The ride to the Duke's country estate took all of one day and most of another with stops along the way for food and rest from the interior of the stuffy coach. Alyssa rode part of the day, Vixen's Boy prancing along daintily, his huge head up and snuffling in the wind. His eyes and ears were alert as she spoke quietly to him.
He was beautiful, as was his mistress a top of him. Beautiful and spirited, kindred souls that longed to be loosed, to be free of the strictures life put upon them. But freedom was denied both; one by the dictates of society, the other by his love for his mistress.
It was the kind of day that would normally have Alyssa in the best of moods; the sun shining, and the sky clear and blue with just a wisp of breeze to lift the leaves of the trees they passed under. Nature was showing her true colors, blooming in the wild flowers that lined the rutted roadway, showing in the butterflies and the birds that flitted through the leaves and played among
the flowers.
She should have been happy. But all she could think about was Jamie.
He didn't want her; that was what it came down to. He wanted to bed her, to show up in her bedchamber in the dark, part of the shadows that moved through the night. He would come, take her body, flirt and tease her and then leave when he was done with no other thought of her, just what it took to move on to the next of his conquests.
Perhaps she was a little more intriguing than most, due to her circumstances. How many times does one come across a Duke's daughter willing to open her legs without the vows being spoken?
There was one bright spot in her day. Cat was coming tonight and spending the rest of the week with her and her father. For Cat, she'd invited Teddy, knowing that he was a friend of Jason Ashington. A foursome, then, she thought, managing a weak smile.
They arrived at the estate, the servants lining up in the courtyard, uniforms starched and crisp; the maids in pale blue, the men in navy and gold. It was an impressive sight. The housekeeper, Mrs. Meads, was a stickler for decorum.
That fine lady stood closest to the door, her dark brown hair gathered at a bun at her nape, the wind not daring to pull even a strand out of place. She wore navy like the men, but high-necked and long-sleeved with gold buttons decorating the bodice. A wide ribbon around her waist displayed the keys to the house, as if they were a badge of her position. She stepped forward to greet the duke, curtseying low before him. The rest of the staff followed her example.
"Excellent," the duke exclaimed. "The staff looks well prepared, Mrs. Meads. Is all set to rights for my guests arrival tomorrow?"
"Yes, your grace. We've food a plenty, all the rooms have been aired and the linens changed. I do believe, your grace, that Winfred has the dogs all ready for the hunt."
"Excellent," he said again, starting up the steps after nodding to the rest of the staff. "Come along, Alyssa. You should rest before dinner. You're looking a trifle peaked."
"I've taken the liberty of having your bedding turned down, Lady Alyssa," Mrs. Mead said. "Your maid will be sent up with your trunks."
"Thank you, Mrs. Mead," Alyssa said, following her father slowly. He was right, she was feeling peaked. Too little sleep and too many thoughts were causing her head to ache and her jaw to hurt. A nap would perk her right up.
"Bernie," she called, seeing the young man whom she had specifically taught to care for Vixen's Boy. "Give him an extra ration of oats and a good rub down before putting him up, please?"
"Yes, mum," Bernie said, tugging on his forelock.
The inside of the house was cool, a relief from the heat of the sun on her hair. She walked in, twirling as she stared at everything, knowing it was all the same as when they left just weeks before. "I missed you," she whispered to the house. She'd been born there, living there with her parents for most of the years of her life before her father sent her to that horrid boarding school.
But she could forgive him for it now; that time was over and she was home.
"It's good to be home," a voice behind her said.
She smiled at her father, nodding her head. "Yes, I've missed it."
"I know, my darling. But it's a necessary evil, the endless succession of balls and parties. You know this."
"It wouldn't be if you'd give up the dream of marrying me off so soon," she said, a pout upon her lush lips. "I sometimes feel as if you want me out of here so that you may live the life of a bachelor once more."
"Oh, she caught me," he quipped. "My evil secret is out. I want to throw scandalous parties and take up with women of questionable morals." He strode forward, seeing the sparkle shining in her eyes, his hand rising to her cheek. "She can smile. I had thought that skill to be lost in you recently. You've seemed so sad, my darling."
"Home sick, father," she said quickly. "All I needed was a whiff of clean air that held neither the stench of the factories nor the hint of stale perfumes and men's cigars. I shall be fine now that we are home."
"If you are sure..." he said, letting the words hang in the air for a moment until she nodded her head, smiling gamely up at him. "Then I wish for you to go to your room for the afternoon, get some rest. And if you are improved by this evening, perhaps we can go for a ride to the river, like we used to?"
Alyssa nodded, her smile growing bigger. "Shall we also race like we used to, father?"
"Cheeky lass, aren't you now?" he said chuckling. "Your thinking that big brute of a stallion you ride will win against all. And, truth be told, you're probably right." He buzzed her cheek with a kiss before turning her towards the stairs. "Off with you now and leave your elder alone for a while. Rest and feel better, Alyssa, for I shall need a competent hostess at my side for this big to-do this weekend."
Alyssa went without arguing, a fact that bothered her father. She'd been different the past few days; quieter, withdrawn, barely arguing with him no matter what he said. He didn't know the cause of her malady, but he did know he didn't like it. With one more worried glance at her retreating figure, he turned and headed towards the library and his stock of brandy.
* * *
Jason felt the man's back against his own just as the first count began.
"One."
The idiot, why was he forcing the issue and using pistols? Jason had argued with the man, touting first blood with swords. But no, he'd been adamant. Pistols it was.
"Two."
He thought of the girl he was here for, whose reputation had been sullied.
