After The Storm (11 page)

“I’ll do my best.” Edward rose unsteadily from his leather chair, finished off his drink, and set the glass back down. “I do believe I saw Maybridge earlier. If I can’t find Derek, I’ll drag him over instead.”

“Very well.” Hugh closed his eyes for a moment. His headache worsened, his leg ached, and not a one had to do with his less-than-cheerful countenance. He certainly couldn’t spill his guts to either one of those fops who sat with him. It simply wasn’t done, and he was grateful.

As it was, he’d be chided endlessly about his imminent betrothal to Lady Sally Hayworth, the most sought-after female in the whole of London, quite possibly all of England for that matter. Even after it became quite tiresome, they’d snicker and nudge each other until he was ready to put his fist through the nearest solid surface.

He’d been quite content with the notion of proposing to Sally. After all, he was nearly thirty-five years old. It was time he settled down and thought about producing an heir. He’d sown his oats to his satisfaction, and was ready to bind himself to one woman.

With his father’s death, he’d accepted he’d most likely
not
marry for love. It was his duty and one he embraced wholeheartedly. He’d resigned himself to the fact he might one day come to love Sally, but it wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

What he hadn’t counted on was meeting Miranda, whose breathless laughter and blunt observations were like the sun breaking through a dense fog. When he’d waltzed with her earlier that afternoon, he felt a stirring quite unlike any other. Her body, warm and lithe, felt wonderful against his, so very different from dancing with the tiny, fragile Lady Sally.

Now he couldn’t keep her from his thoughts.

If that wasn’t troublesome enough, he reacted to those thoughts on a physical level, as well. During their final dance of the afternoon, when her eyes met his, they were filled with such sensual promise, he had to take a step back before his own bloody body betrayed his less-than-innocent thoughts and she, in return, boxed his ears.

Miranda probably had no inkling her eyes made those blasted promises. Just as she couldn’t possibly know how the feel of her against him created such a desire, such a base need.

He wanted to whisk her away from the crowds and kiss her until she almost fainted in his arms. He wanted to pull the pins from her hair and let the ebony silk drift down to cover them as he tugged her atop him and—

“Stop it,” he muttered darkly as he reached out for his cane to get to his feet. Damn thing. It was part of him now, part of who he was, and part of who he’d always be. The sixth Duke of Thorpeton, the Crippled Duke. He’d heard the mutterings, knew some said Lady Sally only wanted his proposal in order to be the Duchess of Thorpeton. He didn’t know for certain, and chose to ignore the whispered gossip.

He felt no guilt as he shrugged into his greatcoat and summoned the Thorpeton coach. He doubted either Edward or Harry would notice his absence. Come morning, it was likely neither would remember
any
of the previous night’s activities. But for Hugh, it was time to go home. The ache in his leg was beyond being helped by brandy.

As the coach rocked away from Dunraven Tavern, he sighed heavily. He wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming house party when Elyse planned to match-make for Miranda.

His gut tightened at the thought. A bit odd, he felt so strongly. Best keep those thoughts to himself.

Still, as he sank back into the plush gray velvety seat, he wondered what it would be like to wake each morning with Miranda in his arms.

Chapter Nine

The library was blessedly quiet as Miranda stepped over the threshold. It was a haven, as only a few hours of peace remained before the guests arrived, and she was determined to enjoy the tranquility while it lasted.

A fire crackled on the hearth as she perused the shelves laden with leather-bound tomes. There were more books in this room than she’d seen in her entire life. As she loved to read, it was like heaven, surrounded by so many rare and beautiful volumes. However, her joy was short-lived as she skimmed a row of titles and not one caught her interest.

“I hadn’t realized anyone was in here.” She jumped at Hugh’s unexpected presence, and swung about with a squeak of surprise. Hugh chuckled as he stumped into the room. “Anything catch your fancy?”

“Unfortunately, no. I find history to be a bit...ah...dull, I’m afraid.” She stepped back from the shelves.

His left foot scuffed loudly against the wood as he moved closer. Only the carpet muffled the sound. “What
does
interest you, then?”

“I like novels. Shakespeare. Poetry. Books of that nature.” She peered over her shoulder at him. “And you?”

“I find history fascinating, myself. You might enjoy Walter Scott. Historical fiction. Quite interesting, really.” Hugh stepped up behind her and she froze as he brushed against her. He reached over her shoulder to lift a volume from a shelf just above her head. “Do you read him at all?”

“I can’t say that I have.” She took the rather thick book. “
Waverley.
Have you read this?”

He nodded. “I’m a bit surprised you haven’t. I think you’ll enjoy it. If not, you might want to flip through this, instead.”

“
A History of New York
?” She looked up at him and frowned. “Why would I be interested in this?”

“The book is scathingly funny. I brought it back from America with me. Irving, or Knickerbockers, the name he used for this particular book, is an American author.”

“America,” she mused, staring down at the book’s crackled cover. “Did you spend much time there?” She looked up in time to see him flinch. “Is something the matter?”

“While I appreciate Irving, I try
not
to think about America.” He stepped back and pivoted to make his way toward the sofa.

She placed
A History of New York
atop
Waverley
, and lifted the cover to the first creamy-looking page. “You haven’t answered me, Your Grace. Did you spend much time in America?”

He groaned softly as he sank down onto the leather sofa. “More than I care to dwell upon, actually. The memories are not of a pleasant nature, I’m afraid.”

She closed the book and turned to see him rubbing his left knee. Gesturing with both books, she asked, “Has it something to do with your limp?”

He nodded as he continued to rub. “It does.”

The books tucked beneath her arm, she crossed to him and perched on the gracefully curved sofa arm. “What happened? If you do not mind my asking this time.”

He didn’t answer, but his hand went still as he stared at his leg with hard eyes. Then, he sucked in a sharp breath and his shoulders tensed. She waited, the books warm as she rested them against the front of her thigh, her gaze still upon him. After several more minutes of silence, she murmured, “Hugh?”

It was a bold move, but it seemed to jolt him from his thoughts as he closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, “I’d rather not discuss it.”

There was no anger in his voice this time, only weariness. She lifted the books to press them to her breast, as if they were a shield and said, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes opened as she slid down the arm to sit beside him. “Don’t be sorry. I am not angry, it’s simply a most unpleasant memory, and one I revisit far too often as it is.”

She traced
A History of New York
’s cover with one fingertip. “I’ll not mention it again, then.”

To her surprise, his hand came down atop hers, halting her movements. It was warm, large and square, his palm and fingertips rough from riding gloveless, and hid hers completely. “Ask me another time, Randi. I promise you I will answer.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the low, growling purr of his voice. Unbearable heat sank into her. “Your Grace, I—”

His fingers curled over the back of her hand as she made to slip it free and his hold tightened. “Call me Hugh,” he whispered. “I rather like the way my name sounds on your lips.”

His words jolted her heart into treble time and the rapid beats sent powerful flutters tearing through her. As he stroked his thumb along the flat of her hand, she thought she might faint from the thunder of blood in her temples.

She gazed up at him, her mouth dry at the intensity in his eyes. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and she forced it down to murmur, “Hugh, I—”

“I do so like you, Randi.” His thumb continued to graze along her hand. “You are unlike any other lady I’ve ever met.”

He leaned closer with each word, and she had the feeling he was going to kiss her. Terror met delight and she froze. His mouth was mere inches from hers as she whispered, “Yes, but—”

“No. No buts, Randi. Not this time…” The space closed between them. His nose lightly bumped hers and her eyelids drooped of their own volition as butterflies’ wings battered her insides. Her blood smoked through her veins, thundered in her ears. Any moment, and she’d know
exactly
how it felt to kiss the Duke of Thorpeton—

“Am I interrupting?”

They leapt apart as a madly grinning Gerard strode into the library.

She bolted from the sofa, heat pouring into her as she clutched the books to her chest. Her face had to be glowing red, as it was the hottest part of her body. Unable to look at either man, she bowed her head and rushed by Gerard, muttering, “I beg your pardon,” as she swept toward the door and out of the room.

“No need to hurry off.” Merriment rang through Gerard’s words as he added, “And I looked so forward to returning, just so I could see you, Miss MacDonough.”

She ignored him as she rushed up the steps two at a time, tripping over her skirts every other step. After a breathless dash down the corridor she burst into the safety of her chambers. Though the closed door offered up absolute protection, she still pressed her back against it. Just in case.

“Have you gone
mad
, Randi?” she breathed, her heart threatening to explode in her chest. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll find yourself booted back to London so quickly your bloody head will
spin
.”

Even so, regret poured into her. Another fraction of an inch, and she’d have tasted Hugh’s kiss, savored it, along with whatever else he wished to share. His kiss was sure to be every bit as heavenly as she imagined. Hellfire and damn it all! If only Gerard hadn’t burst in on them!

****

“Did I interrupt a moment?” Gerard sounded infuriatingly innocent as he dropped into Miranda’s vacated seat.

Hugh wanted nothing more than to take a swing at his brother with his cane. He settled for a glower. “What the deuce are you doing back?” he growled. “I thought you were off to Kent?”

“My horse threw a shoe just beyond Cossall, so I sent word to Daniel. He will clear the matter up posthaste. I thought, since I was so close, it made more sense to turn around and hie my way back here.” He gave another toothsome grin. “Had I known you were going to attempt to seduce Miss MacDonough in the library, of all places, I’d have gone to the billiards room instead.”

“Don’t be a jackass, Gerry. I was hardly seducing anyone. You interrupted nothing. She and I were discussing literature.”

“Really? Since when do you discuss anything lip to lip?” Gerard stretched his arms before him as he settled back against the arm. “And, if I truly did interrupt nothing, then why so irritated?”

“Am I irritated? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Very well, perhaps
irritated
isn’t the precise word, but you
do
seem to be a bit put-out all the same. Your responsibilities getting to be too much to bear?”

“Hardly. I’ve expected them most of my life, and have been taught accordingly.” Hugh tried to tamp down his annoyance with his brother’s terrible timing. It was just as well. He was most definitely going to kiss Miranda, and if she didn’t protest, things could have gone far beyond.

Despite his infuriatingly knowing smile, Gerard let the matter drop as he cleared his throat and asked, “Where is Mum, by the by?”

“She is above, taking a nap. I daresay it is still quite difficult, her coming here. I have to admit, I’m rather surprised she plans to settle here. At least in London, she has her chums and her activities to keep her mind occupied. Out here, she has only memories.”

Gerard shrugged and his smile melted into a more serious countenance. “Perhaps she prefers the bittersweet memories of this house to the false suitors looking to benefit from her widow’s status. She’s already had one scoundrel to contend with, and I daresay there are plenty more in London simply waiting for her arrival.”

“True. I don’t think she’s happy. Here
or
there.” Hugh reached for his cane and gripped the cool silver eagle’s head to rise from the sofa. The mahogany table behind it held an array of jewel-colored liquors in crystal decanters and they beckoned seductively. He stumped around them and leaned his cane against the table. “Whiskey?”

“Scotch, if you’d not mind.”

“How do you stomach that vile potion?” He lifted the decanter holding the amber scotch, and poured two fingers’ worth into a glass.

Gerard accepted the drink from his outstretched hand. “Considering the swill you prefer, let’s not pass judgment, shall we?” He lifted the glass to his lips for a long swallow and sighed as he lowered it. “Ahh…
exactly
what I needed. Now, where was I?”

“Mother’s fending off pickpockets and flim-flam artists.” Hugh filled and then raised his own glass for a much-needed sip.

“Ah, yes…well, I must admit I’d feel better if one of us stayed out here with her. I hardly trust the neighbors, either.”

Hugh returned to the sofa to stretch out his aching leg. As he lifted it up to offer it a whit of relief, his cane toppled to the floor with a hollow
clank
and he nudged Gerard with his foot. “I expect Sally and I will be out here regularly, though I know she is not too keen on the thought of leaving London permanently.”

“And what of Wyndham?” Gerard took the not-so-subtle hint and rose to move from the sofa to the maroon leather wingback chair near the hearth.

“Ah…she likes Scotland even less.” Hugh swirled the whiskey in his glass. Scotland was a point of contention with Sally—one he chose not to dwell upon as yet. “I’ll be up there only when absolutely necessary. At least, at first.”

“You know, if you don’t mind my saying, I still don’t think I understand why you are so insistent upon marrying Sally. Especially as it seems you’re dragging your feet.”

“I am doing no such thing, though I thank you for your concern. As to why, Sally is most obviously a wise choice.”

“Sally was Father’s wise choice.”

Hugh frowned. “I never said that.”

Gerard shot him another look as he lifted his glass to his lips. “Certain things can be said without uttering a word, Hugh. You do not strike me as a man anticipating his upcoming betrothal. And I am well aware Father was the one who always hoped you and Sally would take that walk together. Why, I’ll never understand, but there you have it.”