"I cannot imagine any camel getting the better of you, Miss Wade." He glanced at her bare toes peeping out from beneath the hem of her skirt, and he felt desire flicker dangerously within his body. "I know I can never seem to do so."

"Good," she said in a prim voice. "I prefer it that way."

"Yes, I am certain you do." Anthony forced his gaze away from her feet. "Would you care to learn to ride?"

She continued to sketch without looking at him. "And in return for riding lessons, how much time would I have to give you?"

At this moment, time was not what he really wanted to bargain for, but something far more intriguing and not at all honorable. "A month?"

She shook her head, laughing. "Thank you, but no."

"Riding on the Row is quite the thing to do," he said in an attempt to intrigue her.

It worked. She looked at him. "The Row? What is that?"

"Rotten Row is a track of sand in Hyde Park where the fashionable people gather from twelve o'clock to two o'clock for riding."

"Rotten Row. What a name!"

"Being seen riding on the Row is an excellent way for young ladies to impress country gentlemen. Riding is yet another of the season's many opportunities to meet prospective husbands. So you see, you should learn how to ride."

She pressed her pencil against her lips, her expression wary as she considered the matter. "I do not believe a month is a fair exchange," she finally said. "I already know how to ride a camel."

"I am open to negotiation. What would you believe to be fair?"

"As I told you, camels are difficult animals. I shouldn't think more than a day of practice on a trained horse would be needed."

An image flashed across his mind of Miss Wade astride a camel, her legs encased in trousers. He shoved that tantalizing image aside and made a calculated guess. "And when you rode camels, did you also master a sidesaddle?"

That got to her. She blinked behind her spectacles. "I had not thought of that."

"I told you before, I will not lie to you." As he said the words, he admitted to himself that some fashionable young ladies, through ignorance or preference, did not ride horseback, but he was not going to offer Miss Wade that additional piece of information. After all, he reasoned, an omission was not a lie. "There is no question that a sidesaddle is considered de rigueur for young ladies."

"All right, then. In exchange for riding lessons, including the proper use of a sidesaddle, I will give you two days."

"Two days? A week."

Those lavender-blue eyes narrowed a bit. "Two days, until December twenty-third."

He pretended to think it over, though he knew he had no choice. "Very well," he agreed, and moved to sit opposite her, stretching out his legs beside her hip, and gestured to the basket. "So, are you going to allow me to sample these picnic viands of yours?"

"Of course." She set aside her sketchbook and her pencil, then folded her legs beneath her, tucking her feet under her hips and out of his view, which was probably a good thing.

She placed the picnic basket between them and opened it. Anthony leaned back on his hands and watched as she laid out their meal of roast chicken, apples, cheese, bread and b.u.t.ter. "No wine?" he asked. "Miss Wade, a picnic should always have wine."

"Not necessarily." She pulled a bottle of cider and a gla.s.s out of the basket. She pushed up the metal clip of the bottle that held the stopper in place. "If our picnic were in Palestine," she added, as she poured cider into the gla.s.s, "you would not have wine."

"Nor cider."

"True." She held out the half-empty cider bottle to him.

He stared at the bottle in her hand, but he did not move to take it. "I wish we were in Palestine," he said abruptly.

"Do you? Why?"

"I should like to see it, along with all the other places you have been. Egypt, Syria, Morocco." Even saying the names stirred something inside him, a longing he had often felt but never acknowledged, and he surprised himself by confessing, "G.o.d, how I envy you."

She stared at him, seeming just as surprised as he by his admission. "You envy me?"

"Yes." He leaned forward and took the bottle from her hand. "You have ridden camels, you have lived in tents amid Roman ruins, and you have had the opportunity to be part of excavations throughout the Mediterranean crescent. What a romantic, adventurous life. Is it so hard to believe that I would envy you?"

"Well, yes," she said with a half laugh, and gestured to the lush scenery all around them.

"You are a duke. You have all that life can offer."

"So it would seem." He took a swallow of cider, then set the bottle on the short gra.s.s at the edge of the blanket. He leaned back again on his hands, staring up at the monument to idleness that stood behind her. "There is one thing you have that I lack, the one thing I long for more than anything else because it the one thing I can never have."

"What is that?"

"Freedom."

She shook her head, uncomprehending as she pulled the loaf of bread toward her and reached for a knife from the basket. "You have money and power. If one has those, one can do anything."

"Perhaps it seems that way, but it is not true. I may have the means to do whatever I please, but I do not have the opportunity."

"I do not understand."

He met her gaze. "My father died when I was twelve, and I became the Duke of Tremore. My uncle served as my guardian and fulfilled my actual duties until I was sixteen, but from the day my father died, I established the power of my position. I made all the decisions, and it was I who told my uncle what was to be done, not the other way around."

"At the age of twelve? But you were a boy."

"I had known all my life that I would be the duke, and that someday I would be required to step into that position. Even at twelve I was old enough to appreciate power and what it means. I could, perhaps, have taken the easy road and done all manner of enjoyable things, such as travel, but I knew my estates were the core of my life, and I felt they deserved my full attention. I never took the Grand Tour. I have never been out of Britain in my life." He gave her a slight smile. "So I am forced to be an armchair traveler. I will never see Rome or any of the many other fascinating places of the world."

"But why do you not go now?" she asked as she began to slice bread. "You could afford to go anywhere on earth if you wished to do so, and surely a few months away would not go amiss."

"I can never seem to find the time. Being a duke is an enormous job, Miss Wade. The tasks and duties are demanding and endless."

"And you say I am too severe and sensible!"

He conceded the point with a nod. "Perhaps I was speaking as much to myself as to you, for my excavation is the only indulgence I allow myself."

She stopped slicing bread. "I see now why the excavation is so important to you," she said softly. "It is your Grand Tour."

"Yes."

Daphne set the slices of bread aside and returned half a loaf to the basket. She then pulled out a wedge of cheese. "Tell me more about what it is like to be a duke," she said as she began to pare off slices of Cheddar.

"It is not a romantic adventure," he said. "It can feel like a prison. It can also feel like heaven. Most of the time, it is tedious and trivial and deadly dull. It has compensations, good ones- wealth, power, and prestige."

"And influence. To think of all the good things one can do with money. If you could see the poverty I have seen-"

"I should hate it and be angered by it, for waste and futility always anger me, and there would be nothing I could do to truly alleviate it. If I gave all my money away, the world would still be just as full of poor people, sad to say."

"Yes," she agreed. "I suppose it would."

"I do what I can. There are charities, and they are one of the greatest responsibilities I have. Politics, too, of course. And tenants. Then there is the constant scrutiny and the never-ending struggle for privacy."

"When I was in the village today, I met Sir Edward's wife and daughters, and they were talking with Mrs. Bennington about you. They said you were a very private man."

His insides tightened, for they had probably discussed him at length. His father's illness and death were always a favorite topic of gossip and speculation. "I have no doubt they told you quite a bit more than that, Miss Wade."

"Not very much, and in what they did tell me, there was no spite or malice, if that is what you imply."

Anthony gave a humorless laugh. "It was probably a short conversation, then." He glanced at her and found that she had stopped slicing cheese. She was watching him with that solemn face, no different than usual, and yet, he could feel censure in her silence, censure and a hint of sadness. "I do not like gossip, Miss Wade," he felt compelled to say. "I do not like my life, my family, and every move I make to be the subject of discussion. I take a great deal of trouble to give gossips little to talk about."

"Yet you have accused me of being secretive and mysterious and giving nothing away. Perhaps, despite the difference in our rank and position, we are not so very different after all."

She spoke as if she were surprised by her own words. "Yes," he admitted, just as surprised as she. "I suppose we are."

"As to gossip about you, you might be relieved to know that all of it was kindly meant. You were described as a very handsome man, as well as a good and kind landlord. The main criticisms leveled at you were given by Sir Edward's daughters and were limited to three. You are somewhat intimidating, you do not give enough parties for the local gentry, and you never attend the a.s.semblies in Wychwood. They agreed that if you ever spoke with one of them during their strolls in your park or if you ever asked either of them to dance at an a.s.sembly, their reaction would be to faint dead away."

"I am gratified that I make young ladies swoon. Another of a duke's many duties."

"Do you not find their adoration to be a compliment?"

There was reproof behind that cool, soft voice, and he felt defensive again. "They do not even know me. My rank, my wealth, and perhaps my appearance allow them to build my life into some sort of fantasy, a fantasy in which they believe they should like to take part."

Daphne bit her lip as if she were holding back a sharp reply. She looked away and said, "It might be a fantasy, but it is a harmless one."

Anthony sensed that was not what she had wanted to say, and he would have given a great deal to hear the words she held back. He waited, but she said nothing more.

He stared into the distance, down into the brilliant autumn scenery of the land he owned. "You are right. I admit it freely. Their attentions are harmless, and a true compliment to me." He looked over at the woman beside him. "I should do well to remember that."

"Yes," she replied, looking back at him. "You should."

He gave her a wry smile. "Why is it that when I am with you, Miss Wade, I can never feel myself to be quite as arrogant a fellow as you have declared me to be? Quite the opposite, in fact, for with you I often feel the humbling effects of having been put in my place."

"I had no idea that my comments should have such an impact upon you."

"They do, for I am coming to have a high regard for your opinion. Please do not interpret my lack of enthusiasm for the attentions of Sir Edward's daughters to mean I am a callous man. But there are times when the duties of my position can be a great burden. As the daughters of a knight, the Miss Fitzhughs have no true comprehension how great a burden that position can be."

"I understand what you mean," she said, lowering her head to stare at the knife in her hand. "But one could also look upon such a life as a great comfort."

"I do not take my position for granted, I a.s.sure you. I fully understand and appreciate how fortune of birth has given me all the physical comforts of life, as well as the ability to indulge in all manner of luxuries."

"It is far more than that," she replied, sudden pa.s.sion in her voice. "You have a place in the world, your grace, and you know what it is. That is a very comforting thing."

She did not move, but her sudden intensity startled him. In the past, he had taken her impa.s.sivity to mean she was not a person of deep feeling. Now, after a month of closer inspection, he was beginning to understand that the opposite was closer to the truth. Her fingers were curled around the knife in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white. There was a great deal of pa.s.sion there. It all lay beneath the surface.

"You have no idea how it feels to not quite belong anywhere," she went on with an odd little catch in her voice. "To have no roots that tie you to a place and give you purpose. It is I who envy you."

"It is understandable to feel rootless when you have had no home of your own." He could see her hand start to shake, and he tipped her chin up, wanting to see her eyes, even if it was a view through her spectacles. "You shall find your place one day, Miss Wade. Everyone does, eventually."

"I hope so, your grace."

He ran the tips of his fingers across her lower lip. "Tell me," he said before he could stop himself, "how does a woman who has lived most of her life in the desert manage to have skin as soft as velvet?"

Her mouth opened against his fingertips. "I-" She stopped, drew a deep breath, let it out in a puff of air against his fingers. "I worked under a tent, always."

"Did you?" He traced the outline of her mouth. So, so soft.

"Yes, and wore a hat, and a veil, too, much of the time."

Her sangfroid was admirable. Only a slight, momentary quiver in her jaw told him she was at all affected by what he was doing. All that pa.s.sion just under the surface. What would happen if it were ever allowed to come out?

"Do you know," he mused, running his fingertip along the line of her jaw, "almost no one calls me by my name? Your grace, or Tremore, but only Viola calls me Anthony. Even amongst my friends, and there are few I trust enough to call them friends, my rank is always an inevitable barrier. Even they do not call me by my name."

He touched the tiny mole at the corner of her jaw, and her hand moved as if to push his hand away, but stilled in the air, hesitant.

What would it take, he wondered, for her to let down her guard? He had always prided himself on his own self-control, but she was a master at it. "If we were friends, Miss Wade, would you call me Anthony?"

She turned her face away. "I do not think that would be appropriate. I would ... I would rather not."

He moved closer. If he kissed her, the dam might break, something might snap, all that pa.s.sion might come out. He cupped her cheek to turn her face toward him.

"Do you want us to be friends, your grace?" she asked.

"I do. Believe me, I do." He could feel her desire and her apprehension in the rigid tendons of her neck beneath her ear, in the shallowness of her breathing. He bent his head.

"Do friends take such advantage as this?" she asked, her words more effective at stopping him than a slap across the face.

Anthony froze, his lips an inch from hers, his fingertips against her neck. He pulled back a bit and studied her profile in the dappled sunlight that filtered between the leaves of the chestnut tree. For the first time since he was a boy, he felt the agony of uncertainty.

He had no personal experience with virgins. He'd been sixteen when he had chosen his first mistress. In the thirteen years that had pa.s.sed since then, he had provided himself with quite a few female companions. He also enjoyed the pleasures of London demireps on occasions when he went to Town. But of all the women he had intimately touched in his life, not one had been a virgin.

Desire had nothing to do with experience, and he felt Daphne's desire as much as his own, but she was in his employ, and at this moment, she seemed so very vulnerable, almost fragile. If he pushed, he could win a kiss, at least. But honor, which dictated everything in Anthony's life, dictated his decision now.

He sucked in a deep breath, summoning the iron will that had made his reason the master of his emotions since he was a child, and let her go.

He told himself the entire incident was innocuous. There was no harm in simply touching a woman. No harm at all. Nonetheless, he moved a safer distance away from her, and they finished their meal in silence on opposite corners of the blanket.

Chapter 15.