the remains of her bonnet on her head. Even if it would only cover a few inches. Mary wiped her brow on the back of her arm for the umpteenth time and longed for a glass of water. However, unless she went into the castle, somewhere she’d never ventured, water would have to be her lodestone until she reached the pump on the village green.

      Muttering about birds, horses, and the heat, she tramped around the castle perimeter and onto the road; thankful she had half boots on and not her sandals. At least the stony track didn’t impinge too much on the soles of her feet. Even so, she’d be glad to get off the said feet and soak them in a basin of hot water and some of Mrs Niven’s special salts.

      All of a sudden Mary saw the funny side of everything and giggled. Why did things like this not happen in the Gothic romances she usually enjoyed reading? It would be an interesting excursion for Lady Hermione Hepplestone, the somewhat insipid heroine of the improbably named “Esoteric Adventures of An Innocent Lady”. It would be better named “The Non-Adventures of an Imbecile”. All the soppy Hermione did was wring her hands and say things like “woe is me”.

      I’m sure I could do better. Even Miss Wishlade could. Mary resolved to leave the rest of the book unread. Life was too short to spend time on such things, when there was so much more she could do with her time.

      She increased her speed, eager to get home and think. So intent was she on moving forward as fast as possible that the thrumming of hoof beats didn’t impinge on her consciousness until a newly learned, now never to be forgotten, deep and gravelly voice spoke.

      ‘Well, what have we here?’

      That was the last thing she needed – it really completed her day, for all the wrong reasons.

      ****

      ‘A bloody travelling circus, what do you think?’ The dusty and perspiration-covered woman in front of him snapped back. ‘With you as the clown.’

      Brody smothered his smile and contained his amusement. Her glorious chestnut hair, the colour of a ripe conker, was tied back with what looked suspiciously like cotton hose, and long strands escaped from it to curl riotously around her face. The eyes, which shot fire at him, were a gorgeous, albeit stormy, grey and ringed by long dark lashes. Her bosom, barely covered by what he thought was once lilac lace but now looked more like mucky grey sacking tied together with what… silk ribbons? … heaved as she stood, arms akimbo. With cold eyes, for one short second she glared up at him, before she dropped her gaze.

      What had he done to deserve such an icy reception? Brody deliberately ignored the way he had eyed her body on their previous meetings. After all, that was just… just not acceptable. No more.

      He swung his leg over his horse’s back – he’d chosen to ride without a saddle – and slid to the ground. ‘Are you all right… Miss Mary, is it not?’

      She nodded without looking at him and bobbed a curtsey, one judged to the nth degree of correctness. ‘Your Grace.’

      It seemed the lady knew of the intricacies of the aristocracy and what was due to him as a Duke then? He’d noticed that at school. Brody bowed in return, more intrigued by the woman in front of him than ever.

      ‘Brody.’

      She did look at him then, with a startled expression. ‘Your Grace?’

      ‘My name is Brody, use it.’

      The stubborn woman shook her head. ‘It would not be right, Your Grace.’ She dropped her eyes again, her back poker straight with disapprobation. The proper attitude for a servant indeed – apart from the disapproval. But she was no servant, he was now certain – why he couldn’t say – however something told him that, even if she was not his equal, she was at the least gentry. Her dress might have been practical and not of the finest quality, but it was better than a mere servant would wear except perhaps for Sunday best. That aside, he didn’t expect those who worked for him to be servile. If she were local or, as she did, reside locally, she would surely know that? His curiosity, always hovering near the surface, jumped up eagerly.

      Brody narrowed his eyes and she took a hasty step backwards. ‘It is if I give you leave,’ he said emphatically. ‘Which I do.’

      ‘No. It is not convenable.’

      ‘You, my dear, are wrong, very wrong.’ He took the step forward needed to be close to her once more. She gasped and repeated her step backward. He advanced, she retreated. At this rate they’d reach the castle gates without her realising it. Very tempting, but perhaps underhand. Underhand was something he’d save for when it was really necessary.

      ‘We can carry on like this all day,’ he remarked easily. ‘However, I for one am thirsty, hungry and hot. And, not to put too fine a point on it, and no doubt to be incredibly indelicate, sweaty, and probably smell.’ He watched her eyes widen as she stifled a grin and sniffed. So the lady did have a sense of humour. He laughed. ‘I see you agree. I need a wash, a drink and something to eat. To be even more indelicate, you look as if refreshment would be of use as well.’ He thought it best not to mention anything else they had in common, such as perspiration and the need to utilise the pump over their heads. ‘Now use my