Page 39 of Nothing Compares to the Duke
Bella’s mind began buzzing in that way it did when a new idea bloomed. She started toward her wardrobe, and called back to Louisa, “Perhaps thereisone thing I could ask of him.”
Mist curled along the ground and the soft gold of morning light gilded every dewy spike of field grasson the east side of Edgecombe. Rhys stood on the long veranda behind the house, surveying his ancestral lands. He drew in a deep lungful of country air and stifled a cough when he exhaled.
Bloody bales of endless fresh air. It smelled earthy and green. Unlike in London, he couldn’t taste soot on his tongue or breathe in its dense fog. He rather missed both. And darkness. He squinted up at the sun-gilded clouds and thought for the umpteenth time that the countryside was far too bright.
He’d become nocturnal over the years, loving when dusk came and his day could truly begin. Indulging through the night and rising in the late afternoon. That was how he lived his life.
But for some cruel reason he couldn’t fathom, his body betrayed him since he’d arrived at Edgecombe. Every morning, his eyes slid open at the cusp of sunrise and once he was awake, he found he couldn’t bear to lie about being idle.
Upon waking, he craved heat in his muscles. Something to get his blood pumping.
Twisting the hilt of the fencing foil in his hand, he lifted the blade and pointed it toward the copse at the far edge of Claremont land. He longed for a proper fencing bout. Not that he’d ever been terribly good. His favorite fencing opponent had been formidable and she’d rarely let him come out the victor.
He lowered the foil and circled the veranda, his breath billowing in white puffs.
Bella. It always led back to her. Every thought sincehe’d arrived was colored by memories of her. She’d been an essential part of every good thing about his life in Essex.
Now she came to mind for other reasons.
They’d made amends, but it wasn’t enough. For so long, guilt had ridden him. An apology, he’d told himself, would salve the ache whenever he thought of her.
But the ache hadn’t gone away. If anything, it was more acute now and it wasn’t so much an ache as longing.
No relationship had ever come close to the trust and closeness they’d once had. Not even his friendship with Iverson and Tremayne compared. They were good men and God knew they believed in him when few others in society did. But nothing compared to confiding in Bella.
Rhys sliced the air with the foil, then again. He stepped forward, assumed en garde position, and imagined Bella standing before him on a fencing strip.
“You’re out of practice.”
For a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined her voice in his head. But then he heard her footsteps on the stone slabs of the veranda.
“I lack a partner to keep up my skills,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder.
Her bodice buttons were askew and the knot she’d pulled her hair into had begun to spill strands along her shoulders. She looked as if she’d dressed hurriedly and he could tell from the hem of her gown that she’d walked to Edgecombe. Pink infused her cheeks and her lush mouth.
She looked absolutely lovely.
After assessing his fencing stance a bit longer, she came up beside him and reached down to slip the foil from his hand. “May I?”
Her bare fingers were warm against his cool skin and he held on a moment longer just to savor her heat.
Testing the blade, she swiped it through the air and stretched as much as her skirt would allow into a better en garde position than he’d achieved.
He frowned. “Who have you practiced with since I’ve been gone?”
Ignoring him, Bella lunged forward and aimed high as if targeting the upper chest of an opponent. “Louisa,” she said on the exhale that came with another thrust. “I usually best her too.” The smile she shot him over her shoulder caused warmth to spill through his veins.
He’d missed her smiles. Especially the ones that held a bit of challenge.
“I know I’ve called quite early,” she said as she lowered the foil and approached to hand it back to him.
“I’m as eager to start on the ledgers as you are. Meg wishes to venture to London, but sorting the accounts comes first.”
“The ledgers. Of course.” She bit her lower lip. “I need to speak with you first.”
The urgency in her tone set him on edge. He imagined there had been ugliness with Hammersley or her mother. “Is something amiss?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I have an idea.”
