His Three-Day Duchess

She trudged further down the corridor and stopped at the closed door of the Duke’s study. Her husband had very rarely spent any time at Stonehaven. He would customarily visit the house twice a year to meet with his steward and inspect the house and grounds for himself. When he was in residence the door to his study would always be closed. All other times, the door to the room was left open. Even though she knew that Mr Alexander was probably inside with Mr Finley, the sight of the closed door made her muscles tighten as if she was anticipating Skeffington throwing it open and berating her for some minor faux pas. She could still picture his wrinkled lips, his yellowed teeth and the spittle that would form in the corners of his mouth when he would yell. The only consolation to leaving Stonehaven and finding a new house in London was that she would never have to look at that door or be inside that room again.

The next room was the Blue Drawing Room. When she tried to turn the door handle and go inside, she was surprised to find the room was locked. Why would he bother locking it? There was nothing of real value inside. Did he fear she would steal a deck of playing cards on her way out of the house? Or perhaps he believed she was inordinately fond of the Meissen dogs that lined the carved cream-coloured mantel of the fireplace?

The man really was a mystery. All that she knew about him was what she had been told by Lord Liverpool and Mr Nesbit. After Skeffington had died, they had informed her that his nephew, who was his presumptive heir, had also died two months prior in a riding accident. The ducal seat was to go to a distant cousin of her late husband and it had taken great pains to finally track Mr Simon Alexander down somewhere in Sicily. She didn’t know why he had been there, or how long he had been staying there. No one really seemed to know.

What she did know was that he had not returned to England for almost six months after Skeffington had died and the delay meant that for almost six months she was a woman without a home—until the will was read and she learned the remainder of her life would be lived out in the far north of England, away from everything that was familiar to her.

When she reached the armoury, she was relieved to discover it had remained unchanged. As she walked inside, she immediately recalled the sound of Juliet’s laughter the summer they decided to take fencing lessons with Monsieur LeBatt. Skeffington had decided to spend that summer at his ancestral home and there was no chance that he would be venturing down to Dorset in the heat. It felt like a form of rebellion to take the lessons and she found they helped to release some of the anger she felt towards her husband and towards her deceased parents who had arranged the marriage.

The four suits of armour that had belonged to Skeffington’s ancestors still stood sentry in the corners of the red room, gleaming in the late afternoon sun that was streaming in through the long windows. Ancient broadswords and ceremonial swords were hung on the great expanse of wall opposite the fireplace and the small swords that Monsieur LeBatt had used to teach her to fence were hung on the wall between the windows. There was no telling the last time a fire had burned in the hearth and when she took one of the small swords off the wall, the metal grip was cool in her hand through her silk glove.

The weight of the weapon felt familiar and, with a swish of the blade, Lizzy saluted the imaginary image of her old fencing master. He had taught her so much that summer and she tried to recall why she had not taken lessons with him the following year. She did remember Monsieur LeBatt telling her on one particular afternoon that she had quick instincts, which made her a formidable opponent. She liked to believe he was telling her the truth and not simply flattering her because she was paying him to teach her. False flattery was one of the things she liked least about possessing her prestigious title.

She lifted the blade straight out to her right side and lowered her knees a few inches. Placing her left hand up in the air at a ninety-degree angle from her body and turning her head towards the blade, she lunged to her right. The stretch of her thigh muscles felt heavenly after spending a good portion of the day in her carriage and she let out an unladylike groan.

The movement had somehow also relieved some of the tension in her shoulders that she hadn’t been aware was there and she tilted her neck from side to side to stretch it, as well. Rolling her shoulders, she adjusted her grip, then resumed her position and lunged again. This time she bounced off her soles as she lunged, taking a leap forward before retreating back to her original stance. The narrowness of the cut of this particular gown was somewhat restrictive and prevented her from lunging as far as she wanted. Needing a deep stretch of her legs, she picked up the skirt of her gown with her left hand so the hem was above her knees and once more she bounced off her soles and lunged towards the window.

A choking sound came from behind her and she spun around, sword in hand, and instinctively pointed the blade directly at the figure of the Duke standing in the doorway. His surprised expression must have matched her own because she felt her eyes widen and she immediately let go of her skirt. The downward swoop of the fine woollen fabric of her grey travelling gown pushed her cotton petticoat and chemise against her legs. For a moment, she feared she would trip if she took a step forward.

‘How long have you been standing there?’ she demanded, wanting to run out of the room from the embarrassment of knowing he had seen her legs.

‘Long enough to hear you utter an impressive grunt and appear to wish to attack the curtains.’

Thank God he hadn’t mentioned her legs. ‘I was not attacking the curtains.’

‘It wouldn’t bother me if you were.’ His gaze shifted to the red-velvet curtains behind her. ‘I don’t really care for them.’

‘These curtains were quite expensive and complement this room perfectly. The colour speaks of past battles and is a testament to the men who fought them. Your ancestors, I might add.’

‘I should have known the design of this room was your idea,’ he said, glancing around the room before striding towards her with his open banyan billowing out behind him, revealing an impressive chest, which was covered up by his blue waistcoat.

Once more that bare neck of his caught her eye and his commanding presence made the large room feel smaller. Lizzy shifted in her stance before she unconsciously tightened her grip on the handle of the sword and steadied her hand.

He walked right up to the tip of the blade so it was pointing at his heart, all the while looking into her eyes as if to challenge her. ‘This room is a bit too theatrical for my taste.’

She narrowed her gaze on him. ‘Are you insinuating I’m theatrical?’

‘I have seen curtains just like those in the opera houses in Italy,’ he replied offhandedly.

He had ignored her question. She hated it when people ignored her. She was the Duchess of Skeffington. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Are you calling me theatrical?’

‘That might be one word to describe you. I suppose dramatic is a more accurate word.’ With the tip of his finger he slowly guided the blade of the sword away from his chest.

‘And the other words you think describe me?’ she asked, lowering the small sword to her side, annoyed that he had the ability to fluster her so much that she had forgotten she had been aiming a weapon at him.

‘I don’t think you really want me to say what the other words are.’

‘If I didn’t want you to tell me, I wouldn’t have asked.’

He walked to the wall between the windows and selected a sword, testing the grip in his very masculine-looking hand. Without gloves, she could see he did not have the hands of a man who led a pampered life. They weren’t smooth and pale like many of the men of the ton whose hands resembled a larger version of those of a child. His hands were tanned, like the colour of the gardeners’ skins when they worked outside in the summer. The pronounced veins on the top of his hand seemed to pump while he adjusted his grip—and she took note of a narrow scar about two inches in length near his wrist. Lizzy didn’t think she had ever paid this much attention to a man’s hand before now.

He waved the blade in the air towards the window and the setting sun glinted off the metal. With his eye, he appeared to check the straightness of the blade. ‘I suppose another word I would use to describe you is wilful.’

Lizzy pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin. ‘That doesn’t sound like a compliment.’

‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ he replied with his back to her as he selected another sword.

‘Are you ever civil, Mr Alexander?’

Calling him Skeffington just felt wrong. He was not her late husband—far from it. She could have referred to him as Duke, but at this moment she had no wish to remind him they shared their elevated status. At this moment, she wanted to remind him that she was a duchess and had been given the title long before he ever stepped foot into Mr Nesbit’s law office.

‘Mr Alexander, is it?’ A small smile tugged at his lips, as if he found her amusing.

Kittens were amusing. Small children were amusing. She was a duchess. She was not amusing!

‘That was the name you were given, is it not?’ she replied sharply.

‘It is and I had gone by that name for thirty-five years until people began to call me by my new one. It has been a while since anyone has called me Mr Alexander.’

If she thought it would have pleased him in some odd way to refer to him by his original name, she would have called him Skeffington instead. ‘Why do you consider me wilful?’

He turned back to her with a different sword in his hand. ‘You truly are asking me that question? You? The woman who wanted to switch houses with me and, when I refused, came to the house she wanted anyway and proceeded to enter—uninvited, I might add—and order my servants around.’ He brought the handle of the sword to his eye and looked down the length of the blade, once more appearing to see how straight it was. Then his eyes met hers. ‘I would say that was wilful. What would you call it?’

A warm rush was rising up her neck and into her cheeks. ‘I don’t know what I would call it. Resourceful, maybe.’

‘Rude...you could also call it rude.’

‘I have never been called rude in my life.’

‘Maybe not openly, but I suspect it has been whispered about you behind your back.’

‘Of all the nerve!’ Lizzy tightened her grip on the sword’s handle that she was holding down by her side.

He lowered his sword and cocked his head, looking her in the eye. ‘Why are you still here? I was very generous to allow you and your aunt to take tea before continuing on your journey to harass another homeowner somewhere in the country. I agreed to allow you to stay with the understanding that when you were finished, you would go on your merry way and leave this house. Imagine my surprise when I showed Mr Finley to the door and was asked by my butler if he should have my housekeeper arrange for rooms for you and Mrs Sommersby to stay the night.’

She felt a small weight lift from her chest at the idea she might have another day to walk the halls of this house she had long thought of as her home. ‘And what did you tell him?’

‘That it wasn’t necessary to have rooms arranged for the both of you since I would make sure you left shortly. I did, however, tell him to make certain your servants were fed so they had something warm in their bellies for the journey ahead. Your servants should not have to suffer because their mistress had made a foolish decision.’

‘I don’t make foolish decisions.’ Not any that she would admit to him at least.

He arched his brow and did not appear convinced. ‘You arrived on my doorstep in the middle of winter, from who knows how far away, assuming I would not be here and you and your aunt would be granted use of my house by my staff. That sounds foolish to me.’

‘It was a risk worth taking. My aunt resides in Bath. It is not too far a journey from here. If we had been unable to stay, we would simply have continued on to her home. Haven’t you ever tried something just to see if it was possible?’

‘More times than I’d care to admit. Is that what you were doing in coming here today? You were just trying to see if you could indeed stay here for a while. What is it about this house that makes you want it so badly?’

She couldn’t confess the complete truth to him. It would make her sound pathetic and needy. Let him believe whatever he wanted. Maybe there was still a way to convince him that he would be happier in the dark and sombre designs of Clivemoore House. Its dark colours would suit his grumpy disposition.

Chapter Five

Simon was well aware his mouth had dropped open and his breeches had tightened when he saw the Duchess of Skeffington raise her skirts and unknowingly give him the chance to admire her very shapely long legs from the open doorway of the armoury. He didn’t want to admire anything about her. She was a haughty, materialistic woman who could agitate him like no other. But there was no denying she had legs that went on for ever and, for just an instant, he imagined skimming his hands up them.

Then she turned and pointed that sword of hers at him and he was reminded that she had the type of temperament that made it distinctly possible that she could turn that metal sword to ice simply by holding it.

In the late afternoon light that was now casting her face in a warm glow, he watched her attempt to gather the right words to explain to him why she couldn’t give up Stonehaven. He suspected she was trying to think of something to say that didn’t reveal that she wanted the higher income Stonehaven would bring to her over Clivemoore. He waited for her to offer some sentimental tale, like she had spent her honeymoon here, but she remained silent. Shortly after the old Duke’s will was read, he met with the man’s secretary, Mr Mix, and was informed of the profitability of each of the estates. Surprisingly, Clivemoore was the least profitable, bringing in eight thousand pounds per year. Stonehaven brought in ten thousand.

Simon was not about to give that income and this house to the Duchess. The Blue Drawing Room currently stored items that had come over on the ship with him from France and, although he would barely be spending any time at Stonehaven, the estate provided him with a tidy income that he could use to support both the house and some of his future excavations.

He couldn’t imagine why she had wandered into the armoury. Had she left something here that she wanted back? He understood that the contents of all the houses were his and she had no right to take any of the items with her to Clivemoore unless he granted her permission. He had no attachment to any of the things that were owned by his predecessor. He felt no sense of fondness for the family who had deserted his father when he married Simon’s French Huguenot mother. If the Duchess were honest with him about what she was looking for in the house, he might be inclined to give it to her, but she was not getting Stonehaven. It was the one thing he was grateful he had inherited with this damned title that placed too much attention on him and disrupted his plans.

She toyed with her emerald necklace. ‘Surely you must know by now that I was responsible for redecorating a number of rooms in this house. I simply like it here. It suits me.’

‘You say this house suits you,’ he said, ‘but as you can see, I am slowly going to be redecorating it to suit my taste. This house will not look the way you will fondly remember it when I am through with it.’

There was a slight twitch to her eye, letting him know that his statement had affected her.

‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You are enjoying taunting me with the fact that the one thing I want, I cannot have.’

‘Is this truly the only thing in this world that you cannot have?’

There was a hesitation and he could tell her thoughts had wandered to something else—probably the grand ducal seat in Somerset that was the most profitable and prestigious of the Skeffington estates that could never be used as a Dowager House. But he knew by the set of her posture that she wasn’t about to share her thoughts with him. At least she was not a hysterical female. He would give her that. Some women would have pleaded and cried to try to sway his decision. He had the impression the Duchess would have preferred to walk for days in the desert without water before she shed one tear in front of him.

‘This house means a great deal to me as you can see,’ she said, looking away towards the windows, ‘however, I will not have you taunt me about it. You will be very happy to hear I will be leaving now. I find I cannot stand to be in your presence much longer.’

She walked over towards the window and lifted her small sword to hang it back up on the wall. Knowing that she was about to leave should have made him happy. And yet...

‘How is it that you know how to hold a sword such as that one?’ he asked, trying to understand even an insignificant thing about her.

She appeared somewhat startled by the change in conversation. ‘I took fencing lessons here years ago.’

‘Are you any good?’

‘I’ve been told I am.’

‘By whom?’

She raised her chin. ‘By Monsieur LeBatt, my fencing master.’

He hadn’t heard of the man, but he’d been out of the country most of his life. In all likelihood Monsieur LeBatt had given her the compliment to ensure she continued to pay him for his instruction.

Their eyes held for several heartbeats, neither one seeming in a hurry to look away. There was something between them. He could not name it, but he did know that whatever it was, it had not been settled yet, and in his gut he didn’t believe it had anything to do with the house.

‘I believe you put that sword away prematurely,’ he said, feeling the edges of his mouth curl up with the idea that popped into his head. He had a way to ensure that the issue of who got to live in Stonehaven was settled once and for all. He didn’t want her showing up on his doorstep to be a regular occurrence. The only question was, would Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, be up for the challenge?

Her brows furrowed. ‘I don’t understand. You do not wish me to return the sword to the wall?’

He walked over to her so they were only a few feet apart. Standing this close to her, he could make out faint freckles on her nose. He had never noticed them before. It must have been a play of the light. ‘I have a proposition for you.’

‘What kind of proposition?’ she asked with a dubious expression.

‘Fear not. I am not interested in your virtue.’

A flash of what might have been anger flickered in her large brown eyes, which didn’t make any sense. Did she want him to seduce her?

The waning sunlight bounced off the blade of the sword he held down against his side. ‘What do you say we make a wager for this house?’

Her expression changed to one of interest, although it appeared she might be holding her emotions in check and trying to suppress some form of excitement that now danced in her eyes. ‘I’m listening.’

He stalked around her, taking open measure of her form just to irk her. She moved in a circle with him so they remained face-to-face. Perhaps Adam was right. She could be considered attractive with her fine features and her big doe-like eyes.

Simon wet his top lip with the tip of his tongue. ‘I was wondering if you would care to duel for it?’

‘You expect me to shoot you for this house?’ Her astonishment was evident in her tone.

‘No, nothing that drastic. I was wondering if you would care to have a duel with the small swords—that is, if you are confident enough in your fencing skills.’

A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘How should we determine the winner?’

‘The first one to touch the other with the tip of the blade?’

Her eyes darkened and she pressed her lips together in a firm line. ‘How about the first one to draw blood?’

Simon had found a keen sense of satisfaction in shocking her with his proposal, but her suggestion had shocked him in return and it must have been evident from his expression. Who knew Elizabeth, the Duchess of Skeffington, shared his adventurous side?

‘Drawing first blood is an absolute,’ she explained. ‘No one can deny when it happens.’

‘Are you saying you think I will cheat if we duel my way?’

‘I am saying there is no room for contradictory reports. Blood is blood. There will be no denying when it is shed.’

‘How much blood are we talking about?’

‘Not much. Only a scratch. Do you think you can manage to prick me?’

Simon had no idea if she was aware of how her question could be taken and that notion made him let out a low laugh, which seemed to ignite fire in her eyes.

‘Oh, I think I can manage to prick you quite well,’ he replied through his smile.

She huffed at him and spun on her heels to retrieve the same sword she had been holding when he had caught her lunging at the curtains.

‘You agree, then,’ he called out.

As she turned to face him, she pointed the tip of her blade at his chest. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

He had learned swordplay on naval ships and had become quite adept over the years. Wearing his banyan would never do if he intended to show her what a great swordsman he was. As he walked towards the wall of broadswords, he shook himself out of it and laid it down on the sofa that was positioned against the wall. When he turned around and began rolling up his sleeves, he caught the eye of the Duchess, frozen in place staring at him.

He was well aware that he should not be in her presence in just his shirtsleeves and his waistcoat, but they had agreed to a duel. That was highly improper, as well, and she hadn’t hesitated to agree to that.

He walked towards her, his breath catching in his throat when she began biting the tips of each of her fingers to slip her hands out of her lavender-silk gloves. The very act conjured up the erotic image of her stripping out of that gown.

‘You might want to keep them on,’ he managed to say without his voice cracking. ‘They will offer your hands a bit of protection.’

‘I will take that risk.’ She turned and tossed them to the base of a window where they landed in the puddle of a red-velvet curtain.

He stalked her like a lion eyeing its prey. In his entire life he had never fought a woman. It went against the very core of who he was. Yet knowing that all of her attention was going to be focused on him was making his blood rush through his body. There was a determination and a confidence about her manner that he actually found strangely attractive. This was not a woman who would fold up into a ball when the cards were stacked against her. This was a woman who was willing to meet life’s challenges head-on. And as much as he didn’t like her, he could respect that part of who she was.

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