Misleading a Duke. A.S. Fenichel

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      “Once inside, the heat bombarded me. I tied off the rope to the balcony rail and a metal sconce embedded in the mortar near the door. I told the nuns to pray it would hold. Two at a time, the girls wrapped their arms around my neck and I climbed down with them. One nun ventured down on her own. I went back and took one more.

      “My energy spent, I could hardly stand, let alone go back for the last nun. Yet I gripped the rope. A farm boy of maybe eighteen, took the line from my hand and climbed to rescue the final nun.” He could still feel the pain of his overextended lungs. “The Spanish abbess had been killed and the building set afire by French troops as an example of what happens to traitors. The boy and I hid the nuns and their wards in the woods until the French army moved on.”

      She wiped a tear from her cheek. “You were a hero.”

      “Not to my superiors, who chided me for missing my…” He hesitated. “Appointment.”

      With a strong touch, she reached out and clasped his hand. “To three nuns and six children who were innocent, that day you were their hero.”

      “I suppose that is something.” He held tight to her small, delicate hand.

      “I think it is everything.” Faith shivered, turned her head, and looked out the window.

      “What is it?” He followed her gaze, but saw nothing but snow and darkness.

      “I suppose it’s nothing, but I’ve lately had the strangest feeling someone is watching me. I felt it first when we were in the garden at Mr. Arafa’s home, then several times in London the week that followed, and just now.” Faith rose and walked to the window before tugging the drapes closed.

      Nick pulled the cord for Jamie, but at the late hour the boy was already in bed and Thea poked her head in the door. “Yes, Your Grace.”

      “Can you check all the doors and see they are bolted for the night?” It was probably nothing, but in his experience, it was better to err on the side of caution.

      Thea’s eyes were wide, but she nodded and rushed to do as he said.

      Alone again, Nick walked to Faith but didn’t touch her. She had gotten under his skin and he didn’t know how he was going to walk away. Even knowing she’d be better off without him, he wanted her. “It’s probably nothing, Faith.”

      She drew a shaky breath. “You’re right, of course. Just an uncomfortable feeling.” Her smile was wide but fake and didn’t touch those intriguing eyes that showed a touch of green in the firelight.

      Heart pounding, he longed to draw her close and taste her lips. “It’s late, my lady. Perhaps you are tired.”

      With a sad smile, she nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning, Nick. Thank you for the talk.” Leaning on her tiptoes, she pressed those lips that he coveted to his cheek, then left the salon.

      Rumple ambled after her with sleepy eyes.

      Unlikely he would find sleep for a long time, Nick poured himself a brandy and stared into the fire until it had nearly burned down.

      * * * *

      Nick had received a note in Faith’s swirling hand to meet her in the hothouse for luncheon. He had not seen her at breakfast, and somehow she had managed to elude him all morning. Parvus was a petite place—in fact, the name meant small in Latin—so how she had avoided him was a mystery. His own longing to catch a glimpse of her, was unsettling.

      There was a fleeting moment when he’d first woken and saw the blue skies, that he considered getting on his horse and riding toward London. He would stop at Geb’s home near the city and give him a severe thrashing for his interference.

      Then the memory of Faith touching his hand, and understanding his joy and shame at the abbey, swamped him with warmth. He couldn’t leave her alone for so many days until her friends returned. He even considered carrying her to town and putting her in a coach to make her way home. It would be sensible and not ungentlemanly. Still, he could not bring himself to do it.

      She had set up this elaborate and unconventional seclusion, and the snowstorm seemed like a sign that perhaps she was in the right. He would take the situation one day at a time.

      He rounded the side of the house and found MacGruder placing a bag in his mule-drawn cart.

      The groundskeeper took up the reins. “You look better today. Perhaps the country air is good for you.”

      Nick couldn’t help liking the old curmudgeon. “Where are you off to?”

      “I go once a month to see my niece in town. Lillian MacGruder is her name, should you need to reach me. Since you look to be staying with Lady Faith, I saw no reason to delay my visit. I’ll be gone two or three days. In winter there is little for me to do in the garden and it does my heart good to see Lillian. She makes me a fine tea for my aching joints.” He smiled warmly.

      “Enjoy your visit,” Nick said, and waved him down the lane.

      Continuing around the house, he walked down the path to the hothouse. The south-facing wall was almost entirely glass, allowing enough light to warm the inside where plants grew as if it were summer. When he’d been in Spain, he’d loved the warm winter while also missing the cold damp of England and home.

      Inside, he followed the sound of shuffling and crystal clinking, past orange trees and other warm-climate plants that had been brought inside to winter over, until he discovered the source.

      In a light blue day dress, Faith flitted and fussed with the small round table set in the center of a circle of yellow rose bushes. She was like a bluebell among the thorny bushes, lovely and delicate.

      She told Thea, “You have done an outstanding job. Thank you.”

      The cook spotted him and her eyes went wide as she cleared her throat and blushed.

      Faith turned, and a shy grin spread across her face. “I see you found our luncheon spot.”

      “Your note was very helpful,” he said and approached the table.

      “That will be all, Thea. Thank you.”

      With a curtsy, Thea took up her skirts and rushed toward the exit.

      Faith’s smile remained fixed as she poured two glasses of wine. “I hope Mr. Arafa will not mind, but I discovered he has a rather fine wine collection in the cellar. I procured a bottle for our meal.”

      He accepted the glass of deep red wine from her. “He will probably never notice as he does not drink spirits and only keeps it for friends to enjoy.”

      A bead of wine lingered on her lip for a moment before the tip of her tongue poked out and licked it away.

      Nick’s groin tightened at the sight, and he closed his eyes and tasted the rich contraband wine. Lord only knew how Geb managed to procure French wine during the war, but he could get anything he wanted; the political state was unimportant for his СКАЧАТЬ