Love With a Scandalous Lord (14 page)

“But you don’t mind disappointing me?” she asked softly.

“Trust me, Lydia, you’ll be far more disappointed than you are at this moment if we continue along the path we’ve been traveling. You told me that you wanted respectability and love. Neither is within my power to give.”

L
ydia was acutely aware of the uncomfortable silence stretching between her and Rhys. It had been there as they’d ridden home. Built as they’d handed their horses off to the stable boy. Deepened as they now trudged up the steps to the manor.

She wasn’t sure what to make of him or what to think about what had passed between them. How could he act now as though nothing had happened when her body still shimmered with unfulfilled promises?

She had but to glance at him to remember the press of his lips against hers, the skimming of his palm along her ribs, the feel of his hand cradling her breast.

That she’d come close to drowning in the sensations he’d elicited within her should have frightened her. Yet all she seemed able to do was feel disappointment that he’d halted his exploration and gone no further than he had.

As a woman who valued her virtue, she knew she
should be grateful he’d shown such remarkable restraint. As a woman only just beginning to explore the unknown territory that existed between a man and a woman, she was curious about all she didn’t know.

“Are you going to ignore me from here on out?” she asked quietly, as they neared the top of the stairway.

He glanced over at her, his eyes the gray of a sky warning of the tempest to come. “Were that it was that easy. Unfortunately, I am aware of every breath you take.”

A small thrill of pleasure speared her. So he was not as unaffected by what had passed between them as he appeared to be.

“Is that so awful?” she asked.

“For reasons which I have no desire to explain…yes. I think it would be best if we dispensed with sharing dinners in the evening or any other moments for that matter.”

As though unwilling to discuss the situation further, he walked up the remaining steps. She followed like a faithful dog, while part of her wanted to grab his arm, spin him around, and demand he explain everything. He was unfair to remain mysterious where her heart was concerned. She wanted explanations.
Deserved
them.

A servant opened a door, and Rhys stepped aside, politely inclining his head to indicate she should precede him into the manor. With a glare she knew would have sent her brothers scrambling to get as far away from her as they could, she strolled with as much dignity as possible into the manor.

“My lord, you’ve returned home at last,” the butler said as he staidly approached them.

“I was not under the impression I had a curfew,” Rhys said.

“I should say not, sir. However, His Grace instructed me to tell you and the young lady—as soon as either of you returned—that he wishes for you to join him in the drawing room.”

Rhys leaned closer to the servant. “You mean in his bedchamber.”

“No, my lord.” The servant’s eyes sparkled as though he was handing out gifts on Christmas morning. “His Grace has apparently had a remarkable recovery. If I may say so, my lord, it’s somewhat of a miracle.”

“Indeed, Osborne, you may say so.” Rhys turned to Lydia. “Shall we go to the drawing room?”

She nodded and fell into step beside him. Once they were out of the butler’s earshot, she said quietly, “Rhys?”

“Yes?”

She stopped, forcing him to do the same. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

She hated to be the bearer of possible bad tidings. “Sometimes,” she began softly, “it seems to me people have a momentary
recovery
only to leave us shortly thereafter. As though they’re being given a chance to say good-bye.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is the case here. Regardless, we shall be grateful for it and not keep my father waiting any longer.”

He extended his arm toward her.

“Should I curtsy?” she asked, as she laid her hand on his arm.

“No.” He winked, actually winked at her. “It would be appropriate, however, to address him as Your Grace.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I knew that.”

“I know.”

She honestly didn’t know what to make of this man who seemed to warn her off one minute and tease her the next. She wondered if Rhys was as confused by his actions as she was.

With her heart thundering, she walked with him down the elaborately decorated hallway. She was on the verge of truly meeting a duke this time, not simply watching one as he slept. He would be as aware of her presence as she was of his.

“I should take a moment to straighten my hair, change into a gown—”

“You look lovely as you are,” he interrupted.

Glancing up at him, she nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”

Something akin to satisfaction warmed his eyes, before he turned down the corridor. A footman bowed slightly and opened the door. She still couldn’t get accustomed to never having to open a door.

Rhys escorted her into the room. Her mother and father sat together on a sofa. Colton and Sabrina lounged quietly on nearby chairs. But what really caught Lydia by surprise was the sight of the Duchess.

Regally she sat in a plush chair beside an even larger chair, her hand resting on the arm of an elderly gentleman. He was dressed as though he expected to attend a social function that evening, his silver hair combed back, his gray eyes twinkling.

“Ah, the prodigal son returns at last,” he said, with a shaky voice that betrayed his infirmity, because hovering within its shadows were the remnants of its booming characteristics.

“I must say, Father, that you’ve given us all a jolly nice surprise today. It’s good to see you looking so
well,” Rhys said, and Lydia heard the true pleasure in his words.

“I would be a poor host if I did not join my guests for at least one meal, wouldn’t I?” Harrington asked.

“Considering that you have been quite under the weather, I should think all would have been forgiven.”

“It’s easier to obtain forgiveness from others than it is to obtain it from oneself. Introduce me to your lady.”

Rhys cleared his throat. “She is not my lady, Father. She is Grayson’s stepdaughter. Our paths crossed in the village, and I escorted her home. May I have the honor of presenting Miss Lydia Westland?”

Her heart was pounding so loudly that she almost didn’t hear her introduction. And she didn’t care what Rhys had told her in the hallway, the man sitting before her had nobility carved into every line of his face, the set of his shoulders, and the depth of his gaze.

She released her hold on Rhys, stepped nearer, and curtsied. “Your Grace, it is an honor to make your acquaintance at last.”

He leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “So you’re the one who whispers with my son in the middle of the night and keeps him company.”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Only too tired to open my eyes, dear girl. I wonder if my son has opened his.”

She felt a hand come to rest beneath her elbow as Rhys helped her to straighten. The Duke glanced around her to where her parents sat.

“Lovely girl, Grayson.”

“I had little to do with that, Your Grace.”

Lydia was acutely aware that within this room, her stepfather was formal with this man who had sired him,
and she wondered if it was out of respect for the witch sitting beside the Duke.

“Perhaps you had naught to do with the siring, but I see your influence here. Your own children offer much to be proud of. Don’t you agree, Winnie?”

Lydia jerked her gaze to the woman lovingly patting her husband’s hand.
Winnie?
It seemed too soft a name, too teasing a name for the shrieking shrew she’d seen in the hallway twice now.

“Of course, dear,” the Duchess said.

“I should like for us all to dine together this evening,” the Duke said, and even in his weakened state, his voice was riffed with command.

“If that’s what you’d like, dear, then I shall see that it is so,” the Duchess said. “I’ll instruct Cook to make all your favorites.”

She rose gracefully to her feet. “I shall see to it immediately. If you all will excuse me.”

Lydia couldn’t help but stare. The lady walking out of the room was completely regal in her bearing. Lydia had just seen a side to the Duchess she’d never suspected existed. She couldn’t help but be impressed that for this occasion at least, for her husband, the Duchess was putting aside her personal feelings of revulsion for Grayson Rhodes.

“If you’ll excuse me, Father, I have some matters to see to as well,” Rhys said.

“Of course. Although I do hope you’ll consider playing the piano for us this evening.”

Rhys flinched as though a whip had been taken to his back. “Perhaps I can convince you that you’ll be more entertained by a reading from Miss Westland.”

The Duke turned his expressive eyes on her and pat
ted the chair beside him. “Sit here, Miss Westland. I’ve a desire to know you better.”

She eased onto the chair, not certain if she really should, concerned with the appropriateness of taking the chair the Duchess had just vacated, but thinking it would be unacceptable to deny the Duke’s request.

“I shall take my leave now, Father,” Rhys said.

“Yes, yes,” the Duke mumbled distractedly as he waved his hand in the air.

She was vaguely aware of Rhys leaving, more aware that she could see some semblance of her stepfather in the man sitting beside her.

“Have you heard Rhys play?” he asked.

“No, Your Grace.”

“I’m most surprised by that. He plays when he is melancholy.” He winked at her. “We shall have Rhys play tonight.”

“I don’t think we should force him if he doesn’t want to,” Lydia said.

“Life is nothing more than being forced to do what we’d rather not.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then I suspect you would find living in our world not to your liking.”

She swallowed hard, wondering what exactly he’d overhead in the shadows of his bedroom.

He turned his attention away from her. “Now, Grayson, tell me more about Texas.”

Rhys caught up with his mother in the foyer. When she had a mission, she could be quite a ball of energy.

“Mother?”

She turned, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a
white linen handkerchief. She gave him a sweet smile. “I thought he looked rather well, didn’t you?”

He thought his father was giving a good imitation of looking well, but couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth. “Yes.”

“Not fully recovered though,” she whispered, as though she feared she would jinx the Duke by saying the words loudly enough for anyone else to hear them.

He shook his head sadly. “No.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Then we shall make the most of this evening. Your father has three favorite desserts. I’m not sure which one he would favor.”

“Why not ask Cook to make all three?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Splendid idea! I shall do just that. The seating arrangements will be a bit tricky.”

“Might I suggest we dispense with formality for this evening?”

“Splendid idea. Besides, I doubt
Debrett’s
provides information on seating the
sort
of guests we’ve been burdened with.”

She wrinkled her nose as though she caught a whiff of something foul-smelling. Rhys couldn’t help but think that she would forever consider certain personages as beneath her.

“I’m certain your father will want Grayson at one elbow,” she mused. “I’ll place you at the other. I’ll sit at the foot of the table.”

He’d noticed in the drawing room what he’d noticed his entire life. Whenever his father was in his mother’s presence, she fluttered her hands over him. A touch on his hand, a combing back of his hair, a straightening of his clothes. Her sitting at the foot of the table would not
do for this evening.

“I think you’re correct in your assumption. He’ll want Grayson beside him. However, you are much more attuned to Father’s needs than any of us. I think you should sit close to him, because you’ll sense more than anyone when he is tiring.”

She nodded briskly. “You’re quite right. It’s been a while since we were of a like mind, you and I.”

Indeed it had been.

She pursed her lips. “This girl. This Lydia. What were you doing with her?”

“As I said. Our paths crossed in town, and I escorted her home.”

“Was she alone then?”

“Yes.”

“That’s terribly bold of her.”

“Quite so. Apparently it is not uncommon in Texas for a woman to ride unescorted.”

“Heathens,” she muttered before turning, her heels clicking briskly over the marble floor. She wagged a finger in the air, not bothering to look back at him as she announced, “He’ll want you to play this evening! It will go better for you if you simply make your peace with his request now and do it.”

He watched her disappear down the corridor. Strange how he’d almost forgotten there were moments when he actually enjoyed her company. Equally astonishing was the knowledge that she would play her role of duchess well this evening. It was not in her nature to be less than regal when the situation warranted and when her audience was the man she loved.

Sitting at the far end of the table, Rhys was acutely
aware that his father barely touched any of the food placed before him. His mother valiantly pretended not to notice as one course after another was brought out.

The dinner conversation had been amiable. He was grateful Grayson’s family had been given the opportunity to see his mother at her best, because more often than not, he was proud of her. That she failed to feel the same about him was his fault, not hers.

“Grayson, you mustn’t wait so long before coming home again,” his father said, weariness laced through his voice.

“With all due respect, Your Grace, I feel as though Texas is my home.”

His father offered up a slight smile. “That is the way it should be. Don’t you agree, Winnie?”

Rhys watched as his mother elegantly dabbed her napkin at her mouth before replying, “Of course, dear. Would you care for a bit more dessert?”

The fact that his father had not yet dipped his spoon into the custard seemed to have escaped her notice.

His father shook his head. “I look at the bounty that surrounds me, and I know no hunger.”

His mother laughed lightly and glanced around the table. “His Grace has always been a bit of a philosopher and poet. I suspect that is the reason he was so fond of attending plays in his youth.”