Page 33 of The Duke of Ruin
"I brought you these."
He crossed the room in two long strides and thrust the rather sorry looking bunch of posies toward his wife.
"I'm sorry they're not more grand," he continued, feeling slightly abashed as he glanced at the flowers, which were now visibly wilting in Olive's hand. "But Deveraux does not have a hot-house, and his gardener was reluctant to allow me to take anything else from the flower beds."
"You picked them yourself?"
Ruan flushed slightly as Olive perfectly arched an eyebrow in question, she had succeeded in making him feel two inches tall with just one movement. "Well yes, I was rather going for the 'it's the thought that counts' approach to flower giving, and ordering one of the servants to fetch them for me seemed to be missing the mark somewhat."
"They're lovely, thank you," she finally replied, walking over to the sideboard and carefully arranging the posies into a vase. "And thank you for the thought, it was most kind."
She turned then to look at him, and she appeared to him like an angel, bathed in soft morning light. Her green eyes were inquisitive, and she unconsciously bit her lips nervously, rendering Ruan speechless with desire as he observed her. Oh what he wouldn't give to bite down on that lip.
"Why are you here?" she finally asked, turning to the sideboard to fiddle with a small ornament.
"I had rather hoped that we could start again, from the beginning." Ruan cleared his throat, wishing he could make his request sound more like he was asking, and less like he was demanding. Ducal habits were hard to shed, and he knew that he sounded a tad commanding, but he continued on none the less. "It is customary for a gentleman to call on a lady he desires the morning after they have met at a ball. I was hoping, that perhaps, you might deign to pretend that it is the morning after we first met at Lady Jersey's, and allow me to court you properly, as I should have done from the off."
"How intriguing," Ruan tried not to scowl as Olive's eyes danced with amusement while she spoke. "There is only one problem your Grace, I'm not sure that after your abominable behaviour at Lady Jersey's if I would have been at home to you, had you decided to call..."
"So you are suggesting that we must go even further back, and pretend we have never met at all?"
Ruan had the definite feeling that Olive was making fun of him. She seemed to be fighting back a smile and turned her gaze away from his, as she pondered his suggestion.
"Oh yes," she said very seriously, so seriously that Ruan knew she was definitely making fun of him. "They say one only gets a single chance to make a first impression, and I rather fear that the one you made that night was most alarming. Perhaps if we could orchestrate a faux formal introduction, we could start again. Though how we could manage that when there is no one here to introduce us is beyond me..."
"Are you mocking me?"
To Ruan's surprise Olive gave a giddy laugh, and nodded her head. She covered her mouth, to hide her wide smile, as she glanced at him almost affectionately.
"Oh, I am, your Grace," she laughed, "And I pray you forgive me, but your face is a picture. I dare say not many people ever tease you."
"They don't," Ruan grumbled, but inwardly he felt a jolt of pleasure. It was true, few people had ever teased him, bar the ribald comments that men often made to each other, yet Olive's light tone and dancing eyes made him wonder what he had been missing out on all this time.
"Would you like me to stop?"
His wife arched an eyebrow again, and she seemed to be holding her breath, as though his answer might make or break her.
"No," he shook his head slowly and held her gaze, "Though I'd rather you take your unique brand of humour outside with me for a ride. I have a Tilbury outside that I borrowed from Deveraux, as well as a picnic basket filled with cold meats and the like."
"A Tilbury?"
She was teasing him again, and this time Ruan felt genuine embarrassment. He had not driven a Gig since he was a young lad, but Deveraux and Payne had taken the much more fashionable Phaeton off to Truro for a spin.
"It's not my usual mode of transport," he muttered, "Though it will get us safely to the cliffs, which are a magnificent spot for taking lunch."
"As long as you promise not to push me off them," Olive said, apparently in agreement with his plan, for she made for the door. She paused as she reached the door, her face awash with horror at herfaux pas; "Not that I think you would, of course. That wasn't what I meant."
"I didn't kill Catherine," he replied simply, and much to his surprise she gave him a compassionate look and whispered; "I know."
His heart skipped a beat at her words.
The Duke of Everleigh was quiet for most of their short journey along the cliff road, only breaking his silence to point out places of interest. The ruined watch-tower from centuries ago, an area along the cliffs where there had been a large rock-slide a few years before, the place where Ruan had learnt how to gallop a horse for the first time. This last image gave Olive cause to smile; she could not imagine the large, intimidating man beside her as a small boy. His masculinity was so overwhelming that it was hard to picture him embodying any other form than the imposing, muscular one he now possessed. Which of course was ridiculous, Olive scolded herself, he had not entered the world at six foot four.
"What was it like?" she asked, as the Gig rounded a corner and a breathtaking view of the sea was revealed, stretching for miles, as far as the eye could see. "Growing up here? It must have been idyllic."
"It was," Ruan nodded, "In many ways it was perfect. My father sent me here most summers, and winter was spent at the Ducal seat in Avon. Everleigh Hall is much larger than Pemberton and far less homely, so I preferred Cornwall and the freedom it offered me."
"Did he send you alone?" Olive tried to keep the distaste from her voice; her own childhood memories of summer were filled with family-- her mother, her cousins, even her wretched father who had not been so bad in those days.
