Ignoring the woman's grim comment, Audra leaped up, convinced that she would find the little beast still lurking somewhere beneath the furniture, ready to growl at her again.
But she looked under all the chairs without finding any sign of the pug. It was then that her gaze fell upon the window that she had cracked open earlier. With a sinking heart, she saw that it had been shoved much wider than she had left it.
"Oh, blast and perdition!" Stomping through the long window into the garden, she placed her fingers to her lips and emitted a series of unladylike, but expert whistles.
Of course, there was no response. Audra prepared to retreat to the house, shrugging her shoulders. Surely the pug could not be so stupid as to be unable to find her way back home.
Yet uneasily she recalled the report of Jack Coachman. The pug had been seen heading for Raeburn's Wood. It might easily become confused or worse. It might encounter a real dog that would make a meal of it.
Audra muttered imprecations under her breath, but she saw no other remedy. She was going to have to go look for the foolish beast. Cecily was distressed enough already. Audra could hardly face her over the supper table and inform her that her beloved Frou-frou had gone missing.
Pausing only long enough to snatch up her old crimson shawl and a leash, Audra bolted through her front door and down the steps. In her haste, she nearly collided with the young gentleman who lingered in the lane.
Mr. Gilmore had yet to take his leave. His cherubic face wistful above his strangling neckcloth, he stood gazing up toward Cecily's window.
Although startled by Audra's sudden appearance, he recovered, sweeping his curly brimmed beaver from his pomaded locks. "Oh, Miss Masters! Good afternoon. I was so distressed to hear that Miss Cecily—"
"Your pardon, sir." Audra thrust him unceremoniously aside, having neither the time nor patience for lovelorn youths at the moment. "I cannot stop now. The little bitch has escaped. I have to haul her back by the scruff of her neck."
Audra rushed on, oblivious to Mr. Gilmore's open-mouthed expression. He followed her progress down the lane, slowly returning his hat to his head. He had heard stories about the eccentric Miss Masters, how stern she could be, even cruel to her younger sister, but he hadn't credited a word of it. Now he could see plainly those tales were all too true.
CHAPTER THREE
Several hours later, Audra tramped along the lane skirting Raeburn's Wood, dried leaves crunching beneath her feet. She had lost both her lace cap and her temper, but was no nearer to recovering Cecily's wretched dog.
Clenching the leash tight in her fist, she muttered, "When I get my hands upon that little cur, I'll wrap this about her throat." But beneath this fierce threat was a growing sense of unease. The pug had never strayed this far afield before.
When her continued whistles and calls met with no response, she was almost on the verge of doubling back when she heard an answering bark. But such a deep baying could hardly come from Cecily's dog.
While she hesitated, listening, any doubts she may have had were put to rest. Rounding the turn in the lane came two sleek hounds with plumed tails waving. The beasts were hard followed by a rider, a short stocky man mounted upon a gray hunter.
Audra stiffened, having no difficulty in recognizing the local master of the hunt. Sir Ralph Entwhistle was as notorious for his poor seat as for his unruly pack of dogs. Audra had an urge to dive for cover, but it was already too late.
Sir Ralph had spotted her; and man, horse, and dogs bore down upon her at full cry.
"Miss Masters! Huick halloa!"
Audra could never decide what annoyed her most, the way he always greeted her as if she were a vixen on the run or his loud, braying laugh.
She skirted back as he reined his sweating mount close beside her, his dogs barking and leaping at her frock with their muddied paws.
"Here, now. Ratterer! Bellman! Down." When the dogs failed to obey his command, he slashed out with his whip. Audra emitted a horrified protest, but the hounds were already slinking away.
Beaming, Sir Ralph tipped his tall hunter's hat, revealing carroty waves of hair; his bluff features nearly the same shade of red.
"G'day Miss Masters. What're you doin' afoot? Lose your horse?" The baronet guffawed at his own wit.
"No! But I fear you are about to lose yours." She reached up to stroke the nose of Entwhistle's hunter, the beast lathered with sweat, badly winded. "Fie upon you, sir! You have nearly ridden this poor creature into the ground."
"Not this lazy brute. I but showed him a good run. Oh, but we had excellent sport today, Miss Masters. Cub hunting. You should have seen it."
"What I did see was my cow, wandering loose. You left my gate open again when you crossed my land."
"Pish!" Sir Ralph dismissed her complaint with a wave of his hand. "Forget about the cursed cow. I keep telling you, you ought to ride out with the hunt one morning. Exhilarating! Nothing like it. Many wenches do so nowadays."
"Wenches, certainly, but not ladies."
"Bah! I thought you'd a bit more of a dash than to be bothered by any stuffy notions of propriety. B'gawd, madam, I’ve seen you ride. Good seat, light hands."
"Unfortunately, I cannot return the compliment." Upon further inspection of Sir Ralph's horse, she was sickened to see how the poor creature's mouth had been ruined by the way he sawed at the reins.
"Even a performing monkey could be trained to ride better than you," she said. She was a little appalled by her own bluntness, but Sir Ralph only roared with laughter.
"Ha, Miss Masters! What a complete hand you are. Always jesting."
Audra stepped back, pursing her lips. She might have known that it was impossible to insult anyone with a head thicker than last Sunday's pudding. Feeling that she had already allowed him to distract her long enough, she said, "If you will excuse me, sir. I am on rather an important errand."
"I know. I noticed the leash. Searching for Miss Cecily's dog, aren't you?"
Something in Sir Ralph's grin rendered her uneasy. "Why, yes. You haven't by any chance seen it?"
"Dashed well believe I did. Mistook it for a rabbit and set my hounds after it."
Audra felt herself go pale. "You what!"
Sir Ralph shook with chuckles. "Never thought one of those little lap dogs could move so fast. Streaked off into that thicket yonder like a bolt of lightning."
Biting back a curse, Audra whirled in the direction he pointed. "Best make haste, ma'am. That little cur is likely halfway to London by now."
"Why didn't you tell me so at once, you . . . you . . ." But before Audra could think of an epithet strong enough, Sir Ralph emitted another of his donkeylike brays, slashed at his horse, and galloped off, his hounds tearing after him.
Seething with frustrated rage, Audra could only glower at his retreating form. She was angered enough to wish the earth would be rent asunder and send that heedless dolt to the devil—that is as long as the dogs and horse could make it to safety.
But she had little time to waste cursing Sir Ralph. Hiking up her skirts, she raced toward the spot where the baronet claimed to have last seen Cecily's dog. Audra plunged deep into the thicket herself. Sharp twigs scratched her hands and one low-lying branch tangled in her hair.
Pausing long enough to free the stray tendril, she consigned Sir Ralph to perdition. He and his galumphing hounds had made her task thrice as difficult. Cecily's poor pug could be cowering anywhere, by now too terrified to even respond to Audra's calls.
Yet she kept pausing to whistle, kept struggling forward. She figured she must have come more than five miles all told. An indefatigable walker, the distance itself did not bother her, but she viewed with dread the sun sinking lower behind the trees. Raeburn's Wood was not exactly an untamed forest, but it was no place to wander after dark either.
Yet the alternative was unthinkable. How could she return to Cecily without the dog? Perhaps, though, she should at least work her way back to the lane. While she was pondering
this course of action, a sound carried to Audra's ear above the evening song of the lark.
She tensed, listening. It was the bark of a dog and not the full-blooded cry of anyone's hunting hound this time. No, such a disagreeable yipping could only come from Cecily's pug. Audra hesitated only long enough to determine the exact direction of the sound before charging after it.
Shoving branches aside, Audra made her way forward. Her head bent down, she was in nowise prepared to suddenly break free into a clearing. Stumbling a little, she gazed upward and caught her breath.
The Castle Raeburn itself loomed before her, those turrets of white stone bathed in the last golden light of the dying sun. Never having been so close to the castle before, Audra could only stare. It was like something out of Ivanhoe or a fairy story. The crenellated battlements, the arched, leaded-glass windows, the whimsical cone-capped towers all shimmered in the murky waters of the moat.
Tendrils of ivy crept up the walls, giving the impression of a place abandoned to the mists of time. Almost unnaturally silent at the twilight hour, the castle conveyed an aura of enchantment, whispers of a most delicious danger to any foolish enough to invade its mystical circle. Although generally not given to romantic fancies, Audra hesitated to take a step nearer.
But the spell was broken by the sight of Cecily's pug scampering alongside the moat, growling. Far from appearing overcome by her recent encounter with Sir Ralph's hounds, the idiotic dog was harrying one of the majestic swans swimming past the bank. The creature arched its long white neck, beat its wings, and hissed.
Relief to find the pug unharmed mingled with a sharp sense of irritation. Her reluctance to trespass forgotten, Audra rushed forward, covering the dozen yards or so between herself and the dog. Too late did it occur to Audra that she should have approached with more caution.
Spying her, the leash in her hand, the pug made a break for it, taking refuge beneath a clump of thick bushes along the moat's edge.
Audra swore and began snapping off twigs as she fought to part the branches. "Come out of there, you little—"
She managed to curb her temper, realizing that her angry tone of voice was only making the situation worse. The pug crouched deeper beneath the bush, growling at her. Audra hunkered down. She would never be able to coax the dog out unless she employed Cecily's manner and made her voice sticky sweet with endearments.
Gritting her teeth, Audra managed to coo, "Come here, darling. That's right. Come on out to me, sweetheart."
"I appear to already be out, madam."
Audra started, momentarily disconcerted by the deep male voice that seemed to issue from the dog. She heard a footstep from behind, a large shadow falling over her. Audra rocked back on her heels, nearly losing her balance. She put her hand down on a sturdy boot, the rolled-down tops smattered with mud. Yanking her fingers back as if she had just touched a snake, her gaze locked on a pair of well-honed thighs encased in tight buckskin breeches.
Her dismay only deepened as she look upward and found herself kneeling as if in homage to a tall, powerfully built man, his silver-flecked temples emphasizing the night blackness of his hair, his dark eyes boring into her.
For a moment she couldn't move. She could not have felt more discomposed than if she had conjured up some black-hearted wizard, the genie who guarded the castle, and he looked about to reduce her to cinders with one flick of his mighty hand.
Those harsh, leathery features, that hawklike profile she had glimpsed only once before, many years ago. But it astonished her how well she recalled his face. The Scowling Duke. Only his frown was much more formidable than she remembered. Even after hearing Lady Coleby's lengthy account of His Grace's return from abroad, it was still unnerving to have him spring up so suddenly before her.
When Audra found her tongue, she blurted out, "Where the deuce did you come from?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing." Placing one gloved hand beneath her elbow, he hauled her none too gently to her feet.
Vague thoughts chased through Audra's brain of the proper way to greet a duke and she knew full well that had not been it.
"Your Grace, I beg your pardon," she faltered, hoping that despite the fearsome expression, he might prove gallant enough to help her through what was a most awkward moment.
He wasn't.
"Your Grace?" he mocked. "I thought I was your darling."
If there was anything Audra hated, it was to blush, but there was no willing down the hot tide of color that surged into her cheeks.
"Of course you must know I was not addressing you. I was—." She nearly choked to admit it. "I was talking to the dog."
"Dog?" His heavy black brows arched upward, his voice patent with disbelief.
"Yes, a small brown pug. She ran off. She's hiding right over there in those bushes."
Far from appearing convinced, the duke continued to regard her as if she had come to pinch his silverplate. Self-consciously, Audra smoothed back her hair, realizing that in her current disheveled state, she must look far from respectable. Anxious to prove her tale, she bent down and began parting the branches.
"See? The dog's right down . . ." Her voice trailed off as for the second time that day Cecily's despicable dog was not where she should have been. Nothing lurked beneath the bushes but a scattering of fallen leaves.
"She was there only a moment ago," Audra said desperately, unable to meet Raeburn's skeptical gaze. She began to stalk up and down whistling, beating the bushes, even going so far as to peer into the moat. All the while she was miserably conscious of Raeburn watching her every move, his arms folded across his chest in a posture of strained patience. As if he had indeed been a sorcerer conjuring his own sudden appearance, he seemed to have caused the dog to vanish as well.
"Damnation!" Audra exclaimed, frustrated beyond endurance. "Now I shall have to begin searching for her all over again. If you hadn't distracted me—" She bit her tongue, trying to recall whom it was she addressed. But Raeburn did not appear offended as much as disgusted.
"A creditable performance, madam," he snapped, "but I don't intend to spend the rest of my evening watching you hunt for a dog that has no existence outside of your imagination. Now what the devil are you really doing here?"
"I told you," Audra said crossly, still scanning the line of the woods for some sign of the pug. "And if you don't mind, Your Grace, I am not accustomed to being sworn at."
"No? You swore at me first," he reminded her. He stepped in front of her, the implacable wall of his shoulders blocking her line of vision. Until that moment, Audra had not fully appreciated how tall or how intimidating a figure His Grace could be.
She hated the way her pulse fluttered, her cowardly urge to retreat. She had never been a pudding heart before and wasn't about to begin now. Refusing to yield an inch, she gazed defiantly up him, although the front of her bodice nearly grazed against his waistcoat.
"Whatever your excuse for being here," he said, "I fear you are too late. All the invitations have gone out."
"Invitations?" Audra frowned. Talking to this man was worse than trying to follow one of Lady Coleby's conversations. "Invitations for what?"
"Doing it rather too brown, my dear. I am talking about the ball, as you well know."
"Oh, that. Yes, I had heard something about it."
"I'll wager you have. Well, I congratulate you, Miss . . ."
"Miss Audra Leigh Masters of Meadow—" Audra began, then stopped, thinking it perhaps less than wise to inform His Grace she was his tenant. In his present ill humor, he might be likely to evict her.
"Miss Masters, your approach is a little more original than the others. At least I have not had to endure your swooning or pulling your horse up lame."
"I never faint. I take excellent care of my horses and I haven't the vaguest notion what you are talking about."
"Take care, madam," he growled. "You have already tried my patience to its limits. I assure you I have been beset all week by ladies such as yourself.
Apparently the word has gone out there is a vacancy here for the post of duchess. Since you have gone to such effort, I suppose I should give you due consideration."
Before Audra could react, he seized her by the chin and forced her head up. Studying her through narrowed eyes, he murmured, "Hair, tolerable, although it could use a thorough brushing. Teeth appear to be good, eyes an unremarkable gray." His gaze dipped in a quick appraisal of her figure. "Rather a Long Meg, but I like that. I get tired of stooping down to talk to people."
Momentarily dumbfounded, Audra could only stare at him. She had heard tell the duke was a disagreeable man, but it had never been bruited about that he was quite mad. As the full import of his accusations finally sank in, she gave vent to an outraged gasp, striking his hand away.
"You think that I only pretended to . . . that I came here a-purpose to seek you out so I could fling myself at your head? Why, you are the most despicable coxcomb I ever met, or else a raving lunatic. Let me tell you, sir, if I was in the market for a duke, I would not be searching for one beneath the shrubberies, while carrying a leash."
Although he continued to regard her with that infuriatingly sardonic expression, a shadow of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
Trembling, Audra could scarce find words adequate to express her indignation. "I am a spinster, Your Grace, and fiercely proud of it. I have a fortune of ten thousand pounds a year, a stable with several fine horses, and a kennel full of dogs. I do not need a husband."
"I beg your pardon," he drawled.
"So you should. And furthermore, even if you had sent me an invitation, I would not come. Neither I nor my sister have any interest in attending your odious ball." Audra considered what Cecily's reaction would be if she heard Audra saying such a thing, but in her present anger, Audra gave it no more than a fleeting thought. She finished up by loftily informing the duke, "I wouldn't come to that ball even if you got down on one knee and begged."