Page 24 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
His gaze had once more drifted to Miss Denby. Though perhaps in this particular case he could understand only too well. There had been a time he would have done just about anything for a single smile from her…
He shook his head to clear his mind. Not only was he very nearly engaged to Miss Bridling, therefore making any such thoughts about another woman highly inappropriate, but he was letting Mrs. Pickering and her cruel gossiping get to him. It was just such speculation that had no doubt made Miss Denby’s life a living hell. As it was even now. The man on her left, a young and fashionable pink, pointedly turned his nose up when she ventured to draw him into conversation. Miss Denby, of course, had noticed, and her skin, which had become uncommonly pale upon their appearance at Danesford, became even more wan, more strained. When the women left the men to their port at the conclusion of the meal, it did not take those men long to begin gossiping. And talk immediately went to Miss Denby.
“Still cannot believe Lady Tesh has kept that girl on,” one man huffed, twirling his glass between his fingers. “Dane, perhaps you can talk to your aunt, let her know that she should let Miss Denby go. It isn’t reflecting well on her to have such a person in her employ.”
Fury roared to life in Sebastian, a consuming fire, so hot he feared he would scorch the table where he gripped it to keep from lunging for the man’s throat. Blessedly the Duke of Dane’s cold voice stopped him.
“Mr. Pickering,” he bit out, “though you are Bronwyn’s father and Buckley’s father-in-law”—here he nodded to Buckley, who sat at his side—“if you speak of Miss Denby or my aunt in such a manner again, you and your wife will no longer be welcome at my table. And that goes for any of you,” he continued, eyeing each man in turn, his unusually pale blue eyes like chips of glacial ice, freezing each man in their place. “Both women are very dear to myself and my wife, and I will not hear them insulted. Isn’t that right, Buckley?”
The Duke of Buckley, who up until then had been watching the proceedings with his dark eyes narrowed dangerously, uncurled from his unassuming relaxed pose, his lean form threaded through with power, like a great cat sighting down its prey. “You have the right of it. Any person who talks ill of them shall have the both of us to answer to.”
The Duke of Dane was, of course, a huge behemoth of a man, more like a Viking than a duke, and frightening enough to behold angry. But with Buckley beside him, a man Sebastian knew to possess a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness, it was enough to make every man at that table look decidedly ill.
Catching Dane’s and Buckley’s eyes as the other inhabitants of the room fell into quiet conversation, he nodded his thanks before, murmuring to Bridling that he needed air, he rose and made his way from the room. It was not a lie, of course. He did need air, and desperately. After the events of the past hours, he had the horrible feeling that if he did not begin moving, he would shatter from the force he was using to hold himself together.
But all thoughts for himself fled the moment he stepped into the hallway. At the far end was a familiar blond figure in pale pink, racing down the corridor as if her life depended on it.
He did not hesitate to follow her. Whatever had happened in the time since she’d left the dining room, it must be horrible indeed. In a moment his long legs brought him to the side door she had slipped through.
Her sob was the first thing he heard upon stepping out into the garden. That sound, so forlorn, so full of hopelessness, had his heart seizing in his chest. He called her name, looking wildly about the dark landscape for her, quickly finding her just off the side of the path. At the sight of her, head bent, arms hugging her middle, he wasted no time hurrying to her and pulling her into his arms.
He had wanted this for years, he realized as she fit against his body. How many times had he dreamed of holding her? And it felt just as heavenly as he had imagined it would.
But now was not the time, he quickly berated himself. In truth, it would never be the time for such musings. That fact hit him with all the finality of a door slammed in his face. And with it came anger, at himself, at his father. Why had he held back four years ago? Why had he been so determined to hold on to his bachelorhood? And why the hell had his father been so damn selfish that he had brought ruination to the family and destroyed forever his children’s chances for love and happiness?
Useless recriminations. All he could do now was quiet his regrets and focus his attentions on soothing Miss Denby as best he could.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back, helplessness coursing through him as she shook against him. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, her sobs quieted and she relaxed into him. He should pull back then. They could not stay out here forever, after all. Eventually someone would come looking for one of them, and they certainly could not be found alone together in such a compromising position. Not only would it destroy any chance he had with Miss Bridling, but it would also endanger whatever tenuous position Miss Denby had left in Synne society after Landon’s latest—and fatal—actions.
But try as he might, he could not put her away from him. Instead, he found himself holding her closer, leaning his cheek against the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her. It was intoxicating, her own sweet floral scent mixed with the cool, fresh night air.
Finally, however, Miss Denby seemed to at last regain her senses. Her body, so soft and slight against his, tensed. And then, wedging her hands between their bodies, she gently pushed.
He stepped back immediately, letting his arms fall. The loss of her against him was acute, but he brutally squashed the traitorous feeling.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, looking down at her. The moon was waning, and the shadows long. Yet he could still see the details of her face, though they were bathed in silvery light and leeched of all color. Her eyes were wide in her pale face, teeth worrying at her full lower lip. He forcibly looked away from the tantalizing sight.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I shouldn’t have been so forward.”
She hastily wiped at her damp cheeks. “You were not forward at all. You were merely comforting me. I should be the one to apologize for making such a spectacle of myself.”
“You did not make a spectacle of yourself,” he murmured. “In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen such bravery in the face of such cruelty.”
Once more her eyes found his, though this time filled with shame. “You saw his cut direct then?” she whispered, her voice cracking. Before he could answer, her face twisted and she turned away. She looked up at the cloudless sky, the hundreds of pinpricks of light like diamonds above her head. “But of course you saw. How could anyone have missed it? And no doubt you heard why he acted in such a way as well. After the vicar’s pointed absence, everyone in the dining room must have been talking about it one way or another. And you were sitting next to Mrs. Pickering, the biggest gossip of them all. Though I shouldn’t talk of her in such a way, seeing as she’s my dear friend Bronwyn’s mother.”
His heart ached at the pain lacing her words. “I would say to pay them no heed, but I know firsthand how such things can affect a person.”
The look she gave him could only be described as suspicious. “That is all you have to say on the matter?”
He shrugged. “What would you have me say? I’m the last person who should be judging anyone for being embroiled in such a mess.”
“But my scandal from four years ago has revisited me,” she insisted. “Worse, this time the man died when he attempted to climb in my bedroom window.”
“I think,” he said gently, “that is Lord Landon’s fault and not yours.”
He rather thought if he had stood on his hands and danced a jig with his fingertips he would not have shocked her more. Her jaw dropped nearly to her chest. And then her eyes welled, shimmering in the moonlight with unshed tears.
Before he could think to pass her a handkerchief, however, she quickly rallied. “It is kind of you to say, of course,” she said, quickly pressing the heels of her hands to her cheeks, no doubt to stem the tide rising there. “But most of Synne society does not agree. Lord Landon’s actions and subsequent death, no matter that I had no control or knowledge of them, has painted me with a broad brush. He may as well have branded my forehead, for all people can’t seem to see to the me beyond the scandal. And worse, it is spreading to those I love best. My friends, Lady Tesh; all are being polluted as well. And there is not a thing I can do about it. Except—”
