The Duke Is Mine

Page 30

The dowager waved Lady Althea and her mother into the house, and then turned. “You shall not be welcome, Duke,” she said. “And Miss Lytton, I’m sure you understand that the canine must remain outdoors.”
“I don’t know anything about skin infections,” Olivia put in, hoping madly that the dowager would touch something and catch a case of purple bumps.
“Quite,” the dowager stated. The door shut behind her.
Olivia sighed.
Then she realized that she was standing in front of the line of small children, who didn’t seem inclined to mill about the way children normally do. They were rather dirty and thin. And they looked anxious. “Let’s see,” she said to the eldest. “Your name is Apple because you have lovely red cheeks.” She looked to the next. “You look very fast, so you must be Arrow. And this must be Apron because—”
“I’m not Apron,” the small boy said indignantly. “That’s for a girl!”
“Hmmm,” Olivia said. “Then how about Ant? You are about the size of a peasecod.”
“I’ll get bigger,” he said stoutly.
“Very true.” She could see smiles popping up. The line had broken, and now they were clustering around her. “Let’s try the girls. You must be Apricot, since your hair is a lovely shade of ginger that I heartily envy.”
The girl giggled. “Me gram says it’s the color of the devil’s beard.”
“It’s not the most flattering of comparisons, but then we should all be so lucky as to have a fire that burns all the way through the winter, not to mention an apricot beard. And you,” she said, turning to the last, very small girl, “you look like . . .” Her imagination failed.
“An acorn,” came a deep voice just behind her. The duke leaned over and put a finger under the child’s chin. “You are no more than a wee acorn.”
She broke into a peal of laughter. “That’s what me dad calls me, too!”
“All right, Miss Acorn,” Olivia said, flashing the duke a surprised smile. “May I introduce Miss Lucy?”
Lucy had been sitting close to Olivia’s ankle, but on hearing her name she stepped forward, her tail wagging madly.
The children clustered around her, squealing. Olivia held out Lucy’s ribbon. “Would anyone like to take Lucy for a little walk?” A moment later Avery and Audrey headed to the village square, Lucy prancing before.
Olivia looked at the three remaining children. “So what is new and exciting in the village?”
“ ’Zekiel Edgeworth bought a new mare!” Acorn exclaimed.
“Goodness me. And where does Mr. Edgeworth stable his horse?”
“Right there!” they squealed. Sure enough, there was a chestnut mare off in a corner of the yard.
“We’re taking care of her,” Ant said importantly.
Olivia held out her hand, looked down, and then stripped off her glove. “What was I thinking?” she said, causing another storm of giggles as she held out her hand again to Ant. “Now, Master Ant, will you introduce me to the fine steed living in your garden?”
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Ant breathed, a moment later.
“She has some interesting aspects,” Olivia acknowledged. “What’s her name?”
“Well,” Arrow said importantly, “Mr. Edgeworth likes to call her Starstruck. But we think that’s a rackety name. So we call her Alice. See, she already knows her name. Alice!”
Sure enough, the mare looked up at that shriek, causing great gales of laughter. Olivia was trying her best to ignore the man at her shoulder. He was Georgiana’s future husband, for goodness’ sake.
“Alice has a bad case of pigeon toes—or hooves, to be exact,” the duke observed, coming even closer to her.
Olivia and children frowned at him. “We all agree that hooves like hers are very becoming in a horse,” she announced.
There was a chorus of agreement.
“I certainly didn’t mean to diminish her strong points,” the duke said. He reached out and patted the mare’s neck. He had removed his gloves as well. “For example, she has a large forehead and a long neck.”
“A very long neck,” Acorn agreed. “And a long back too, because we’ve all climbed on it once or twice. At the same time, I mean.”
“That must account for the sway,” Olivia murmured to the duke. He was looking at her in that intent way again, so she moved a step away under the guise of examining the mare’s back.
“She has even better points than her neck,” the duke said, his voice taking on a curiously innocent tone. “Any man would be lucky to have this mare.”
Arrow seemed a little suspicious. “My pa doesn’t say the same as you. He says as how Mr. Edgeworth threw away his coin when he bought Alice. He doesn’t like Alice.” He stroked the mare’s nose consolingly.
“I was referring to her dark chestnut coat, of course,” the duke said. “Soft eyes, a delicate mouth, and such long eyelashes.” He too was stroking the mare—but he was looking straight at Olivia.
She had never heard a horse described in quite those words before. She stole another glance at his face. The duke did not seem the type of person who would engage in wordplay. Though at lunch . . . He’d certainly mentioned Lady Godiva in a suggestive manner.
“Her coat is extraordinarily velvety,” he said to Ant. “Don’t you all think so?” Six dirty hands patted the mare’s belly, and a chorus of voices agreed with him. “One wants to keep touching her,” he said. The laughter in his voice was positively wicked.
“And she has very smooth hooves,” he continued, pointing down. “Nice and round in the front. Light on her heels, no doubt.” The mare had succumbed to his blandishments and was bumping his shoulder, begging for more attention.
“Are you saying that she’s light-heeled?” Olivia asked, still trying to figure out exactly how far his wordplay was meant to go. “Because she most certainly is not.”
“That would mean our Alice was a hussy,” Avery said disapprovingly. “You don’t say that about a horse.”
“You’re absolutely right,” the duke said. “I stand corrected. Alice is clearly a creature of virtue.”
“You make very little sense,” Olivia observed. “One would almost—almost!—think you implied that Alice is a high-flier.”
“And she’s not,” Avery put in. “Mr. Edgeworth says she won’t even jump the stile.”
“We think it’s because she’s got such a round belly,” Acorn put in.
“Indeed.” The duke smiled again, and Olivia was furious to feel warmth creeping up in her cheeks. He couldn’t be referring to her.
“Everything a man could desire,” he said. “A lovely, plump buttock, too.”
Yes, he could be referring to her. She stood taller, fiercely resisting the impulse to back her plump buttock out of sight. Maybe into the next county.
“It’s because of all the grass we give her,” Ant said importantly. “We tear it up on the Common and we bring her handfuls.”
“What a lucky animal,” the duke murmured. He was a devil . . . unless she was completely misunderstanding him.