Page 26 of Secrets of a Duke's Heart
Butoh, how angry Jude had made her just now.
“Miss Turner, I have had several days to become acquainted with your uncle. He despises being backed into a corner. Give him time, and he will come around.”
“Will he?” Harriet said despairingly.
“I believe so. In the meantime, I have a suggestion. Come. Let us speak with my cousin. He may have an idea.”
She and Harriet found Nathaniel out back inspecting the roof of an outbuilding.
“The whole damn thing needs to be replaced. For every farthing I bring in, ten more go out. I shall have to see what else I can sell,” he muttered.
“Cousin, Miss Turner has come to plead her case.”
“I don’t see what I can do to help you.” He scowled at the roof, clearly distracted. Undeterred, Harriet launched right in, repeating everything she had told her uncle in hopes of finding a more sympathetic audience. Clarissa’s contribution to the discussion was to arch one brow whenever Nathaniel seemed inclined to skepticism. By the end of their conversation, Clarissa could see him wavering.
With a bit of cousinly pressure, she could convince him to give her the key to the Frenchman’s cell. All they had to do was wait until the Riders returned to the Cock and Bull for the evening. Judging from the way Nathaniel kept finding odd things to do around the estate, he was as anxious to be rid of their unwanted guests, too.
Once Harriet was settled and the house was quiet, she made her way to Mr. Montague’s private quarters. His rooms were spacious, if shabby, which was in keeping with the rest of the Prescott house. Her pulse scrambled as she knocked twice. He yanked the door open wearing nothing but his shirtsleeves and trousers, looking no less haggard and careworn than he had before.
Only more undressed. She swallowed. This was a bad idea, and yet…
“What do you want, Miss Penfirth?” he growled.
“I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have interfered in your discussion with your niece. May I come in? This is not a conversation for the servants to overhear.”
He gestured to the sitting area beside the fire. Heat rose to her cheeks when she saw the huge four-poster bed that dominated the room. She perched in the seat and determinedly ignored it despite the fervid possibilities her mind conjured. Jude’s big hands on her breasts. His hot mouth sucking and licking trails of pleasure down her?—
“I feel as if I’ve lost a child,” he said brokenly. Each and every one of Clarissa’s inappropriate imaginings winked out in a puff of smoke. She shifted guiltily in her chair. He was despondent and she was supposed to be lending a sympathetic ear, not imagining him naked. He stood with one forearm braced against the mantel, brooding into the firelight. The dancing flames caressed his face lovingly like fingers of hellfire, tempting her to do the same.
“Harriet?” she queried in an attempt to force her mind away from other subjects. He nodded bleakly.
“She acts so differently now. She was always meek and docile.”
Clarissa had her own opinion as to Miss Turner’s docility, but now was not the time to share it with a man who was suffering.
“Is it not better to accept that she has made her decision than to compel her to fulfil a bargain she no longer wishes to uphold?”
He glanced at her, his dark eyes roiling with emotion. Her heart ached for him.
“You obviously love her very much,” she said softly. A lump clogged her throat. She couldn’t get the rest of what she wanted to say out.
I would give anything for you to love me that much.
But he wouldn’t. Their dalliance would be forgotten this time next week. He would return to wherever he was from, and in a few weeks she would return to her mother’s house to knit and keep company with women twice her age. She didn’t mind—they were generally kindhearted ladies—but a part of her yearned for more from life. To experience love, and be loved in return. To have a family. Mr. Montague valued family, that much was clear. They had this in common.
“She is like a daughter to me,” he said.
“Then you should at least meet with her chosen groom. Harriet is an intelligent girl. She would not have chosen him without good reason.”
Jude paced a few steps, radiating anxiety. “What would I tell Lord Lucarran? He is on his way here now to finalize the marriage.”
“Try something along the lines of ‘Good sir, I understand this is a blow to your honor but surely you do not want a wife who yearns for another man.’”
“He wouldn’t care. Aristocratic marriages are not about feelings. They are about wealth. Consolidating it.”
“But she isn’t an aristocrat.” Clarissa tipped her head. “I thought you said she had an adequate dowry, but wasn’t highborn.”
“She isn’t,” he gritted out. He jerked his head away as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t.
