Solidifying a plan in his mind, the Duke entered a little shop of novelties. Several other shoppers were looking at the wares displayed on the shelves while the proprietor looked on. Heyworth browsed the offerings, bent on finding just the right gift for Angelique.

He spied it almost immediately.

"Would you mind," he said to the shop owner, pointing to a lovely music box on a high shelf.

"Of course, My Lord," said the man, who moved a ladder into place and climbed up to retrieve the box that featured a pair of dancing dolls on its top a blonde lady, and the gentleman as dark as Heyworth. "They dance while it plays a right pretty tune, sir."

He handed it to Heyworth, who gave the key on the bottom several twists. When he set it on the counter, the dancers moved around a clever little track on top while the box played a tinkling version of the Mozart waltz that had been his first dance with Angelique.

"How much?"

Heyworth paid the man and watched him wrap it, then he went back to the stable for his horse. He had a short visit to make at Squire Stillwater's manor before returning to Primrose Cottage. And a favour to ask.

"Tell my aunt I've gone to the lake to read," Angelique called to her maid as she stuffed a book into a small satchel alongside a spare shift, a thin blanket and a towel. Fortunately, Minerva was napping. She would be horrified to know Angelique's true intentions.

Well, it was nearly as hot in Berkshire as it was in London, and Angelique had become accustomed to swimming on sultry days while in Italy. So even if Minerva wouldn't approve, Angelique had no qualms about taking a short dip in the private lake nearby. She hoped the cool water would help clear her head.

She wanted to dispel all memories of Heyworth's touch. She would never marry the man, and such intimacies were absolutely unacceptable. She couldn't succ.u.mb to him again. The bond between them was merely physical attraction. There was no substance to his intentions no honesty beyond the pleasure of the moment. Angelique refused to become the same kind of wretched victim her mother had been, waiting for the man she loved to favour her with his presence. Always wondering if her husband's a.s.sertion of love was sincere and true, or yet another falsehood from an inveterate womanizer.

The lake was small, and its location a secluded little glade, the perfect haven in which to spend a warm, sunny afternoon with her dismal thoughts. It was quite different from the lake near her little villa in Florence. There was hardly any beach at all, with an unkempt lawn and trees growing right up to the water's edge.

It was where her father had taught her to swim when she was a child, when he had found it amusing to pretend to be a father.

It was peaceful and quiet at the lake, but Angelique found it painful to think of her father, of the weeks he'd been ill before she'd come home. She hadn't believed his first letter, and it wasn't until the third that she'd realized he was in earnest. He was dying.

She'd been so d.a.m.nably stubborn.

The sun shone brightly through the trees, and bees buzzed about the clover in the gra.s.s. Derington had once been a devoted father. In those days, he hadn't gone running off every night to chase skirts and lose his money at the gaming tables. Angelique didn't know what had caused him to change, but the change had not endeared him to her. She had barely acknowledged him as her father.

She forced aside her upsetting memories and put her satchel down beneath a tree. She pressed the blanket to her breast and smothered her sorrow, refusing to shed the tears that threatened. There was no point. She could not imagine that he'd have wanted her to weep, anyway.

Swallowing the thickness in her throat, Angelique spread out the blanket she'd brought. She sat down and removed her shoes and stockings, then took a quick look around to be sure she was truly alone before unb.u.t.toning her bodice.

In a few short moments, she was completely undressed, but for the thin cotton chemise she wore under all her dull, black clothes.

She stepped into the water and found it refreshingly cool. After she waded out deeper, she lay back and floated, gazing up at the clear blue sky while she tried once again to empty her mind of all its troubling thoughts.

But her melancholy would not abate. Nor would her questions. Angelique could not understand why her father had thought it acceptable to make Heyworth trustee of her funds. When her father had come to Florence to chastise her for leaving England, Angelique had made it perfectly clear that she would never wed the Duke. Obviously, Derington thought they were well matched, in spite of Heyworth's philandering ways. Her father must have believed that renewed contact with the Duke to work out the disburs.e.m.e.nt of the annuity would result in a new engagement.

It would not.

A bleak sob escaped Angelique and she came to her feet. Her father did not deserve her tears, yet her eyes filled and she found herself weeping over his loss. Whatever had occurred between her mother and father, Derington had been her papa. He'd taken her on pony rides and bought her sweets. He'd carried her on his shoulders and pushed her in the swing behind the cottage.

The guilt for leaving him alone during the last months of his life had been niggling at the edges of her awareness, but now it overtook her. She stumbled out of the water, feeling anything but refreshed. When she reached her blanket, she fell to her knees, then lay down and pressed her face into the soft cloth and cried as though her heart was broken.

At first, when Heyworth had come upon Angelique wading out of the lake, he'd thought himself the most fortunate of men. Her chemise was nearly transparent, allowing him a view of her perfection. Her every move was a seduction, her high, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s swaying as she left the cover of the water, her long graceful legs stepping from the lake. He felt a deeply visceral reaction at the sight of her.

And then he realized she was weeping.

Her indifferent exterior had been just that an exterior. It was clear, in spite of her anger with Derington, she felt the loss of her father deeply.

Heyworth felt like a cad for ogling her while she was in such obvious distress. Without considering how she would react, he went to her, knelt beside her and put his hand on her back, gently caressing her shoulder. She turned to him suddenly and clung to his shirt, allowing him to hold her as she wept against his chest.

"H-he made me s-so angry," she sobbed.

"Aye, I know, love."

"He was unfaithful t-to my m-mother."

Heyworth knew that, too. But he kept his silence.

"And h-he made you tr-trustee."

"Hush, my darling. We'll work that out."

She looked up at him with the most beautiful teary eyes he'd ever seen. "H-how? You have complete-"

"No. Whatever you need 'tis yours to use as you see fit."

She blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. "R-really?"

His heart twisted in his chest at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and the tears that fell from them. "Of course. I never meant to keep you from your inheritance, Angel." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, content to merely cradle the woman he loved in his arms.

Three.

Angelique slept like the dead for an hour or so, after walking back to the house with Heyworth. He had not attempted to kiss her or touch her in any way after she pulled herself together, and she . . .

She could hardly credit that she'd been disappointed. She didn't want him to touch her. And yet . . .

Heyworth's caresses were unlike anything Angelique had ever known. He was strong yet gentle, insistent but patient. She yearned for his embrace, but did not want to encourage his attentions. He'd told her she would have control over the annuity, when her father had given him jurisdiction over it.

It was all too much. She did not want to grieve for a father who'd hurt her mother so deeply, and who had seen nothing wrong with tying her to a fiance who was unfaithful. And yet that fiance was being so kind to her now.

Heyworth handed Minerva into the enclosed carriage, and when Angelique looked round, she saw that there was no horse saddled and ready for him. "You are not riding?"

He gave a shake of his head, and a lock of his dark hair fell across his forehead. She longed to touch it, to thread her fingers through the thick ma.s.s of it.

"It will be far cooler outside the carriage," she said. She did not want to spend the next half-hour in such close quarters with him.

"You aren't afraid of having me near, are you, Angel?"

"Of course not." It was a lie. Even with Minerva present, Angelique could not dispel her ridiculous longing for him.

"Very good. Shall we?"

He helped her into the carriage and off they went. Angelique tried to keep her attention on the pa.s.sing scenery outside her window, but she felt his gaze on her and, whenever the carriage went over a rough patch, his knees b.u.mped into hers, sending shivers of longing through her.

"Will you attend the race tomorrow, Your Grace?" Minerva asked.

"I doubt it," he replied, and Angelique looked up at him, puzzled by the contradiction. "I have other plans."

"Oh? Will you be returning to London?"

He looked right into Angelique's eyes. "I don't think so. Not just yet."

"There's no reason for you to stay any longer, Your Grace," Angelique said, in spite of the conflicting emotions churning within her. "Once you release the funds my aunt and I will need to live on-"

"That was done before I came down to Berkshire."

The world shifted suddenly. "What?"

"I had my solicitor transfer control of your funds yesterday morning. A letter was sent, but it seems you left London before it could be delivered to you."

"But then why-"

"Angelique, do not badger His Grace," said Minerva. "'Tis perfectly clear that he came all this way to tell you personally."

That could not be true. He'd sent her a letter. Angelique bit her lip in consternation. If he hadn't come for the horse race, or to talk to her about the annuity, then he must have come specifically because of their broken engagement.

Had he changed? According to Lord Rathby, a certain Mrs Dumont was a frequent recipient of Heyworth's attentions. At least it had been a Mrs Dumont two years ago. Did she dare hope that he'd changed his ways? That he was ready to become a responsible, faithful spouse?

She took in the strong line of his jaw and his intense green eyes and wished it were so. She feared she still loved him, and knew that marriage between them could be wonderful.

Or a complete disaster.

When they arrived at Tapton Manor, Angelique was quite surprised to encounter Lord Rathby. Yet his presence made perfect sense, for he had an estate nearby where her father had often gone shooting. Of course he was on friendly terms with the Stillwaters, but Angelique had not seen or spoken to him in the two years since the fateful conversation that had resulted in her abrupt departure from England.

She felt awkward facing him now, but the same was not true of Heyworth. Obviously, the Duke was unaware of Rathby's part in her abrupt departure and the cancellation of their wedding, or he would not have been quite so cordial with the Earl.

And yet his cordiality had a strange edge to it, something Angelique could not quite define.

Heyworth took her elbow, as he drew her into the house. Angelique allowed herself to enjoy his innocent touch, nearly as comforting as the caresses he'd given her at the lake. She had never felt more attracted to him than she did at that moment.

When she was in Italy, it had been far easier to deny everything she'd felt for him. It was nearly impossible now.

She'd wanted him during their engagement, had lived for their stolen kisses and the promise of pleasures she could not even imagine after they were wed. Angelique tried to curb her longing for his touch, but feared she still loved him. She feared she did not have the strength or the will to reject him again. If he took her into his arms, or kissed her . . .

She would quite possibly melt.

Mrs Stillwater embraced her lightly. "You look pale, my girl. Come inside and sit down."

"I'm quite all right, Mrs Stillwater," Angelique said. "'Tis very good of you to invite us."

Lord Rathby came and bent over her hand. "My sincere condolences, Miss Drummond, and my apologies as well, for my absence at your father's funeral. I was in York and did not hear of his pa.s.sing until it was too late."

"'Tis quite all right, Lord Rathby. You were a good friend to my father."

"Aye," he said quietly and, when he slipped away to the far side of the room, Angelique suddenly wondered why he had bothered to seek her out two years before, to tell her about Heyworth's perfidy. He'd been so earnest . . . and yet now, he was not quite so bold in his demeanour. His gaze darted towards Heyworth, as though worried that the Duke would suddenly divine who had tattled on him two years earlier.

Angelique made a study of him as the conversation flowed around her. It wasn't as though Rathby himself had been vying for her hand, for he had not been one of her suitors during that season. What difference would her marriage to Heyworth have made to him?

Would he have had some reason to lie to her?

A leaden feeling of dread centred in the pit of her stomach. She'd never had any reason to doubt Heyworth before Lord Rathby's tale of loose women. Rathby might have held a grudge or had some other reason for wanting to damage Heyworth. And yet Angelique had jumped to the conclusion that her betrothed was just as unprincipled as her father. She'd been afraid to trust him, afraid to trust that he was different.

Her mind reeled with possibilities.

"Do you plan to stay at Maidstone for very long, Your Grace?" Mrs Stillwater asked the Duke.

"No. Only until tomorrow."

"Then back to London, is it?" the Squire asked.

"For a short while, then I plan on travelling."

"How lovely. Where will you go?"

"To Greece. My agents are en route now, securing lodgings and a cruising yacht for my use."

A little wave of panic came over Angelique. He could not go. She needed to speak to him, to ask him some pointed questions, something she should have stayed and done two years before. She'd been a rash and headstrong fool.

"Such a romantic trip," said Mrs Stillwater. "I would have enjoyed travelling at one time, but now I'm quite comfortable in our old house, and glad to have our grandchildren nearby."

"How do you find Maidstone, Ange-Miss Drummond?" asked her childhood friend, Caroline. "It has been some time since you were here last, has it not?"

Angelique nodded, swallowing her agitation and turning her attention to Caroline now Mrs Gedding, a vicar's wife. Caroline was only a year older than Angelique, and yet she and her vicar husband already had two children. Angelique felt yet another troubling emotion, a pang of longing for what she'd foregone when she'd left England. Left Heyworth.

She needed to speak to him alone, to ask him . . . Dear heavens, there was so much to ask, starting with his forgiveness. "Primrose Cottage is just how I remembered it," she said, looking for an opportunity to take him aside, but finding none. "'Tis a lovely respite from the close confines of London."

Caroline glanced at her father. "There is quite the crush in town, isn't there, Papa?"

"Aye, but we will not be part of it, thank heavens." He turned to Heyworth. "Your Grace, will you escort the elder Miss Drummond in to supper?"

"Of course," Heyworth said, taking Minerva's arm. They all retired to the dining room, where Angelique was directed to a seat beside the Duke.

She'd had no good reason to doubt him two years before. He was far too kind to her now, and his civility towards Rathby rankled.

The Duke hardly looked at her, though his eyes flashed with intelligence and awareness. He seemed tense, his powerful body poised for action, while Lord Rathby remained nearly silent all through the meal. When it was over, Squire Stillwater invited the men to retire to the veranda to smoke, and Angelique resigned herself to waiting until they returned to Primrose Cottage for the private moment she intended to have with him.

It would be now or never. Heyworth was counting on the Squire to make sure that he and Rathby were left alone for a few minutes. And Mrs Stillwater was to bring Angelique into the small sitting room adjacent to the veranda. From there, she would be able to hear the men's conversation.

Heyworth sensed that Rathby was about to bolt. The Earl had done all that etiquette required after discovering that the Duke would also be dining at the Stillwaters' and now he could leave. He wouldn't want to spend any more time than necessary with the man who had not only witnessed his attempt to rig a horse race, but seen to it that he was censured by the jockey club and banned from the races for a full two seasons.