Page 67 of Never a Duchess
She hugged herself, conjuring a mental image of his handsome countenance, of the brandy-coloured flecks that warmed his eyes whenever they kissed.
Dounreay!
God, she felt so heavy, like her limbs were made of lead. And yet the constant tug in her gut urged her to move, to run downstairs, to race to Park Lane and hammer on the duke’s door.
Would he welcome her inside?
Would he send her away, annoyed she’d defied him?
There was only one way to find out.
* * *
Raising the hood of her cloak, Lillian climbed down from the hackney cab. Adam sat quietly inside the vehicle, resolved on waiting until she entered Dounreay’s house before heading home. He was tense. Warned her men often had other motives when asking a woman to dine. With obvious reluctance, he agreed to let her decide her own fate, said he trusted the duke to do the honourable thing.
Was that why the duke had rejected her?
Did he feel his honour had been compromised?
Lillian clutched her basket, a prop to make her look like a lowly maid, though she had something important folded neatly inside. She marched to Dounreay’s door wearing sturdy boots, not her pretty shoes.
Her heart thumped a rapid beat in her chest as she raised the brass knocker and let it fall. The sound echoed through the hall, as bold as her determination, but was met with silence, not the clip of hurried footsteps.
She hammered twice.
No one came.
Fighting to suppress the rising bubble of panic, she thumped the wooden panel with her clenched fist.
Please be here!
Please let me in!
Surely he would not leave for Scotland without saying goodbye.
MacTavish wasn’t well enough to travel, though the lord enjoyed life in the metropolis and often spent half the year in town.
The stillness and the dreary fog smothered her, diminishing all hope. He was gone. He had left her. Had sworn not to return for years. By then, he might be married, kissing a woman who wanted to be a duchess. Loving a woman who could love him back.
It was the least he deserved.
Her shoulders sagged—the fight leaving her just like everyone else.
Goodbye, Dounreay!
Pain lanced through her heart.
The muscles in her throat tightened.
Tears filled her eyes, the first drop landing on her cheek.
More would have followed, but she heard the slow thud of footsteps beyond the door and dashed the droplet away.
The lock clicked.
Dounreay opened the door, the sight of him almost sending her crashing to her knees. Her relief conveyed in every rapid pant.
He wore the same glum expression, the same blue coat stretched tight over muscular shoulders, the same magnetic aura that made him utterly irresistible.
