The Duke's Unexpected Bride. Lara Temple

the excitement that Serena’s beauty and vivacity had sparked in him, but just as he remembered his favourite childhood books—intense but distant, not quite real. More powerful were the feelings that gradually took their place—confusion, resentment, helplessness. Hatred. She had definitely widened his emotional repertoire. And each time something evoked her memory he still flinched involuntarily and the throb of guilt came back, proof that there was still a core of poison inside him that refused to dissipate. He grimaced at the thought. A poor choice of words...

      ‘It was a long time ago. It almost seems as if it happened to someone else. As for Father, whatever his motives, I was too shocked that he agreed to let me go to Spain to even consider negotiating his terms.’

      ‘You know, you don’t have to marry if you don’t want to. I mean...surely he wouldn’t expect you to hold to a promise if it is something you—’ She broke off as she met his gaze. ‘Oh, dear, of course he would. Poor Papa. But he’s dead and so—’ She broke off again. ‘I forget who I am talking to. Of course you will hold to it.’

      Max forced a smile. He wished he had it in him to break his promise as she suggested, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t. It hadn’t been an idle, arbitrary promise. He might never have felt very close to his father, but the previous Duke of Harcourt had done a very good job inculcating him with a sense of what they owed to their position and the people who depended on them. The Duchy was not theirs individually, but theirs in trust. Fulfilling his duties wasn’t just a matter of honour; it was a matter of practical concern for hundreds of people who depended on their properties. His father had allowed him to put that on the line by joining the army because he had been clever enough to understand that Max had needed to get away from the setting of his tragedy, but he had made it clear that every indulgence came at a price and he had chosen this particular price with a sense of evening out the scales.

      And Max couldn’t really find fault with his father’s concern. He might have chafed at his parents’ constraints as a child and even fantasised that he had been stolen as a baby from the Shepstons, a warm family of fishermen from Port Jacob on Harcourt land who had often taken him fishing with them, but he was a Harcourt after all. He would not let something as important as the succession be completely subverted by his and Serena’s mistakes. There was nothing wrong in principle with a marriage of convenience. He and his parents had just miscalculated, royally, about Serena’s suitability.

      Max hadn’t even wanted to get engaged so young, whatever his father’s concerns about the succession, but his father had cleverly not pushed the point, merely invited Lord Morecombe and his daughter to join them in London. The first time he had seen her she had been dressed in a bright yellow dress, bursting with excitement at finally being released from school, her dark eyes hot and focused with an intensity that was completely foreign to him. He had agreed to the engagement the very next day and had sealed their fate. Serena had gulped at life and kept demanding more and at first it had been exhilarating, utterly different from anything he had ever allowed himself. He should have known they were just too different. Part of him had, but by the time he had stopped to think it was too late. This time he would be more careful. What was the point of making mistakes, especially monumental ones, if you didn’t learn from them?

      ‘It’s not so bad, Hetty,’ he said at last. ‘I have to marry eventually; I might as well get it over with.’

      ‘It isn’t something one can simply get over with!’ she said with unusual asperity. ‘You will be stuck with your choice for the rest of your life, you know!’

      ‘Only too well. So I will do my best to choose someone comfortable and conformable. Even if it weren’t for the promise, I think I would have a very hard time leaving the succession to Uncle Mortimer and Cousin Barnaby and they certainly wouldn’t thank me for it.’

      ‘They would make dreadful Dukes, wouldn’t they? How did Mortimer put it? That the Duchy was hanging over them like a swarm of locusts about to descend upon his beloved gardens.’

      Max sighed and headed up the stairs to strike the knocker.

      ‘Right now it does feel like one of the plagues of Egypt. Or one of those fairy tales with a cursed treasure where the genie informs you you’ve had your fun and must now pay the piper. But you’re right; I can’t have the whole of the Harcourt estate depending on them. No steward would be able to withstand the destructive capabilities of those two well-meaning idiots. They’d have all the tenants put off so they could grow a dozen different breeds of lilies and roses instead of grain and feed. Couldn’t Mother have supplied Father with another male heir so he wouldn’t have forced me into that promise? I don’t really need five sisters, you know.’

      Hetty laughed.

      ‘I won’t ask which of us you can do without, Max dearest. Now do try at least to be charming. I know you can, if you would only put some effort into it—’

      She broke off as the door opened and Max clenched his jaw and followed his sister and the butler to meet one of his potential future wives.

       Chapter Three

      Sophie picked up the small package which was waiting for her on the escritoire when she came down from reading Aunt Minnie the latest chapter of Mrs Pardoe’s novel.

      Scrawled across the wrapping paper was the message ‘To be delivered to Lady Huntley’s niece’. And below: ‘For the safety of the residents of Grosvenor Square.’ Sophie frowned and unwrapped the package and burst into laughter. A brown-leather leash and collar lay curled in the wrapping paper. She picked up her sketching bag and went in search of Marmaduke.

      She found him in his favourite position on his cushion, rump to the room and nose an inch from the wall, panting faintly.

      ‘Behold, fair Marmaduke. I have been delivered the means of your undoing!’ she declared dramatically, but with absolutely no effect. She sighed and went to slip on the new collar. It took Marmaduke a moment to realise the offense against him, but by the time he surged to his pudgy feet and shook his head vigorously it was too late. Before he managed to descend into yowls she flapped one hand suggestively in front of his face and the shaking stopped, his gaze intent.

      ‘That’s right. Remember what fun you had chasing the birds? Well, they’re outside, waiting for another round.’ She began carefully moving towards the door and, to her surprise and amusement, he followed. They made a stately exit under the shocked stares of the butler and the doctor who had just entered the house.

      ‘Good gracious,’ said the doctor. ‘He can walk!’

      ‘And run, with the proper avian incentive. And now, if you will excuse us, I really don’t want to stall our momentum.’ She nodded, proceeding down the steps, and Marmaduke followed, thumping down each step ponderously but with resolution.

      * * *

      The collar and leash worked perfectly, and after a vigorous campaign against the winged invaders, Marmaduke allowed her to lead him to a bench in the shade of a chestnut tree and settled contentedly at her feet as she pulled out her sketch pad.

      ‘And now I will commemorate this auspicious moment, Duke,’ she informed him grandly, but he merely snuffled the grass in front of him and grinned.

      She sketched rapidly, capturing the lumpy body and the beatific expression on his frog-like face. He looked amazingly content and she laughed a little at how content she herself felt at her minor victory.

      ‘There. I shall title it “Duke Reposing” and bestow it on Aunt Minnie so she can enjoy your fair smile even when you are sulking downstairs. Do you think she will like it?’

      ‘Undoubtedly,’ said a deep and vaguely familiar voice behind her and she turned in surprise. The tall man who had stopped Marmaduke the day before was standing a little behind the bench. His grey eyes were on her sketch, but there was no expression on his beautifully sculpted face. More than ever he made her think of a statue of a guardian of the gods, expertly crafted but without emotion.