Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

" Y ou cannot intend on keeping that thing in this house," his mother looked aghast as the footman carried the dog through the house.

"Hello to you too, Mother," Victor replied, taking off his hat and jacket and handing them to his butler.

"It is most probably flea-ridden," the dowager Duchess cried, "Where did you find such a creature from and what compelled you to bring it to this house?"

"My house," he shot her a level look that made her splutter.

His sister was only too glad to narrate everything that had happened on their outing, "The poor dog was left in the middle of the street and a reckless phaeton driver almost ran over it, but Miss Proctor jumped into the street and saved it at the risk of her own life."

"Sacrificing your own life for a homeless dog is not admirable, Georgie," the Duke snapped. "So you can quit making it seem like she did a heroic feet. It was more stupid than valiant."

"The girl is nothing but trouble," his mother threw her hands into the air dramatically, "Oh Victor, is it not obvious now that she is less than suitable?"

"She is perfectly suitable for me, mother," he said matter-of-factly.

"She is alright, I suppose," Georgie added with a shrug, earning her a deadly glare from the dowager Duchess.

"You cannot really think to go ahead with this wedding!" The woman clutched at her pearls and met air as she hadn't put them on this morning.

"I thought your opinion of her had improved after the affair with the modiste."

She harrumphed, "I only did that for your sake. She would have given you a bad name as being tight with the purse strings otherwise."

"Hmm," he said uninterestedly while rifling through the invitations stacked on the silver tray. He held up an announcement for a show by the royal Opera and decided that he would take Miss Proctor as his guest.

Did she like the opera? He would make sure to enquire.

"Miss Proctor saving the mangled mutt still does not explain why it is here and not in the Hartfield house."

He gathered the invitations he had an interest in and began to head towards his study, "Lady Hartfield does not like dogs."

"Neither do I!" she screeched.

Georgie covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggles. The Duke ignored them both and disappeared into the sanctuary of his study for some much needed peace.

What had he been thinking adding another exasperating woman to the mix?

Speaking of which, he suspected Lavinia would want to see the dog soon. Which meant he would have to plan an appropriate outing.

He sighed.

The next day, he was not at all surprised to find his sister eagerly waiting for him at the foyer with her parasol in hand and a blinding smile on her face.

"Let me take a guess, you are so utterly bored and would like to come along with me for a walk in the park with Miss Proctor."

"You are catching on rather quickly."

He dragged a hand through his hair, "Let's be on our way then."

"Let's."

Earlier he had sent a note around to the Hartfield house inviting Miss Proctor and her aunt for a stroll through the park.

"Hello, chap," Patrick waved at him from where he had been lounging against a tree. Then he made his way towards them, "Surprised to see you here."

And then he looked over Victor's shoulder and saw the footman with the now cleaned up dog with a smart blue now tied around its neck.

"Is that the mutt from the other day?" The Viscount's eyes were saucer wide.

"Yes," he said with irritation, already looking around for a familiar head of brown hair.

"He looks quite distinguished now," Patrick laughed.

It was at that moment that he spotted Lavinia in tow with Lady Hartfield. She was in a deep pink dress and a matching bonnet, a snowy white parasol propped over her shoulder.

Her eyes lit up with excitement as soon as she saw him, but the excitement doubled when she caught sight of the dog being held by the footman behind him.

"Andrew!" she cried, increasing the length of her strides till she had the dog in her arms, cooing and fussing over it, "You look so smart and healthy now. How adorable."

He cleared his throat, "do I have to compete with a four legged creature now?"

"Your Grace," she laughed, dropping into a deep curtsy, lashes fluttering at him, "are you jealous of Andrew?"

He smirked at her.

"Your Grace," Lady Hartfield reached them and then made a face at the dog, "Lavvie, you know dogs make me sick."

"I rescued him from certain harm yesterday and the Duke was kind enough to keep him for me," she dropped the dog back on the ground and grabbed hold of its matching blue leash.

"Do you think Andrew would make a wonderful addition to your dogs in the country?" She asked as they began to walk.

Victor thought about the large beasts who weighed almost the same as her and couldn't see any good outcome for Andrew who looked more or less like a large, hairy rat.

"Of course," he said, "but I already have to deal with those two hounding my every step, I am loathe to add a third. And moreover, Andrew might just get lost in the factory."

Her head snapped to him, gaze full of curiosity, "there's a factory? Is it yours? What do you make?"

"It is in fact a brewery. I make and process my own alcoholic beverage. It is the major source of income and employment on my lands," he glanced over at her. "Most people do not know about the brewery though, I am not ashamed of it but neither do I advertise it. It is not the thing for a titled gentleman of my ilk to get his hands dirty with such a menial occupation, but the brewery is my biggest source of joy."

"Tell me everything about it!"

"Are you sure?" He raised a brow, shocked at her apparent interest, "I am afraid it might get quite boring for you."

"Please?" she requested. It was a step to learning about him, to fitting into his life.

"We start with barley," he began. "First we steep it in water and let it sit. It goes through a process called fermentation where the barley is converted to organic acids. Yeast is necessary for the process. It is quite more complicated than it sounds and requires a lot of patience. My great grandfather established the brewery back when our lands stopped turning a good yield and the sheep were dying. The land was suffering and the tenants too," he explained. "It started off as a sort of experiment with his brother and then there was a fire that tore the whole thing down."

She gasped in dismay. "Oh no. That must have been horrible."

"It was, or so I have been told," he shrugged, "he was a persistent man though, and so rather than give up on the brewery, he rebuilt. My father used to say I inherited his passion for it."

"He did not have an interest in it?"

"No," Victor said, "neither my father nor grandfather did. They turned it over to managers and generally ignored it, focusing more on the land and working hard to ensure it became fertile again. When I got the title, my first order of business was enlarging the factory and purchasing some necessary machines that would aid the process. That way, I was able to employ more of the tenants."

"How long does all of this take?" They had stopped walking as they got to a weeping cherry tree and stopped under it to shade themselves from the sun.

"There are several processes involved in the production. As I said, it is a thin that requires patience. There is the Malting process which takes about ten days. This is where we soak the barley and then dry it afterwards. The resulting product which is the malt is crushed."

"Is that where the machine comes in? In crushing it? Or are they hand crushed?"

His mouth quirked up, "I think if I am not careful, you will milk me of all information and then go on to set up your own factory which would rival even mine."

She blushed, "Nonsense, a woman cannot own and operate a factory."

"You may just be the first."

"I would love to see all the things you have described, they sound so fascinating," Lavinia breathed, "What happens next after the malt is crushed?"

"The malt contains some sugar, not the sugar you are familiar with, mind you," he pointed out when she looked confused, "The sugar needs to be extracted and we do that by mixing the crushed malt with boiling water. It creates something we call a mash. Later we strain the mash, boil it with additives like herbs or sugars, mostly for taste, color and aroma of the brew."

"Adding yeast is the final step and then the entire thing is left to age in barrels. It can take weeks, months or years. I have a brew that has been sitting for about three years now and I plan on letting it age for many, many more."

When he faced her, her jaw had dropped open and he found her gaping at him.

"Is there a problem?"

"You may just be the most fascinating man in the whole of London."

A startled laugh burst out of him and she smiled in response, "I have just realized that I am no better than your cousin's friends who bore you with monologues of their horses."

"Nonsense," she waved him away, "it is far different."

"How so?"

"Well, I enquired about your work and it was enlightening to listen to. I do not know any other lords who own a brewery and are very invested in it. Meanwhile I know a hundred lords who own horses and spend all of their money purchasing even more expensive ones just for the sake of feeling superior to the rest of the gentlemen of the ton ," she pursed her lips, "I have never in my life been impressed by a man for his stallion's ability to race around London in mere minutes. Impressed by the beast itself, sure, but impressed by the owner, never."

The dog began to tug at his leash and she tugged it back to her side, "Do you think he has seen a friend?"

"A Rodent most likely," he said.

"Andrew is not like that," she declared staunchly, "He would never bully the weaker animals."

The Duke threw his head back, laughter rumbling out of his mouth, "Believe me, Miss Proctor, your Andrew is just about the same size and may be even less vicious than a rodent. He would need to be protected from one as a matter of fact."

Lavinia's grin was sassy, "He may be small but he is fearsome."

He nodded in support, but the twitching of his mouth gave him away and she rolled her eyes. He had to admit that he had never had as much fun with a lady in his life.

Not even those nights of alcohol and depravity with nameless women in his much younger years had been quite as entertaining.

What was it about Lavinia Proctor?

Part of it was her wide eyed innocence, there was nothing scheming or coy about her. Speaking to her was not an elaborate word parry. There was no need to search for hidden context or disguised meanings.

There was also no strained silences or a need to be careful with words to avoid giving any lady false hope.

With Lavinia it was banter and laughter and the magnetic attraction he had been trying so hard to bury.

"Do you like the Opera?" The Duke asked.

"Your sister and the Viscount must be very close," she was staring over at them, wearing a thoughtful expression.

"They are," he replied impatiently, "I was asking if you liked the-"

"Andrew!" Lavinia suddenly cried as the dog leaped forward and tore away from the leash in her hands, "Andrew, no!"

Then she turned those big, brilliant green eyes at him, "Help me."

He was embarrassed at how eager he was to do her bidding when she looked at him in that way.

As the dog disappeared in a blur of white fur, the Duke took off after it and she followed after them, holding her dress up and trying not to trip over the end of her skirt.

"Lavvie!" Her mother called as she jumped into action but she ignored her, too focused on the ball of white dashing through the park.

Andrew made a sharp turn just before Victor could get his hands on him and the dog disappeared into a neat row of hedges to the side.

Oh goodness, he was going to get stuck in one of the thorny bushes and get seriously hurt. Did the stupid dog have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever?

Lavinia followed after dog and man into the hedges. When she came out of the other side of the fence of shrubs, she found that the both of them had disappeared in the maze like structure of vegetation.

Paths stretched out from every direction and she immediately continued forward, deciding that she had the least penchant for getting lost if she just continued to move straight ahead.

"Your Grace!" She called, then, "Andrew."

The dog probably wasn't familiar with the name, "Your Grace!" She called louder, pushing through the network of plants.

She heard a bark in the distance and picking up her skirts she immediately began to race forward. Until she found herself at a dead end. Narrowing her eyes in annoyance, she retraced her steps back to where she assumed she had come from only to meet another dead end.

Oh no, she thought miserably. She could have just waited at the tree for the Duke to get the dog.

He might not even know she had followed him in and when he managed to catch the dog, he would leave her all by herself in this confusing maze.

"Victor!" She yelled, "Victor! I'm here!"

When that didn't work, she decided to keep on trying her luck and after a few more dead ends and frustrated groans, her work paid off and she emerged at the other side of the maze.

There was a clear pond on the side and the dog was racing towards it.

"Andrew, no! You cannot swim," she could not swim either, but she felt confident that she could get to the dog before he made it into the water.

Andrew paused at the edge of the pond and for a second, she was relieved, "Good boy, Andrew."

The dog turned its head to stare at her with its big puppy eyes. The next second Andrew leaped into the water.

"Miss Proctor, don't you dare!" The Duke's voice roared.

The dog began to whimper, and Victor was a fair distance away. She bit her lip in indecision, glancing between the drowning dog and the approaching Duke.

Lavinia didn't think. She leaped in after the dog.

"Blasted woman! Why do you have ears when you never listen?"

"Victor," she screamed, water rushing into her mouth, "I cannot swim."

When she turned around, she found Andrew barking from the river bank. It seemed the little demon could swim after all.

The mild current of the stream began to push her downstream and she flailed her hands, all while her dress weighed her down.

There was the sound of splashing water and then large arms wrapped around her waist and began to pull her out of the water.

She clung to the large man desperately, terrified and relieved at the same time.

"What were you thinking?" He snapped at her as he dropped her down on the grass and knelt before her.

"Andrew was drowning," she defended.

They both turned towards the dog which was now leisurely walking around the bank, shaking himself off and looking like he hadn't just caused a carriage load of problems.

"Well, I thought he was drowning," her teeth began to chatter and he immediately pulled off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

"You and Andrew should stay as far from each other as possible starting right this second. The combination of the two of you is a recipe for disaster," he sighed, "How are we going to explain disappearing into a maze and getting drenched?"

She giggled, "If I were not already set to marry you, I would be worried about being ruined."

"You should take more care with your life, Miss Proctor," he shook his head, "At this point, I am afraid to leave you alone for even a second lest you find yourself entangled in a similar situation."

She only laughed at how disgruntled he sounded, pleased to note the hint of worry and panic in his voice. He cared for her. He truly cared for her.

Blinking up at him, she allowed her eyes to travel up his arms. His cotton white shirt was now entirely translucent and she could see the strong muscle of his arm, the wet fabric plastered to it provocatively.

His hair still dripped water and was beginning to curl the slightest bit, falling over his face and giving him a callous air.

She watched as his own gaze took her in in turn. She followed his gaze to where her nipples stood visible against the wet fabric of her dress. The material molding against her breasts and leaving nothing to the imagination.

Her fingers itched to close his jacket around her, but instead, she opened her fists and allowed the jacket to slip off her shoulders.

"Lavinia," her name was a tortured sound bursting out of his mouth.

The Duke's nose flared and when his eyes met hers again, they looked conflicted. He looked like a man that was fighting for control and oh, how she wanted him to lose that battle against his own control.

Lavinia should have felt afraid, she was in a secluded area with a man that was staring at her like he couldn't wait to devour her piece by piece but all she felt was an answering desire to submit to the pulsing desire between them.

"Lavinia," he was closer now and his voice was barely a puff of air between them.

"Yes," she said just as softly.

His mouth brushed over hers, once, twice, the featherlight contact making her tremble. There was an ache inside of her and she knew that only the Duke could make it stop.

After what felt like years of the sweetest torture, his mouth slanted over hers in a kiss that robbed her of all thought.

Heat raced up her spine and made her curl into him. She wanted more, she was ravenous for the taste of him and when his tongue teased against the seams of her mouth, she opened for him willingly.

His hand cupped her jaw and he pulled her closer. It wasn't nearly close enough for her.

Just as his tongue slid into her mouth, the dog barked and the moment was shattered abruptly. Much to her disappointment, the Duke tore his mouth away and rose to his feet and held out his hand to her, "Come. We must go. You will catch a cold."

Ducking her head to hide her disappointed pout, she allowed him to help her to her feet and then he grabbed the dog.

As they arrived at the end of the maze, Lord Dillon, a footman and Lady Hartfield burst through the fence of shrubs. The newcomers took in their drenched appearance and then stared over at the stream behind them and then the dog with its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

"The dog was drowning," Victor said.

"Of course, Your Grace," her aunt said with a healthy amount of skepticism.

The brown haired man handed the dog off to the footman with an irritated grunt and then left the other four to trail after him.

"What happened?" Her aunt asked as they climbed into their carriage later, the large jacket still slung over her shoulders.

"The dog was drowning," she repeated the Duke's explanation.

"But you cannot swim."

"I was drowning too." Ignoring her aunt's wide eyed stare that promised more questions, she pressed her face to the glass window and closed her eyes, utterly exhausted by the excitement of the day.