How to Capture a Duke Read online

She bit her lip at the last one.

  A liveried footman ladled turtle soup into her bowl. Olivia picked up her spoon and sipped the soup. It was delicious. All the food at Rosehill was scrumptious, and the duke’s grandmother had boasted that a French chef had traveled from Paris to work in the duke’s kitchens. England may have had its fair share of wars with France, but a French chef in an English kitchen was nonetheless prized.

  Olivia caught Lord Edwards stealing a glimpse of his reflection in his spoon. She bit her lip to keep from laughing.

  The dandy was considerably more attractive than Lord Elton, and he had light brown hair, blue eyes, and classically handsome features, but she found his self-absorption with his own appearance and dress annoying.

  Even more damning, while he was blessed in looks, he sorely lacked intelligence.

  Tonight, his cravat was intricately tied and the pointed tips of his shirt front stiffly starched. She wondered how he didn’t cut his chin on the sharp points.

  Olivia looked away, catching Lady Samantha’s narrowed gaze across the table, the woman’s diamond pendant necklace dazzling beneath the candles of the chandelier.

  She was a common-looking lady with mousy brown hair, a pointed nose, and a thin-lipped sneer that seemed to perpetually mar her features. Especially when she glared at Olivia like she was now.

  Maybe if Olivia said a kind word, the harpy would not be so mean.

  “Lady Samantha, what a lovely necklace,” she offered.

  Samantha touched the stone with a dainty finger and lifted it an inch. Both Lord Elton’s and Lord Edwards’s gazes went to her bosom.

  “The diamond was a birthday gift from my father,” Samantha said, her lips curving in an insincere smile.

  So much for being nice. Lady Samantha was an only child, and her jewels and clothing pronounced her father’s wealth. So did her dowry.

  After several more courses of fowl, fish, and vegetables, Olivia thought her head would burst from enduring Lord Elton’s dull conversation. Still, she was careful to maintain her smile and nod every few sentences as if she were enrapt, conscious of her mother’s eyes across the table.

  At last dinner ended, and Olivia pushed back her chair and stood. She wanted to escape to her bedchamber to read a book before retiring for the evening. But manners prevailed. The men took themselves to the library to enjoy glasses of port and smoke cigars while the ladies sat in the drawing room.

  Lady Samantha occupied the settee beside Olivia. Leaning forward, she whispered, “I know what you are doing.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You are flirting with Lord Elton so that I may not.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “You cannot be serious. You may have him.”

  Samantha stiffened. “Do not be coy. You should know that I never lose.”

  Unable to help herself, Olivia laughed in the woman’s face. She found her more humorous than threatening.

  But Lady Samantha narrowed her eyes and glowered at her. “You shall regret laughing at me!”

  Olivia glared. “I don’t think so.”

  There was a long, brittle silence between them while the other women chatted around them. Olivia wasn’t one to be easily cowed, but a cold knot formed in her stomach at the flash of hatred in Samantha’s eyes.

  …

  It was lovely the next morning when Olivia returned to the stables. Not a cloud dotted the blue sky. The weather was warm, and she’d come directly after her morning coffee in the breakfast room without asking for her mother’s permission. She was due a morning to herself after tolerating both Lord Elton and Lady Samantha the prior evening.

  This time, when she stepped through the stable doors, she scanned the area for the head groom.

  He was in Atlas’s stall. Dressed in a shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, he brushed the stallion’s sleek coat, his movements brisk and efficient. His forearms were muscled, his strong legs encased in buckskin. She hadn’t imagined his size.

  She cleared her throat, and he turned.

  One dark eyebrow shot up. “Lady Olivia.”

  She was momentarily dumbfounded hearing him say her name. She’d never offered her name, and it was delivered unhesitatingly, without pause. A lock of dark hair fell rakishly across his brow. Lord Edwards had styled his hair similarly, but the groom’s was not by design and looked much more masculine. Edwards, and other dandies of the ton, would be green with envy.

  She swallowed her trepidation. Unlike the first time, she would not allow him to deny her. “I’d like to ride. Kindly saddle a horse and arrange for a groom.”

  Had she been riding in Hyde Park during the promenade hour, Olivia would take her maid as a chaperone. But here, in the country, it wasn’t required. Ladies would ride together, but if one rode alone, then a groom would accompany her to be sure she found her way around the vast estate or, in case, if her horse threw a shoe.

  “No groom.” He didn’t bother to stand and face her, just shook his head and continued to brush the horse.

  Her stomach dropped. Was he to deny her? Again? “What do you mean?”

  “All the grooms are busy. I’ll t…t-ake you myself.”

  She paused. She’d rather have a young groom, someone who wasn’t so intimidating, but she desperately wanted to ride, so she nodded her assent. She would ignore his presence and not allow anything to ruin the pleasant day or her freedom, no matter how short-lived.

  He set aside the brush and opened the door to Atlas’s stall. He led Olivia to another stall. “This mare is gentle and has a fine gait.”

  It was the same brown mare she’d first spotted when she’d walked into the stables. She watched in dismay as he prepared a sidesaddle for her. How she longed to ride astride, but she knew it wasn’t possible. Not here.

  She stepped up on a mounting block, but as she grasped the saddle’s horn, she felt his strong hands lift her onto the horse. His fingers were long and lean and easily encircled her waist. A ripple of awareness traveled down her spine, and she tilted her head to look up at him before swiftly turning away.

  He led out Atlas and mounted him.

  “I thought only the duke rode him,” Olivia said.

  He sat straight in the saddle and rode to her side. “I’m the only other person who can manage him.”

  She glanced at the thick saddle muscles on the groom’s thighs as he gripped the large stallion and halted by her side. His fingers were calloused from handling the horses and tack. Strong hands, but elegant, too.

  “If you are to escort me, what is your name?” Olivia asked.

  He hesitated for the briefest of seconds as if deciding whether to answer before speaking. “Caleb.”

  “Where do we ride, Caleb?”

  “Where I say.”

  She bit back a sharp reply. She refused to argue with the man. She didn’t want to risk his changing his mind.

  Clearly, he was a man of few words. His facial expressions were another thing entirely. He treated her as a nuisance, a bother when one of his duties must be to escort the ladies who wanted to ride. She glanced about to see other grooms, all hard at work, bringing in hay for the feed or buckets of water.

  She urged the mare to follow him. For the first mile, they walked their horses at an easy pace. The farther they got from the manor home, the more she could relax. She took deep breaths of fresh air and lifted her face for the morning sun to kiss her cheeks. As they crossed an open field, she breathed in the fragrant scent of the wildflowers, some at the peak of their beauty. The splashes of vivid yellow, purple, and blue reminded Olivia of a classical painting.

  Soon, she grew restless. Not waiting for him, she began to canter, then gallop.

  He picked up his pace, Atlas’s long stride easily overtaking the mare. He didn’t stop her. He seemed to know that Olivia needed speed, needed to feel the wind on her cheeks. Together they raced over the open fields.

  A cool breeze blew through Olivia’s hair, and she reveled in the freedom. It didn’t matter that
she wasn’t riding astride; it was wonderful. She felt the tension ebb from her shoulders. All thoughts of what awaited her back at Rosehill flitted away like leaves in a strong breeze.

  As they approached a copse of trees, he motioned for her to stop.

  Olivia pulled back on the reins, and he joined her. She could hear water and realized there was a stream up ahead. He must intend to water the horses.

  After dismounting beneath a large oak tree, he helped her down from the mare. He only touched her briefly and only where necessary to aid her, but she felt a similar shiver as when he’d helped her on the mounting block.

  While the horses rested, he sat on a flat rock and motioned for her to join him. She hesitated before taking a seat on an adjoining rock and smoothing her skirts.

  “What ails you?” he asked.

  She blinked in surprise. “Pardon?”

  “You r…r-ide well, but it’s the way you ride, as if you want to escape something.”

  He could discern that simply from their gallop across the fields? He was much more perceptive than she’d thought.

  She shrugged a shoulder, hoping to exude an air of indifference. “I dislike house parties.”

  “I thought all young ladies loved social gatherings, and a duke’s house party would be especially enticing.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Is it not the goal of all your sex to hunt for the most suitable husband?”

  She eyed him with wariness, her tone sharp. “Perhaps you should not group all ladies together.”

  “Ah, you miss the r…r-igors of the London season.”

  “Hardly! I don’t give a fig for the season,” she snapped.

  His eyes narrowed as he watched her. “Then what?”

  Frustration bubbled inside her. Whether it was due to his presumption that she was a title-and-fortune-seeking woman or because of his intense scrutiny, she wasn’t certain. All she was sure of was that she wanted…needed to correct his misconception.

  She took a deep breath. “I do not wish to be paraded about in gowns while painting a fake smile upon my face, all for the sake of catching a gentleman’s eye. Most likely a gentleman who cares for naught but himself, who only desires a wife to continue his line, and who plans on promptly dismissing her to attend his clubs and his mistress.”

  She was acutely aware of his condemning silence. She experienced a burst of anger. He was a head groom, for goodness sake. How dare he judge her? “What? Do you find my opinions shocking?”

  “Have your siblings had bad matches?”

  “No. Both my sister and brother have wonderful, loving spouses.” That was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Ian and Ellie had set impossible standards. Love. What would it be like for a man to love her more than himself? To gaze upon her as if she were the last sip of water in an endless desert?

  “Then why are you so jaded?”

  Once again, anger seared her chest, and she felt her cheeks burn. “I am not jaded, just realistic. My siblings are fortunate. There is a strong likelihood that I will not be.”

  At his continued silence, she felt the need to explain, to defend her views. “The marriage mart is like gambling. The odds are against the bettor.”

  “What would a young lady know about g…g-ambling?”

  She snorted, quite unladylike. “More than you know. My family owns the Raven Club.” She would never speak it out loud in the manor. The fact that her brother opened the club years ago and that her sister and her husband, the marquess, managed the establishment now was not well known. But Caleb was merely a groom, and she didn’t feel the need to guard her tongue around him.

  It was quite refreshing, actually.

  His brow creased. “The notorious club in London?”

  She blinked in surprise. “How have you heard of it?” He worked in a country stable. Had he traveled to town? Had he visited the Raven Club? Highly improbable. A country groom, even the head groom of a ducal estate, would not have been allowed inside. The club’s members were wealthy merchants or titled aristocrats, men who could afford to spend coin at the tables.

  His jaw hardened a fraction, and he shook his head. “Gentlemen t…talk when they come to the stables.”

  His explanation made sense. “I am not ashamed of my family’s establishment,” she said. “Because of the Raven Club, I have a different perspective than the other debutantes. I have seen men’s preferences firsthand, and generally they are not for their wives.”

  Her brother, Ian, had never approved of her visits to the club, but her sister, Ellie, hadn’t minded. As long as Olivia wore a mask, Ellie had welcomed her to walk the casino floor.

  “You are indeed different,” he said.

  “So are you. You speak well for a stablemaster, although you do have a bit of a stammer when you are nervous. But you haven’t stuttered much now. I can only assume you have grown comfortable enough in my presence to insult me at will.”

  He froze, his gaze never leaving her face. “You have come to that conclusion on your own, have you?”

  “I have.”

  One dark eyebrow shot upward.

  Olivia felt compelled to explain. “You are a very large man. And you were quite unfriendly. I nearly stumbled upon my own feet when you yelled at me to not touch Atlas.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. His smile transformed his expression, and for the first time, she realized he was quite attractive. Appealing.

  Good heavens. What was she thinking? He was a groom. Her mother would not only disapprove, she’d wrench Olivia away and lock her in her bedchamber for the remainder of their stay at Rosehill. But Olivia loved horses, and Caleb guarded the stables that were her only escape during the remaining days of this dreadful house party. Just the thought of returning to the manor made her gut clench.

  “If you are the head groom, do you know the whereabouts of the duke?” she asked.

  He looked away. “He comes and goes.”

  She sat upright. “You mean His Grace has been here and he hasn’t bothered to meet his guests?”

  Caleb shrugged a big shoulder. “He’s a busy man.”

  “That’s horribly rude of him.” She was aghast. Duke or not, he was a cad.

  He leveled a flat stare at her. “Why? You seek to e…e-ntice him with your fair looks? Hopeful to become a duchess?”

  “I already told you. The duke can go to the devil.” At his silence, she felt an odd disappointment as if his judgment mattered more than it should. She stood and brushed her skirts. “I have to return. Lord Elton has promised to take me on a country walk.”

  Caleb rose. “He has, has he? And what do you think of Lord Elton?”

  “He is a terrible bore.”

  “Then why agree to walk with him?”

  Frustration mounted inside her, whether due to the directness of his question or her impossible situation, she wasn’t certain. “My mother insists. Given the absence of your employer, the duke, she wants me to spend time with Lord Edwards.”

  “I thought you said Lord Elton.”

  “Yes, but Lord Edwards also has expressed an interest. I can only hope he takes too long with his cravat and our time together will be short.”

  He laughed again. “A d…d-andy?”

  She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. “Of the worst sort.”

  “Say no.”

  It was a simple suggestion but delivered like an order. If only she could. She was twenty years old and, according to her mother, on her way to spinsterhood. Olivia knew her time to find a husband was growing shorter with each passing season. Even worse, her time to experience motherhood. Would she never hold her own child the way her sister held her young son? The threat of spinsterhood was one of the main reasons her mother had insisted she attend the house party. Along with the years, her choices were dwindling like dying leaves in the fall.

  A choice.

  She wanted to choose. Not her mother. Not anyone else’s mother.

  She stood, and
they walked to the horses. Without a mounting block, she would need his help to mount her horse. He was by her side before she could ask and reached for the reins of her horse. As his hands encircled her waist, she dared to glimpse up at him and found him boldly watching her.

  There it was again, a tingling of awareness. A heightened feeling of some delicious emotion. His dark eyes traveled her face, her lips, then returned to her eyes. His intense watchfulness made her heart thump and would be considered entirely inappropriate.

  Her mother would dismiss him on the spot.

  Olivia did the opposite.

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  Chapter Three

  Tristan froze as her lips touched his. His first thought was that she tasted of strawberries. His second was that she was kissing him.

  Why would she kiss him, believing he was a groom? He’d been careful to give her his father’s Christian name, Caleb. He wouldn’t chance offering his surname and risking the chance she’d recognize him. As far as she was concerned, he was a man with nothing to offer, a man who struggled daily to form words.

  But not with her.

  His condition had improved as the morning had progressed. He understood that he struggled less with his words, and sometimes not at all, when he was comfortable. But he’d only met Olivia twice. So how was it he could speak more clearly with her?

  She’d guessed it about him as well. But how could she know?

  He should push her away; instead, his fingers tightened around her waist and tugged her close. She was slender, but he felt her curves against his chest as he held her. It became clear that she’d never kissed before. Her lips remained pressed together, her eyes closed. His mouth grazed her lips, licked the seam between them, and her lips parted on a sigh. Stark hunger arose inside his chest. He must be a blackguard after all to keep kissing her. His tongue slipped inside and tasted her.

  Lovely and utterly innocent.

  He should tell her the truth. But he had no intention of seeing her again. He was not the one who initiated this. She’d kissed him.

  He broke the kiss and frowned down at her. “Why did you do that?”

  She licked her glossy lips. “Because I wanted to know what it felt like to have a choice.”