Page 25 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
Louisa began to step toward the men, but Bella stayed her with a hand on her arm. “I’m going to make an excuse to step away. I need to compose a note to the duke and have a servant deliver it before it gets too late in the day.”
“Let me do it,” Louisa whispered. “These gentlemen have come to spend time with you. Just tell me what to say.”
“No, I must do this myself.” Bella wondered if he’d remember the date, the anniversary of the last moment they’d spoken in five years. Until last night.
In that moment, she decided a note wouldn’t do. He’d come to her, so she’d go to him.
Now that the shock of their first encounter had worn off, seeing him again wouldn’t disturb her at all.
“Forgive me, gentlemen, but I must attend to an errand this morning.”
Rhys would welcome her visit. And maybe if he did this one thing and freed her from the pressure to marry a man who didn’t suit her, it would truly make up for that day.
Chapter Six
The man was late.
Rhys paced the length of his father’s study but it did nothing to burn away the frustration that had been building since his return to Edgecombe.
Glancing out the garden-facing window, he spotted Meg, who’d set up an easel to paint flowers in the sunshine. Getting out of doors might do him good too. Maybe a gallop across the fields on one of his father’s stallions. The stables were apparently full of fine horses and there was a man-made lake on the property his father had commissioned but Rhys had never seen.
In many ways, Edgecombe was a mystery. He’d avoided the place for years, and during that time his father had made expensive changes. Discovering why and solving the problem of its finances was proving an even greater quandary than he’d expected. Unlike his clever neighbor, Rhys had never been good at unraveling riddles.
He glanced at the clock again. “Where the hell are you, Radley?”
He refused to be confined inside on a fine day because his suspicious steward declined to show his face. The man’s reticence made it more and more likely that he was the culprit in siphoning the estate’s funds. Ah, how bloody grand it would be to wrap up the whole matter quickly.
Then he could focus on Meg and her Season, speaking to tenants, making repairs to the estate, a visit to the House of Lords when it was in session. Good God, how had the list of duties grown since he’d arrived?
Making amends with Bella Prescottran through his mind unbidden.
She was there at the top of his thoughts. To think of anything else, he’d ruthlessly pushed her aside all morning. Had she always smelled like violets? Had she always had such fire in her gaze?
He shrugged out of his jacket, laid it across a chair, and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. He needed air. To move and put distance between him and Edgecombe’s thick stone walls. A walk would put some heat into his bones and give him an opportunity to examine the outbuildings and elaborate gardens his father had put in the place in the past few years.
Good God, when had he started thinking practically?
He unwound his cravat and began pulling it from his neck but stilled when he heard footsteps in the hallway.
The steward. Finally.
His steps were firm, a loud clatter on the polished hallway floors. Rhys considered going out to greet the man, but he decided it was far better to remain and exude the kind of authority his father would have. The objective was to put the man on edge and get him to confess his misdeeds.
He strode to his father’s desk, settled his backside against the edge, and crossed his arms over his chest. If his father was any example, Claremont ducal arrogance involved pretending you knew everything, puffing your chest out as if you were the burliest man in the room, and laughing at insults as if they mattered not a whit. Rhys could do all of that. He’d always been good at pretending.
As soon as the door latch twisted, he boomed out the man’s name.
“Mr. Radl—” Rhys’s voice faltered and his mouth went dry.
It wasn’t Mr. Radley who stormed into the room.
Bella stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She vibrated with energy, and smelled of lemons and fresh air.
“You walked all the way from Hillcrest.” Rhys was no detective, but her cheeks were flushed a delicious pink.
“Of course.” She caught at a few loose strands of hair and tucked them into pins. “One of us used to walk back and forth every day. Sometimes we even raced each other. Have you forgotten?”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Just like back then, her bootswere dirty and the hem of her skirt was dotted with mud. Neither of them had ever minded about such matters. It made him ridiculously pleased to find that she still didn’t.
