Chapter Two

O h, Lord! Oh, Lord! He'd seen her naked.

Who was this stranger who called himself James Pennington? Could she trust him?

Verity Angel hurried back to Moonstone Landing, her heart still pounding and her cheeks aflame. She hoped no one else had spied her at Stoningham Manor, for the accidental encounter with that man was humiliating enough.

How was she to avoid him for the next two weeks?

Perhaps it would not be too difficult. If he had come here to recover from a severe leg injury, then it was possible he would remain holed up at the manor house for the duration and never come into the village.

Yes, this was her fervent hope.

"Stay right where you are, Mr. Pennington, and we shall get along quite nicely," she murmured, hurrying down the high street toward her home. She passed the bustling fish market along the dockside and waved to the fishermen's wives. They were hard at work preparing their fish for sale.

"Ye're out early, Verity," one commented, returning her cheerful greeting.

She nodded. "I thought I would take a walk before it got too hot."

With another wave, she walked on toward her house, which happened to be the grandest among a charming row of them, all of them with unobstructed views of the harbor and the sea beyond. Locals referred to these quaint homes as the seaside cottages, although most were quite a bit larger than simple cottages.

She sneaked in through the garden, relieved to find the kitchen door open. This was how her father always started his day, unlatching the back door in order to walk to their chicken coop and fetch the morning's batch of eggs. He would then help her mother light the hearth fire before he went off to work.

Verity waited for him to pass, then quietly made her way through the kitchen and up the back stairs to her bedchamber. Her siblings shared their bedchambers, but this one was hers alone. After all, she was a grown woman of twenty and needed her privacy, especially now that her body had filled out.

That wretched Mr. Pennington had noticed, too.

"Nothing to do about it now," she chided herself, sitting down to brush out her hair that was almost dry. She styled it in a simple chignon, then returned downstairs as though to start her day.

"Verity, dear," her mother called out, "would you run to the butcher's and pick up some meat for tonight? Make sure he gives you the finest cuts."

"Yes, Mama." Verity listened patiently as her mother added a few more items to her list. This was their normal routine, her running errands while her mother got her brothers and sisters up and ready for the day. Verity did not mind, since she enjoyed the relative quiet of the morning. The earlier, the better. Anyway, everyone knew the best cuts of meat and freshest vegetables were always to be had at the start of the day.

She sauntered through town, picking up the items on her mother's list and thinking more about Mr. Pennington. She felt some remorse for not helping him more than she had. Well, she would gather up some useful items for him later.

Upon returning home, she dropped her purchases in the kitchen, and then went into the music room to practice the pieces she had selected for tomorrow night's harp recital. She rarely played in public, but Vicar Trask had begged her for this one concert to raise funds for several new church projects, and she did not have the heart to turn him down.

The entire village council had thought the recital a good idea for purposes of what they termed cultural improvement . They wanted to show the visiting London elite that their local residents were just as refined as anyone else.

Satisfied with her rehearsal, she went off to browse the local bookshop for something interesting to read. The day was spectacular, and she now had the entire afternoon free. And what a glorious day it was. The sky was a vivid blue, marred only by a few soft white clouds floating along on a gentle breeze.

The water was calm, too. The vessels in the harbor were hardly bobbing or straining their moorings as the tide rolled in. The air was a bit warm, but a stop later at Mrs. Halsey's tea shop for an ice or a tall glass of lemonade would remedy that. She decided to include a stop at Mr. Bedwell's mercantile and ask him to set aside some aromatic oils.

"Are ye feeling achy, Verity?" Mr. Bedwell remarked when she entered his shop and ordered several bottles of lavender oil. "Carrying that big harp around is sure to strain your muscles, and you being such a dainty thing and all."

She had been toting her instrument around for years without a problem. Yes, it was large and a bit unwieldy, but she was used to it. "It isn't for me, Mr. Bedwell."

He arched a bushy eyebrow. "Yer mother, then?"

"No." She licked her lips, stalling until she came up with an innocent explanation. "Um, Brenna's husband invited an injured friend to stay at Stoningham Manor while they were on holiday. Brenna asked if I might gather some medicinal supplies for the gentleman."

"Gentleman? Oh, you must mean the Duke of Ashford. I heard he was coming to stay. Brenna… I mean… Gad, I've known ye all since ye were little tykes in leading strings. Hard to think of Brenna as the Duchess of Claymore now. Well, the surprising turns life takes. Who would have ever guessed? She mentioned their friend was badly injured in a carriage accident. Leg crushed."

"Yes, terrible shame." Verity also had a hard time thinking of her cousin as a duchess. Not just Brenna had married well—two other cousins had done the same. Cara had married the Duke of Strathmore and Felicity had married the Earl of Bradford.

Good fortune came in threes, and her three cousins had used up all the available goodwill. What were her chances of marrying a duke?

A big, fat "no chance at all."

Not that she cared. Her duke, who had merely introduced himself as James Pennington, was infuriating.

"Have you seen the Duke of Ashford?" Verity asked the mercantile owner.

"No, I don't think anyone's seen him yet besides the staff at the manor house. I heard he rode in late last night. Perhaps yer father knows. He's the town constable and up on all that is going on in the village."

Her father was the last man she would ever ask. First of all, he did not know she was sneaking out of the house to swim each morning. Nor did she ever want him to find out. That alone was bad enough, but for him to learn she had encountered a naked stranger, who had seen her naked as well?

The volcanic explosion would be heard from here to China. A Hun invasion would seem tame compared to the wrathful vengeance he would unleash on the man.

This was saying a lot, because her father was the most composed, calm, rational man she had ever met. However, he was very protective of his children. She was the eldest and the apple of his eye.

Yes, best if she and the duke, alias Mr. Pennington, avoided each other for the next two weeks. A man that handsome would have women after him by the droves.

He was probably a debauched rake, too. He certainly had alluring eyes and an inviting smile capable of making women swoon.

The cad.

Although she hadn't actually seen him leer at her. But neither had he beaten his chest in remorse…just issued a polite apology, the sort one might give after accidentally stepping on another's foot.

Nor had he cared enough to cover himself up. Obviously, he was used to walking around naked in front of women. She would not be surprised if he took a different conquest to his bed on any given night of the week.

Well, she was not going to be one of them.

Not that she had been a paragon of good behavior herself, discreetly gawking at him, even glancing at his backside and privates whenever he wasn't looking because he was quite nicely formed and she was curious.

Did he realize how clear the water was? Or that she saw everything down to the silt at the bottom of the riverbed?

She wasn't trying to study those parts of him that lay beneath the water. She wasn't…much. The upper part of him was fascinating enough. Big, broad chest, powerfully muscled shoulders, and a flat stomach so taut, it rippled. Above those powerful shoulders was a handsome face capped with a thick head of golden hair. His eyes were the color of mahogany, dark and rich.

She left the mercantile and stopped in at Mrs. Halsey's tea shop. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Halsey. Could you put together a basket of dried fruits for me? Apples, apricots, and raisins, if you please. And a jug of apple cider, too."

"What do you want with all those dried fruits and cider, Verity?"

"Um…Brenna asked me to help out their guest, who is staying at Stoningham Manor while she and her husband are on holiday. He's hurt his leg badly, and I thought these might help relieve some of the inflammation. Um…put it on the Claymore account." She would settle up with Brenna upon her return to Moonstone Landing.

"I assume the gentleman you mean is the Duke of Ashford," Mrs. Halsey said, now scribbling in her account book.

"Yes. Have you met him?"

"No, Verity. Have you?"

Verity cleared her throat. "Not that I am aware. I was curious what he looked like."

The kindly proprietress shrugged. "I hear he is quite handsome. You ought to be careful or he just may steal your heart."

"Oh."

Mrs. Halsey was teasing her, but it was not far from the truth. He was sinfully gorgeous.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, dear? I'll have your order ready within the hour."

Verity shook her head. "That is everything for now. Thank you, Mrs. Halsey."

She walked out of the tea shop and ran straight into her father, who was patrolling the high street. "Verity, love," he called to her when she tried to walk straight past him and the big, handsome man who was limping alongside him.

Oh, dear heaven.

No.

No.

"Ah, Papa. I did not see you there." She stifled a groan as he introduced her to the Duke of Ashford, her very own Mr. Pennington.

She saw the flicker of surprise in the duke's eyes, but his surprise was quickly replaced by amusement. Smiling rakishly, he took her hand and bowed over it. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Angel," he said, all innocence and politeness. "The constable mentioned his daughter plays the harp. He has been raving about your talent. I'm sure you are quite accomplished."

She wanted to appear equally casual, but could not manage it. Heat shot into her cheeks. "He exaggerates, of course. I am nothing special."

To her surprise, he frowned at the remark. "I do not believe that for a moment. I look forward to your recital. It is tomorrow evening, is it not?"

Her stomach sank. She did not want him showing up. "You must not feel obliged to attend, Your Grace. In fact, I urge you to stay home."

Her father cast her a warning glance, a what in blazes are you doing, Verity? scowl. "My daughter is shy, Your Grace. The concert is rather daunting for her. You mustn't pay attention to anything she says."

"Oh, yes," Verity added, trying to slip her hand out of the duke's. "You must ignore me. It really is for the best."

He grinned, refusing to let go of her yet. "I shall keep it in mind."

Her father now pointed to the elegant Kestrel Inn that was across the street. "If the weather holds, Verity's recital will take place in the inn's formal garden. Otherwise, it will be moved indoors to one of the elegant salons."

"Rest assured, Constable Angel, I do not intend to miss your daughter's performance, rain or shine." Although the duke had addressed her father, his gaze remained firmly fixed on her.

Verity finally managed to slip her hand out of his. "Well, I ought to be going now."

She did not have anything to do other than get away from this man who was making her senses reel.

Before she could escape, Mr. Bedwell called to her and lumbered over. "Glad I caught you, Verity. Did you want me to deliver the lavender oils to His Grace, or was he going to send someone to pick it up?"

Verity blushed as she glanced at the duke. "You may ask him yourself, Mr. Bedwell. Here is the man in question."

Mr. Bedwell bowed and fussed while her father made the quick introduction.

Once again, the duke was politeness itself. "I'll take the lavender oils with me now, if you have them ready."

"Indeed, Your Grace. I'll fetch the bottles right away."

Mr. Bedwell shuffled off at the same time the mail coach rumbled down the high street and drew up in front of the inn. "Your Grace, please forgive me," Verity's father said. "May I leave you in my daughter's care for a moment? I make it a point to see who gets on and off these daily passenger coaches."

"Go to it, Mr. Angel. I'm sure your daughter will keep me entertained."

"Gad, you are insufferable," Verity muttered when her father was safely out of earshot.

The duke cast her another of his smugly satisfied grins. "What have I said? You are the one tossing out remarks."

"You might have mentioned you were a duke," she grumbled.

"When? Earlier? As we stood nakedly staring at each other?"

She closed her eyes and groaned. "You promised never to speak of that incident."

"I won't. But now I understand why you were so desperate to have my promise." He chuckled. "Who knew my mermaid was the constable's daughter? No wonder you were afraid to give me your name."

"I wasn't afraid," she retorted, sticking her chin into the air. "I simply saw no point to it."

"Verity, I give you my oath that I am never going to tell anyone, especially not your father. I do not have a death wish. So you may as well cease your worry. Your secret is safe with me. Must I assure you again? Upon my oath, I will never do anything to harm you."

"Thank you," she said, letting out a breath. Could she trust him? He sounded quite sincere. "Why did you come into town, Your Grace? You should have stayed resting at the manor."

"First of all, I am not a hermit. I fully intend to avail myself of all that Moonstone Landing has to offer."

"Well, do not think to avail yourself of me," she warned. "I am not on offer."

That remark earned her another of his insufferably charming grins. "Not available? Does this mean you are betrothed?"

"No." She felt her cheeks turn hot again.

"Married?"

"No."

He arched an eyebrow. "Interesting."

"It is not interesting at all. We ought to have nothing more to do with each other."

"I don't think that is possible. After all, I saw you. You saw me. My little mermaid, you were devouring me with your eyes."

She gasped. "I was not."

"You were. Do you realize your nose twitches whenever you lie to me? Or are you merely lying to yourself? You thought you were being discreet while ogling me, but trust me when I say that you were not."

"I wasn't…and you were just standing there in all that clear water. You were hurting. I wanted to do something to help, but did not know what."

He surprised her by giving her cheek a light caress. It felt affectionate more than wolfish. "You look pretty when you blush. Thank you for ordering the lavender oils for me. I'll try rubbing some on my leg tonight."

She nodded. "Put some on a hot, moist cloth and then apply the cloth to your skin. Let it absorb into the damaged muscle. Mrs. Halsey is preparing a basket of dried fruits for you, too."

"At your request?"

She nodded. "She ought to have it ready shortly. Mr. Halsey will drop it off at the manor when he makes his final round of deliveries for the day."

"That is very thoughtful of you, Verity." He leaned on his cane, a sign that his leg was tiring, but she doubted he was going to admit it to her. "Truly, most thoughtful."

She shrugged. "These country remedies do work. I promise to write them all out for you and leave them on the rock tomorrow morning."

"Why don't you write them out now? I have nowhere else to be. Do you? I'm sure the innkeeper will allow us to borrow some stationery. Is there a library at the inn? Or a quiet room where we can work?"

She nodded.

They waited another minute for Mr. Bedwell to return with the bottles of lavender oil, then walked to the inn. Her father was deep in conversation with her cousin Thaddius, who was the innkeeper, and another gentleman who appeared to be one of the new arrivals.

Since the discussion appeared serious, she did not wish to disturb them. The inn was familiar to her and she knew where Thaddius kept all the writing implements and supplies for the accommodation of his guests.

She led the duke into the inn's library. "Make yourself comfortable, Your Grace." She motioned toward a leather wing chair that had a matching ottoman. "Let me help you put your leg up," she said, attending to the task before he could refuse the offer. He was obviously struggling with that leg and needed to get the blood flowing through it before it began to spasm again.

After making certain he was comfortable, she went to the large desk situated in the center of the room and began to rummage through the drawers. It did not take her long to find what she needed. Paper, sharpened quill pens, ink pot. Blotting paper. Sand shaker.

"You seem to know your way around the inn, Verity."

She nodded. "The proprietor is my cousin, Thaddius. He's an Angel, too. So is the bank manager, by the way. And did you know that the Duchess of Claymore also happens to be a cousin of mine?"

He laughed. "Brenna?

"Yes, Angel is her maiden name."

"I did not realize. Nor am I all that surprised. You seemed quite at home on their property."

"My other cousin, Cara, is Duchess of Strathmore."

One golden eyebrow shot up again. "Any more surprises?"

"My cousin, Felicity, is married to the Earl of Bradford."

He now stretched both legs languidly before him. "Is this your subtle way of telling me that I should marry you?"

She almost spilled the ink on herself. "No! I just… You have such a smug way of looking at me that I wanted to take you down a peg or two."

"Is that how you think I am looking at you?" He appeared surprised, and his voice was soft and husky as he asked the question.

"I don't know. Yes. Maybe. I just don't want you looking at me."

"Why? Are my glances too heated? Do I warm your insides?"

She set down her quill pen. "No, you curdle them. Now be quiet and let me write your list."

He burst out laughing. "You are awfully rude for a mermaid. Women usually fawn over me."

She snorted. "Are you always this full of yourself?"

"It is a fact, Verity. Just watch and see. This inn is a very elegant establishment. I'm sure it is filled with well-heeled guests who have daughters or nieces of marriageable age. These ladies are like bloodhounds and will catch on to my scent within minutes."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I see. The scent of a duke is potent?"

Well, he did smell nice. Musky and male.

"Yes, in fact it is. Do you not feel giddy in my presence?" he remarked with a chuckle.

She laughed softly. "Exceedingly full of yourself."

"Care to place a wager? Not a money wager."

"Then what?"

"If I win the wager, you must kiss me."

She snorted. "And if I win?"

He grinned. "Then I must kiss you."

She laughed again. "I knew you were a naughty fellow. No, if I win, then you must buy me anything I wish from Mrs. Halsey's tea shop."

He nodded. "Fine. I'll buy you the tea shop itself if you wish. You are not going to win the wager. I assure you, I will have a dozen women around me before you finish writing out your list."

"Giggling peahens, no doubt," she muttered. "Fine. Twelve women before I finish writing my list."

He paused a beat, then two. "You don't believe me, but you will soon see. Wager is on, starting now."

She straightened the sheaf of paper before her and dipped her quill into the ink pot.

In turn, he picked up a newspaper and began to read quietly. "Just watch what happens."

Verity tried to ignore him.

But he simply could not be ignored.

To her surprise, ladies started to gather in the doorway. Verity heard their giggled whispers as they peeked in. One. Two. Three. Four. Ugh, she still had three-quarters of her list to write, and there was now a fifth lady peering at him from the threshold. "Do they have nothing better to do?" Verity muttered.

"Getting worried, are you?" The duke winked at her.

She frowned at him.

When several more gathered, the first ones became emboldened and began to saunter in. At first, they pretended to peruse the bookshelves. One approached him to ask what book he would recommend for her, and then they all did the same. Six, seven, eight…nine. Drat.

He set down his newspaper, smiled at them all, and then rose to select a book of romantic poetry. The wretch began to read aloud, his voice deep and resonant, his smile rakish as he spouted those rhyming words of love.

I adore you.

No one afore you.

What utter drivel.

One could not concentrate with all the women sighing and swooning around him. She had a few choice rhyming words for him, too. I abhor you. Deplore you. Ignore you. No more you.

Verity's heart sank as number ten and eleven scurried in.

She did not think any of these women had ever picked up a book in their lives, but this was the excuse they all now made for coming into the library…and what a surprise to find the handsomest duke in all of England seated right there, reciting a poem and making each feel as though he were spouting those insipid verses to her alone.

Verity did not know why she should care. After all, he was so far out of her reach that it was laughable.

By the time she finished her list of instructions, he had more than a dozen ladies seated in a circle around him as he held court. Verity wanted to hand him the list and leave, but she could not approach him without tripping over someone's feet or someone's hem. Politely asking any of these ladies to move was never going to work. Not one of them would ever give way to accommodate a mere constable's daughter.

Since he appeared to be in his glory, Verity decided to keep to their original plan and leave this paper for him by the pool tomorrow morning. She walked out quietly, never thinking he would notice. But she had barely made it out of the inn before she heard him calling out to her. "Verity! Miss Angel!"

She was about to cross the high street on her way to Mrs. Halsey's tea shop, but stopped and waited for him to catch up. Her heart tugged as she watched him hobbling toward her.

"Why did you run away from me?"

Verity looked at him, surprised he cared. "You were busy with those other ladies. Dear heaven, you are good at this seduction business."

He grunted. "I told you they would flock to me. They always do. Doesn't mean I welcome their attention. I only played it up because of our bet."

"You seemed quite comfortable around them. Well, you handily won. I concede."

He nodded. "There is a lesson in this for you. Never bet against me. I do not wager unless I am certain I will win. However, since this is hardly the time or place to claim my reward, how about joining me for tea and cakes instead? I noticed you were heading in the direction of the tea shop."

She shook her head when he pointed to Mrs. Halsey's establishment. "I was, but only to ensure she had filled my order. I cannot take tea with you today. My mother is expecting me home. I usually help make our supper."

He said nothing for the longest moment, then gave a curt nod. "All right. Let me walk you home."

She watched him leaning heavily on his cane. "No, Your Grace. It is too far for you to walk, and you really need to rest your leg."

"Are you ashamed for me to see your home?"

"No, it is a lovely cottage amid a row of beautiful cottages near the harbor. The view of the sea is spectacular from most of the rooms in our house. We have a splendid garden, too. Our home is the largest in the row."

"Sounds lovely."

"It is," she said. "Perhaps tomorrow, all right? But only to stop in to have you meet my mother and siblings. I won't invite you for a meal tomorrow because it is the night of my concert, and my stomach will be in a roil throughout the day."

"That's right. Your concert. I do not want to interfere with that," he said with genuine concern. "How about we leave everything to the day after your concert? Spend the entire day with me then, Verity. Show me around your village. If the weather cooperates, I'll have the Claymore housekeeper pack us a picnic basket and we'll dine on the water. I noticed there were boats offering cruises along the coastline."

She nibbled her lip. "I shouldn't."

"Why not? Bring along a chaperone, if you wish. Whatever makes you comfortable. I would like for us to talk and get to know each other better."

No.

No.

Too dangerous.

"All right, Your Grace. But why?"

He cast her a wry smile. "I've never met a mermaid before, and I am curious."

She shook her head and chuckled. "Do be serious."

He shifted uncomfortably, leaning too heavily once more on his cane. "All right, let's be serious for a moment. You offered to help me heal, Verity. You made sensible suggestions and went out of your way to put them into effect. No one has done this for me before."

"No one?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "But your family… Surely they wanted the best for you."

"My closest relation is a maiden aunt who is mostly interested in the social position afforded to her because of our relation. Other than that, she has no interest in me. We nod politely if ever we happen to see each other. I give her a generous allowance and she rarely bothers me for more. I have no other family. They are all dead."

She gasped and reached for his hand, then realized how forward the gesture was and quickly drew it away. "Your Grace, I'm so sorry."

He laughed mirthlessly. "So am I. I never expected my adulthood to be like this."

"Alone…too much on your own. Is your maiden aunt able to travel? Perhaps if you warmed up to her and included her more in your life, then things might change between you. Would she join you here? We would make her feel quite welcome."

"No, Verity. She is comfortably settled in Bath. And I have become used to being on my own. It isn't so bad. I am showered with attention and pampered everywhere I turn. A privilege of being a duke."

"Your Grace, in truth, this sounds awful."

He shrugged. "It is not ideal, but this is what it is. Verity, this seems to overset you more than it does me."

"I cannot help it. You deserve better."

He eyed her affectionately. "You are an odd little thing. Do you think any of those peahens in the inn's library gave a care about me beyond my title? Do you think even one of them spared a thought for my leg? Or my pain?"

"Or your loneliness?"

He shook his head. "I am not lonely. I usually prefer my own company to the sycophants and toadies who surround me."

"Like those ladies in the library? Do not be too hard on them. You were jovial and charming to them," she said. "They might have asked about your injury if they realized just how deeply you were suffering. Speaking of which, you really need to get off your leg now."

"I know." He nodded. "And you need to get home. I'll not delay you."

She watched him as he limped away.

This proud, confident man who appeared to have it all was actually feeling quite lost, she realized. The pain was not only in his leg. His heart had been wounded, too. She considered going after him, but changed her mind.

She would wait for him by the pool tomorrow and they could talk.

Still, she felt quite bad about dismissing him just now. Why had she told him she had to make supper? Yes, she often helped her mother and would do so tonight. But it was not a requirement, and no one was going to punish her if she avoided the task.

But she knew why she had done it. There was something about this man that frightened her.

Not in a scary way. In a consuming, I-could-fall-in-love-with-you way.

She had never been in love before and never realized the feeling came with so many aches. She ached watching him struggle to walk down the street. She ached knowing he had no family to love or that loved him in return. She ached because he was an unhappy soul, and probably did not realize that he was because he had never experienced true joy.

What could she do about this? Nothing, she supposed. He would be gone in two weeks. Besides, she dared not get too close to him.

He was a hot flame and she would get burned.

Was this the beginning of love? Or was she careening down the path to heartbreak?