Chapter 4

She had imagined him waiting for her arrival, as she made the long coach ride from London. He was older than she, and thin-

ner. Not frail, but with a slight stoop. Grey hair. She’d added spectacles, since they always seemed to make the wearer less

intimidating.And a kind smile.A little sad, perhaps, since he’d waited so long after the death of his wife to seek a new one.

But he did not seek, she reminded herself. Lady Danbury had done all the seeking, and this introduction had been arranged with his mother. She added shy, to his list of attributes. He was a retiring country gentleman and not the terrifying rake or

high-flyer that Lady Danbury had been most qualified to warn her about. She would be polite. He would be receptive. They

would deal well together.

And when, eventually, the details of her circumstances needed to be explained, he would have grown so fond of her that he would accept them without any reservations . Without warning, the door opened behind her and she spun to face it. Her heart thumped in her chest and she threw away the image she’d been creating. The man in front of her was no quiet country scholar. Nor some darkly handsome, brooding rake. He entered the room like sunlight streaming through a window.

Not so old, she thought. He must have married young. And his face bore no marks of the grief, no lines of long-born sorrow. It was open and friendly. She relaxed a little and returned his smile. It was impossible not to. His eyes sparkled like a glass of tall wine.. And they were as blue as…

She faltered. Not the sky. The sky in the city had been grey. The sea? She’d never seen it, so she was not sure.

Flowers, perhaps. But not the sensible flowers found in a kitchen garden. Something planted in full sun that had no use but to bring pleasure to the viewer.

His hair was much easier to describe. It shone gold in the light from the low fire.

‘Well, well, well. And who do we have here?’ His voice was low and pleasant and the warmth of it made her long to draw near to him. And when she did, she was sure he would smell of expensive soap. And his breath would be sweet. She almost shivered at the thought that she might soon know for sure. She dropped a curtsy.

He continued to stare at her in puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. You have the better of me. As far as I know, we weren’t expecting any guests.’

She frowned. ‘My guardian wrote to your mother. It was supposed to be all arranged. Of course, I was rather surprised

when there was no one to meet the coach, but…’

He was frowning now, but there was a look of dawning comprehension. ‘I see. If my mother arranged it, that would

explain why you expected…’ He paused again and began cautiously. ‘Did you know my mother well?’

‘Me? No, not at all. My guardian and she were school friends. They corresponded.’ She fumbled in her bag and removed the damp and much-handled letter of introduction, offering it to him.

‘Then you didn’t know of my mother’s illness.’ He took the letter and scanned it, eyebrows raised as he glanced over at her. Then he slipped off his fashionable dark jacket and revealed the black armband tied about the sleeve of his shirt.

‘I’m afraid you’re six weeks too late to have an appointment with my mother, unless you have powers not possessed by

the other members of this household. The wreath’s just off the door. I suppose it’s disrespectful of me to say so, but you

didn’t miss much. At the best of times, my mother was no pleasure. Here, now…’

He reached for her as she collapsed into the chair, no longer heeding the water soaking into the upholstery from

her sodden gown.

‘I thought, since you didn’t know her… I didn’t expect this to affect you so. Can I get you something…scotch…?

Decanter empty again…John! Damn that man.’He threw open the door and shouted down the hall, trying to locate the

muttering butler. ‘John! Where’s the scotch?’

So she’d arrived dripping wet, unescorted and unexpected, into a house of mourning, with a dubious letter of introduction, expecting to work her way into the affections of a duke and secure an offer before he asked too many questions and sent her home. She buried her head in her hands, wishing that she could soak into the carpet and disappear like the rain trickling from her gown.

‘What the hell is going on?’ His Grace had found someone, but the answering voice in the hall was clearly not the butler. ‘Archie, what is the meaning of shouting up and down the halls for scotch? Have you no shame at all? Drink the house dry if you must, but have the common decency to do it in quiet.’ The voice grew louder as it approached the open doorway.

‘And who is this? I swear to God, Archie, if this drowned rat is your doing, be damned to our mother’s memory, I’ll throw you out in the rain, scotch and girl and all.’

Miranda looked up to find a stranger framed in the doorway. He was everything that the other man was not. Dark hair, with a streak of grey at each temple, and a face creased by bitterness and hard living. An unsmiling mouth. And his eyes were the grey of a sky before a storm. Strength and power radiated from him like heat from the fire.

The other man ducked under his arm and strode back into the room, proffering a glass of scotch. Then he reconsidered and kept it for himself, taking a long drink before speaking.

‘For a change, dear brother, you can’t blame this muddle on me. The girl is your problem, not mine, and comes courtesy of our departed mother.’ He waved the letter of introduction in salute before passing it to his brother. ‘May I present Lady Gwen Lewis, here to see his Grace the Duke of ThornHill .’ The blond man grinned.

‘You’re the duke?’She looked to the imposing man in the doorway and wondered how she could have been so wrong.

When this man had entered the room, his brother had faded to insignificance. She tried to stand up to curtsy again, but her knees gave out and she plopped back on to the sofa. The water in her boots made a squelching sound as she moved.

He stared back. ‘Of course I’m the duke. This is my home you’ve come to. Who were you expecting to find? The

Prince Regent?’

The other man grinned. ‘I think she was under the mistaken impression that I was the duke. I’d just come into the library, looking for the bottle of scotch, and found her waiting here…’

‘For how long?’ snapped his brother.

‘Moments. Scant moments, although I would have enjoyed more time alone with Lady Gwen. She’s a charming conversationalist.’

‘And, during this charming conversation, you neglected to mention your name, and allowed her to go on in her mistake.’ He turned from his brother to her.

His gaze caught hers and held it a moment too long as though he could read her heart in her eyes. She looked away in embarrassment and gestured helplessly to the letter of introduction. ‘I was expected. I had no idea…about your

mother.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Not as sorry as I am.’ He scanned the letter. ‘Damn that woman. She made me promise. But it was a deathbed

promise, and I said the words hoping her demise would absolve me of action.’