Page 12 of A Virgin to Tempt the Duke

The grounds were larger than they had appeared from the carriage the previous night, which had shown Anna only the dark outline of things.

In the morning, they were something else entirely, almost out of a fairytale. She could walk them every day, she thought, finding some new detail in the ornate stonework of the façade, or delicate gardens that surrounded it. The gardens had gone to the unadorned beauty of late season. The borders were stripped back, the beds mulched and dark, the kitchen garden harvested and waiting for a new spring.

“The rose garden is through there,” Rachel said, gesturing toward a gap in the hedge as they walked. “Frederick had it redesigned three years ago. It’s better in June, obviously, but even now… We should go through later!”

“How large is the estate?” Anna asked.

“Very.” Rachel said with a laugh. “Several hundred acres, I think? I never remember the exact figure. Frederick knows it to the yard. Naturally.”

They came around the east side of the house, where the formal gardens gave way to the working parts of the property. There was the kitchen garden wall, the icehouse, the path that led down toward the home farm, and beyond that, set at a slight angle to the house as old stable blocks often were, the long stone building whose sounds reached them before they saw it.

Anna savored the soft percussion of hooves, the low breath and shift of horses in their stalls.

Two figures stood in the yard outside. One was the stablemaster; he was a broad, weathered man in his fifties who was holdinga set of papers, his spine erect with the pride of someone delivering information he considered important. Naturally, he was speaking to His Grace.

The Duke of Rathbourne was in riding clothes again, coat dark, hat dispensed with despite the chill, and he was listening to the stablemaster with the same quality of attention he’d brought to Rachel’s arguments and Anna’s plea. Anna noticed how complete and unhurried his focus was, as though nothing else was occurring anywhere in the world that required him.

He said something. The stablemaster nodded, turned over a page. It hit Anna hard in the gut, just how handsome the Duke was, how the golden hues of his sandy-brown hair glimmered in the sunlight, how tall and broad-shouldered…

Then, a cat appeared from nowhere, moving casually as any cat who feels at home. Then, the feline threaded itself between the Duke’s boots with the ease of long practice, once, twice, tail raising briefly in greeting. Despite the gesture, the Duke didn’t stop talking.

This is most surprising, Anna thought to herself, unable to look away.

The Duke bent down, and his hand found the back of the cat’s ears. He scratched expertly, and his voice continued speaking without interruption.

Anna could make out some words, something about the papers the stablemaster was holding. Then, the cat pressed up into hishand, and the Duke’s fingers moved absentmindedly, like he’d done this ten thousand times before.

“I’ll have the papers to you by this afternoon, Your Grace.” The stablemaster collected the pages, touched his hat in the general direction of Rachel and Anna, and removed himself back toward the stables with purpose.

The Duke straightened and his hand, Anna noticed, lowered to his side as though it had not been doing anything in particular. They came across the yard toward him, Rachel in front.

“Percy looks well,” Rachel said, pleasantly.

“He usually does.” The Duke looked at the cat, who was now sitting two feet away with his tail curled around his paws.

Percy was a handsome animal, large, with thick grey fur. His enormous green eyes blinked slowly, with the look of something that had been well-fed for its entire life and knew it.

“He’s yours, Your Grace?” Anna said.

He glanced at her. “He lives here.”

“Percy is very much Frederick’s cat,” Rachel said, “though if you ask Frederick, he will tell you that Percy earns his place.”

“He keeps the mouse population manageable,” the Duke said. “A cat is an important asset for country residences.”

“He keeps the kitchen staff on edge, too,” Rachel said with a wry smile. “Can you believe that Frederick feeds him roast chicken under the table and now Percy considers it a personal affront when the kitchen produces anything else?” She tilted her head at her brother. “I heard from one of our footmen that just last month, Percy sat outside the kitchen door for forty minutes until someone brought him a piece of the Sunday ham.”

“He is resourceful,” he said.

“He isspoiled,” Rachel answered.

The Duke said nothing further, which Anna was beginning to understand was its own form of admission. She looked at Percy, who was sitting in a stripe of pale autumn sun with an expression of profound satisfaction. She felt an immediate warmth for the cat. She’d been fond of animals since she was a small girl, but London townhouses—and any property of Jonathan’s—were no place for a pet.

She crouched down, her skirts settled around her, and extended her hand. “Good day,” she said, in the voice she had always used with animals—low, undemanding.

Percy looked at her hand and sniffed. He looked at her face. He looked back at her hand. Then he stood, stretched with magnificent slowness, all spine arching, front paws extending, and sauntered away.

Anna straightened and stood, disappointed.