Page 18 of His Darling Duchess
Aurelia frowned, not sure what he meant. “You’re a good and decent person, even though you never knew your mother and your father sounds perfectly dreadful.”
“Thank you for saying that.” That softness appeared around his eyes again, before he shook his head. “Though I was actually thinking about my cousin, who grew up with two wonderful parents and yet apparently has no inkling of honour or gentlemanly behaviour.”
She drew in on herself a little, thinking of Grantleigh. “I suppose,” she agreed after a moment. “However, he was exceptionally good at making people believe otherwise. I was certainly fooled.”
Stowe must have heard the bitterness in her voice, because he shifted around and reached for her hand, holding it this time. “Don’t blame yourself, Aurelia. My aunt has been doing quite enough of that, and I don’t believe anyone should be blamed for another’s behaviour.”
“Lady Grantleigh must be devastated.” His hand was warm and strong against her cold one; Aurelia held on when perhaps he might have pulled away.
“She is, but she was quite determined to attend the wedding. She’s very fond of you.”
“And I of her. I’m glad to be part of her family,” Aurelia said earnestly. Since Stowe seemed willing to be forthcoming, she summoned up the courage to ask “What will happen to Lord Grantleigh, my lord? He did not hurt me, after all, but I… I would rather not come face to face with him ever again, if that is possible.”
“If you think I’d let him within spitting distance of you…!” Stowe seemed to be about to shout, but paused and obviously choked back some heated words. “My men have to find him first.” He started again, in a calmer tone. “While I can’t force him to leave the country, your father and I have the power to make his life extremely uncomfortable. We plan to convince him it would be in his best interests to place his estates here in the hands of a steward and emigrate to America.”
Aurelia hadn’t realised she was holding her breath until it rushed out of her in a gasp of relief.
Stowe’s expression was sympathetic. “At present, your father is focused on getting your brother out of the country before he locates Grantleigh and forces a confrontation that cannot end well for anyone. My efforts are on finding Grantleigh, and I have better than a dozen highly competent investigators scouring England for him. I’ll find him, and you’ll never have to lay eyes on him again. I swear it.”
He squeezed her hand in gentle reassurance, and Aurelia smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you,” she said fervently. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s the very least I can do.” Stowe looked embarrassed at her thanks, letting go her hand.
She regretted the loss of his warmth immediately, wanted to reach out again but feared he might think her too bold. A quiet knock on the door made her jump.
“That’ll be Harris.” Stowe sprang up. “We’ll be done in just a moment and I’ll leave you to your rest, my lady.”
“Aurelia,” she corrected him quietly. “If I am to call you Rhys, you really must call me Aurelia.”
His eyes softened again, and she realised that was as close to a smile as she could expect of him except under exceptional circumstances. Her heart gave a funny little flutter as she thought she would like to see his eyes soft like that often, and a real smile touch his stern face once in a while. Perhaps she might bring a little joy to his life, though a man who had suffered an unthinkable childhood and then years of war would undoubtedly find her frivolous and foolish.
“Aurelia,” Stowe said, his voice a low, soft rumble, before he cleared his throat and spoke in his normal, firm tones. “Though I’m sorry for the circumstances… I’m not sorry we’re married, Aurelia. Not at all.”
Chapter Eight
Rhys closed the doorof his own room with a sigh of relief, slumping back against it for a moment before shrugging out of his robe and heading for the bed to collapse face-first.
“What a day,” he mumbled into the pillows, a soft mound he was still unused to after so many years of army life. Shoving most of them aside, he pulled the thin top blanket over himself and rolled over to stare up at the dark ceiling.
Harris had delivered a small vial of blood with his customary efficiency, and Rhys reproached himself for having thought even in his wildest imaginings his valet might have turned up at Aurelia’s door with a whole chicken, either dead or alive.
Aurelia had still been looking at him with shocked eyes when he flipped back the covers on the other side of the bed to dribble a few drops of blood on the sheets, and Rhys silently cursed himself for blurting his thoughts out. She was in no way ready to hear any declarations of affection or even admiration, no matterwhat his feelings. Even though he considered himself to be unreasonably fortunate to have Aurelia as his bride, he needed to keep such sentiments to himself for the time being, at least.
The fear in her eyes when she’d hesitantly told him she’d rather not have to ever see Grantleigh again had almost killed him, though, and he’d wanted nothing more than to hold her close and promise to lay down his own life rather than see that happen.
I was ever a fool for a damsel in distress. Smiling wryly, Rhys tried not to think about it, about the way she’d thanked him when he promised Grantleigh would never get near her again. About how very much he liked the sound of his name on her lips, and most especially he tried not to think of how very soft and small her hand had felt in his, because that way lay madness. That way lay sleepless nights wondering if her skin was as soft all over.
“Stop it,” Rhys said aloud, but it seemed even his legendary iron self-control was no proof against thoughts of Aurelia. Not when he was all too aware she was sleeping just a few steps away. The way she’d looked in the duchess’s huge bed, even clutching the sheets to her chest in maidenly alarm, was going to haunt him, he just knew it. Golden hair drawn into a loose braid hanging over her shoulder, she was young, innocent and far too sweet for the likes of him.
His body wasn’t listening. With a groan, Rhys grabbed his pillow and dragged it over his face. Maybe I can smother myself into unconsciousness? It’s certainly the only way I’m going to get any sleep tonight.
At some time before dawn, he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, woken unfortunately by Harris entering his room with his morning coffee and an unconscionably cheerful attitude.
“Did I not have the sense to tell you to let me sleep late on the morning after my own wedding?” Rhys grumbled, throwingan arm across his eyes in a vain attempt to shield them from the over-bright sunlight coursing in through the window as Harris drew back the curtain.
“Regrettably not, Your Grace,” the valet chirped.
“And I don’t suppose I can convince you to go away and come back in about five hours?”
