Page 11 of Daisy and the Duke
“Daisy!” a voice interrupted, and her stepmother appeared through the main doors in question. She was resplendent in a burgundy-colored silk gown, but her expression was stormy as she approached. “Where have you been, girl? The vicar will be here in less than an hour, and Elaine cannot conjure dinner out of thin—Your grace!”
Suddenly, Lady Rutherford dropped into a curtsey in front of Mr. Brooks, leaving Daisy to stare at her open-mouthed.
“M-my lady,” she stammered at last, “there’s a mistake. This is Mr. Brooks…”
“No, she’s right,” he said, his voice low.
Daisy spun to look at him, feeling her world turn upside down. “What?”
“I’m the duke,” he admitted. His expression was strange, almost regretful.
“It is his grace, Tristan Brooks, Duke of Lyon!” Lady Rutherford declared, her expression now suitably awed and delighted. “What an unexpected honor, your grace, for you to come to Rutherford Grange. So thoughtful for you to call upon neighbors so soon after your arrival here in the county. If I had but known, I would have made arrangements suitable for a gentleman of your stature. But won’t you come inside and take some refreshment, your grace? The Honorable Bella Merriot, my daughter, would be most happy to make your acquaintance. Daisy will mind the horse…”
She waved impatiently at Daisy to do just that, but Mr. Brooks—no,the duke—stopped her.
“Very kind of you, my lady, but I am merely passing by. Having met Miss Merriot by chance on the road, I thought she should not have to return home unescorted.”
Lady Rutherford blinked in apparent confusion. “Darling Daisy, unescorted? Oh my.” As if she herself had not sent Daisy alone on the errand to fetch mushrooms.
“No harm done,” the duke said easily.
“And I have the mushrooms,” Daisy added. “I shall just take them to the kitchen, shall I?” She wanted more than anything to disappear and never be looked at again. Mr. Brooks was theDuke of Lyon? And to think she’d mistaken him for a groom! And she rode in his arms, and chatted and flirted with him…oh, Daisy wanted todieof embarrassment.
“Mushrooms!” Lady Rutherford said, startled back onto her original concern. “The vicar! Supper!” She looked torn about all her potential options. “Your grace, permit me to extend an invitation for dinner this evening…”
“Alas, I must return home,” he said, firmly closing the door on her importuning, with a directness Daisy admired. “But I would be honored if you and Miss Merriot would come to Lyondale soon.”
“Indeed, your grace,” Lady Rutherford breathed.
“And Miss Daisy as well, of course,” he added.
“Oh! Yes, of course,” the baroness said, flustered into accepting the addendum.
“I shall have a formal invitation sent over. Good evening, ladies.” He mounted up on Stormer and prepared to escape. He looked directly at Daisy when he said, with a tiny smile, “By the way, no ransom would have been asked.”
And then he rode out, leaving Daisy standing there with a basket of mushrooms, a furious stepmother, and the knowledge that she’d unknowingly fallen into the embrace of a duke.
Chapter 3
It was fortunate that Stormerwas an intelligent horse who after only a week knew the way back to the stables at Lyondale, because Tristan was so distracted that he scarcely knew where he was. His mind was completely consumed with Daisy Merriot.
How could a brief encounter cause such a reaction? True, it had been a long time since he’d even spent time with any women, never mind beingalonewith a woman.
In fact, he was lucky that he’d managed to conceal the most obvious physical reaction while she was pressed against him, her soft curves fitting all too well in the space between his thighs. Riding with her had been an exquisite torture, as he tried to converse in a coherent manner, all while inhaling the scent of her and keeping his hand from straying all over her. He was painfully alert, hoping for the slightest signal that she would have welcomed more attention. Alas, the young lady was clearly a real lady, in the sense that she was not the type to enjoy an al fresco tumble with a stranger.
Well, not a stranger anymore. Tristan had avoided revealing his title when they met, relishing the interaction with another person who didn’t know what he was. It had been so good tonotbe a duke for a few minutes. And surely the fact that Daisy had mistaken him for a hostler was the only reason she’d been so open and friendly. He’d seen the difference in people when they knew his title—they bowed and scraped and wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
And indeed, when that woman at Rutherford Grange had suddenly revealed who he was, Tristan saw the shock and horror in Daisy’s expression. Never again would he get to have a conversation with her as one human to another. No. Now it was duke and lowly servant.
“God damn my ancestors,” he swore aloud, not for the first time.
If only he weren’t Duke of Lyon. Why shouldn’t he get to converse with someone like Daisy just because he wanted to? He liked everything about her, from her admittedly pretty face to the way she staunchly defended her countryside from any insult. Clearly, she loved her home.
If only he loved his own home, he thought when he saw the lights of the great house over the rise. Sighing, he rode toward his destiny.
That evening, as soon as Tristan heard that Jack was awake again, he went to his friend’s room.
Jack looked much better than he had earlier in the day. He was sitting up in bed, the remains of a modest supper on a tray beside him. He actually had color in his face, not the deathly pallor that so alarmed Tris before.
