Page 57 of Better Than a Duke
“As I keep telling you, I don’t need to be rescued. I don’t want to be rescued.” Iris realized she had her jaw clenched so tightly that it had begun to ache. Rolling her shoulders, she made her muscles relax a little. None of this was Beckett’s fault. “What I want,” she went on, picking her words with more care than she generally used, “is to have a friend on the far side of the garden wall with whom I may drink and chat on occasion—at least until our futures are settled.”
If he would stop reminding her that she was more than a mother, more than a caretaker, she would appreciate it even more, but she didn’t want to say that aloud. If she did, he might well honor her request. And at this moment, a drink and a kiss with Beckett Raines felt like the only two things that made sense in the world.
By the time they returned to Raines House and the stable, Edmund had begun making plans to teach Flintlock to jump, and Becks had decided they should visit country fairs and dazzle crowds with their equestrian skill. While Parsley helped the children, Beckett swung out of the saddle and approached her.
“May I?” he asked, lifting his arms.
“You’re brave; I’ll give you that,” she commented, sighing. “Yes, please.”
He slid his hands around her waist and lifted, his touch warm and solid and confident. With a squeak she grabbed hold of his shoulders, and he lowered her to the ground. “I still don’t know what to make of you, Iris,” he muttered.
Belatedly she relinquished her hold on his arms. “We see the world differently,” she commented, her fingers twitching with the abrupt urge to brush the stray lock of black hair off his brow. “And we manage it differently.”
“We want the same things for our children, and some… peace and stability.”
“Yes, and you’re able to find that by being charming and pretending a bit of befuddlement. When anyone throws an argument or an insult at you, you swipe it away like it’s an odd-looking bug, and you smile while you’re doing it. But you’re able to do it because you’re a man. A marquis. A wealthy one. I don’t live in that kind of fortress. I’m not allowed to be responsible for my own life and future, but I won’t be walked over. If it takes me being a duchess to an old, musty-smelling man to enable me to protect myself and my son, I’ll do that. Just as you’ll do what’s best for you and Rebecca.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “In the meantime, I hope you don’t mind a bit of levity and charm from the Raines household.”
“‘Don’t mind’?” she repeated, lifting an eyebrow. He was the only source of joy and humor she’d found in London. He and Becks, that was. “I credit you for being the only reason I haven’t gone rampaging through Mayfair in very heavy stomping boots. Don’t—”
“Where did she come from?”
“Hush, Becks.”
Iris turned to look at the children, to see their gazes on the Raines House front door. She looked, as well, and her own smilefaltered. Lady Pauline Grenedy hurried toward them, hips swishing, an excited smile on her face. “Is this what you were expecting yesterday, Beckett?” she asked, walking up until she could rub Delilah on the nose. “Oh, she’s lovely! Thank you so much.” The duke’s granddaughter looked over at Iris. “And thank you, Mrs. Silbern, for trying out her paces. I am a fairly skilled horsewoman myself, but I appreciate the extra care you’ve taken, my lord. I shall cherish her.”
As she bent again to coo at the mare, Iris sent a glance over her head at Beckett. He looked back at her, a frown on his lean face. “I—”
“What’s her name? Oh, I hope she’s a Biscuits like your other horses.”
“Pauline, I—”
“Her name is Delilah,” Iris said, cutting off what she assumed would be a protest from Beckett. He hadn’t outright said the mare was for her, though he’d certainly intimated it. That didn’t matter, and it didn’t matter that he’d only acquired Delilah yesterday. He was courting Lady Pauline. The mare could serve a much better purpose than being ridden once by a sour old widow, for heaven’s sake. “Delilah Biscuits,” she said aloud. “She seems quite good-tempered. I think you’ll adore her.”
“Delightful. I do already.” Lady Pauline turned her attention back to Beckett, who didn’t look in the mood to give anyone a gift. “Do you mind if I keep her here for a few days, darling, while I make arrangements at Grenedy House to stable her?”
“Why are you here?” the marquis asked.
“You didn’t mean to give her to me until later? I’m sorry to have spoiled the surprise, Beckett, but I’m so pleased! As it happens, I’m here to take you to luncheon. A surprise of my own, I suppose. I’ve reserved us a table at Blanchard’s. I thought wecould listen to all the odd American accents while we dine. They do frequent the establishment, you know.”
“Americans?” Edmund took up, walking closer. “Like Daniel Boone? I want to meet him.”
“Oh, dear, that’s sweet, but I very much doubt Daniel Boone is in London at the moment, much less at Blanchard’s for luncheon.” Lady Pauline turned, smiling at Beckett again. “My grandparents will be meeting us there. We should be going; I don’t wish to make you or His Grace late for your duties at Parliament this afternoon.”
“I’m not dressed for luncheon,” he said flatly.
Despite his abrupt and unmissable grumpiness, the calm, cheery smile on Lady Pauline’s face didn’t so much as twitch. “Generally, I would suggest you change your clothes, but if I may say so, you look rather pleasant in boots and a riding coat.”
Good heavens, the woman was a saint. “Go,” Iris muttered at him under her breath. “Your partner has requested your presence.”
His shoulders lowered, and Beckett cleared his throat. “Mrs. Silbern, would you mind seeing the children into the kitchen for luncheon? I had Mrs. Alliday prepare something for… you.”
Iris nodded. “Certainly. And thank you again, Lord Hentrose, for giving me the opportunity to ride. You’ve chosen a fine mare for Lady Pauline.” With a slight curtsy she took both the children’s hands and headed them toward the front door. A handy lesson, that had been, in why she didn’t like daydreams.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“How could you let her do that?” Edmund demanded, his face red and his balled fists on his hips. “After Uncle Lord Bellamy took our house? You just hand that stupid lady your horse? And you tell me to be quiet all through luncheon? Becks was crying, and you just said, ‘It’s for the best.’ Well, it’s not for the best.”
