by Amelia Grey
Her hope that she could get out of this precarious situation with her dignity intact was fading fast. But she wasn’t going to give up. Yet. If she were to hold her own with this formidable man, she had to stand firm and not waver an inch.
“There is a perfectly innocent explanation.”
“I’d be rather interested in hearing that, Miss Tweed, because right now you are looking quite guilty of snooping into my private papers.” The duke’s expression remained firm as he folded his arms across his chest in a casual manner.
She took a long steadying breath. “While I was looking over your titles, I noticed quite by chance that the lid had been accidentally left off the ink container on your desk. Knowing that could cause a major mishap, I walked over and put the lid back on for you. I was sure you wouldn’t want the ink to dry out or, perhaps worse, for it to be knocked over and spilled on some terribly important document.”
He glanced down at his orderly desk, surveying it quickly but thoroughly. His eyes narrowed, and skepticism showed in their brownish-gray depths as he looked back up at her.
“Are you certain that is all you did, Miss Tweed?”
A blind person could tell that his desk looked nothing like it had when he left the house. She had carefully arranged loose papers and letters that had been opened but carelessly tossed aside into small, orderly piles. The massive jumble of unopened mail had been straightened into four manageable stacks. Even the quill had been taken out of his ledger book and positioned in its stand, with a clean sheet of vellum left in its place to mark the duke’s page.
But what was most telling was the fact that the beauty of the polished mahogany could now be seen. Its richness gleamed invitingly in the soft lamplight. By the dates she’d seen on some of his correspondence, the duke hadn’t seen the top of his magnificent desk for a long time.
Her handiwork could not be hidden or denied, but she wasn’t above being evasive or vague.
She cleared her throat and took a step away from the desk. “I may have moved a few sheets of paper and straightened your mail.”
“You may have?” he asked in a mocking tone as his gaze continued to pierce hers.
She knew that had been an incredible thing to say, but she really had no choice. She couldn’t tell a duke how inconceivable it was to her that he left his desk in such disarray. And that she considered it downright inexcusable to go so long without reading and answering his correspondence.
“Yes, but not to worry, Your Grace. I assure you, I didn’t remove or discard anything from your desk, nor did I read anything that was already open. I am not a snoop. I simply made tidy what was there.” She motioned in the direction of the neat stacks of paper.
Henrietta held her breath and tried to remain composed as she stood staring at him, watching his expression fade from annoyance to uncertainty to something far different. Not only did his demeanor change, but the stormy gleam in his brooding eyes slowly melted into a soft and dreamy look. His lips relaxed into a faint, heart-stopping smile that made her legs feel weak. It was as if everything in the room changed and she saw nothing except Blakewell.
He walked closer to her.
Too close.
Her heartbeat was already racing in her chest, and her breaths were coming in short little gasps. She had never felt quite like this before. It should have disconcerted her, but these new unexplained feelings intrigued her.
“And why did you do that, Miss Tweed?” he asked, taking another step toward her.
“What?” she asked, finding it difficult even to remember what they had been talking about while he advanced on her. The only thing she could concentrate on was her awareness of the nearness of the handsome duke.
“Why did you sort and tidy my private papers?”
She realized his voice had changed, too. It was smooth, low, and more seductive than any voice she’d ever heard. It caused her skin to prickle with tingles and her stomach to tighten.
Henrietta had been much more comfortable with the scowling, demanding duke who first stood in the doorway. She didn’t know quite what to say or how to handle this seductive man who was making her aware of things she shouldn’t be feeling for someone who was supposed to be her guardian.
His Grace had her discombobulated, which was a foreign feeling for her. She was usually very together and not easily unsettled. She was a sensible person, despite what he thought about her believing in a curse. What was it about this man that made him so different from her other guardians? She had to get control of herself. Henrietta knew for certain that when anyone was backed into a corner, the truth was the easiest way out, but the hardest choice to make.
Her gaze held fast on his as she said, “I fear it’s a weakness I have, Your Grace.”
His eyebrows rose with in a questioning expression, though his eyes continued to sparkle with humor. He moved still closer to her.
“Are you trying to tease me, Miss Tweed?”
“Certainly not.”
His gaze stayed on hers. “I think you are.”
“That would be foolish of me, Your Grace.”
“What am I to think? You are much too strong, capable, and yes, sensible, to have or pretend to admit to any weaknesses.”
He was so perceptive that it fascinated her. “Perhaps, in haste, I chose the wrong word. I only meant to imply that I have no patience or tolerance for things out of order.”
“In that case you must agree with Lord Chesterfield that there is a place for everything, and everything should be in its place.”
“I’m not certain Lord Chesterfield should be credited with that comment, Your Grace, but whoever said it was most correct.”
“If you desire everything in its proper place, I’m wondering why this has slipped from your bun and is softly framing your face.” As he said the words, he slowly pulled a long strand of golden blonde hair around for her to see.
By instinct, she reached up to secure the hair behind her ear, and as she did so, her fingers made contact with his. Chills of something she could only describe as delicious shuddered through her, and she quickly dropped her hand to her side.
Blakewell smiled and then proceeded to let the tips of his fingers glide along her cheek as he pushed the hair away from her face and behind her ear. His touch was warm, gentle, soothing, and strangely comforting. For an inexplicable reason, she closed her eyes and drank in the wonderful feeling of his manly touch, wanting it to last. She had the wildest desire to take hold of his hand and press it to her cheek. She didn’t understand why, but she wanted to inhale his scent, taste his skin, and feel his strength.
Henrietta’s lashes fluttered up, and she saw Blakewell staring down at her. His eyes were half closed; his moist lips were slightly parted. She felt his breath on her cheek. He was so near that their noses almost touched. His lips were not more than an inch from hers.
But, from somewhere deep inside herself, Henrietta found the presence of mind to realize that what she was feeling for the duke wasn’t proper. Summoning all her strength, she took a deep breath and stepped back.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace; I didn’t realize my hair had come down. I should have taken better care when I was arranging it.”
His Grace took a step away from her as well and quickly said, “Perhaps you were so busy arranging my papers that you didn’t notice.”
He glanced down at his desk, and she saw that his gaze caught sight of the envelope she had been staring at when he came in.
“And what is this?” He reached down and picked up the letter.
“Oh, as luck would have it, Your Grace, as I organized your correspondence, I noticed the envelope from Mr. Conrad Milton, the solicitor I mentioned, and left it on top of the stack for you to read.”
“Luck, you say?”
“Yes.”
“As you arranged my mail, you just happened to see this? Are you sure you didn’t come in here with the exact purpose of looking for it?”
“Yes, of course, I’m sure. I couldn�
�t help but recognize the name the moment I saw it. I didn’t open it, as you can see. I simply left it on top of the stack so you wouldn’t have to search for it among the…” She stopped abruptly when she realized she couldn’t say the word that was on the tip of her tongue.
“Among the rubble, the mess?” he finished for her.
“Actually, I was going to say clutter. The important thing for you to know is that I didn’t read any of your correspondence.”
“But you were tempted, were you not?”
She blinked rapidly. “No, no.”
His eyebrows rose again, giving him that annoying, questioning look.
A frown flashed across Henrietta’s face, and she was tempted to stomp her foot in frustration, but she would not let him reduce her to such immature antics. “Oh, all right! Of course I was tempted.”
Suddenly, the duke folded his arms across his chest and laughed. It was a wonderful sound that immediately dispersed her aggravation at his accuracy. The man was very good at disconcerting her. Until she had met Blakewell, she’d never met a person who could.
“That was not a fair question, Your Grace.”
With a hint of merriment still on his breath, he said, “It was more of a statement than a question, Miss Tweed. I already knew the answer.”
“Your words felt like an accusation.”
“Perhaps that was because of your guilty conscience. You didn’t have to answer me, even if you thought they were. Thank you for your honesty, even if you did deny it twice before you admitted it.”
“You are mocking me again, Your Grace, and I find that very unbecoming in a man of your rank.”
“Perhaps I am, Miss Tweed, but really there’s no reason for you to be miffed. As I mentioned before, you make it so very easy for me to do.”
He put the letter on top of one of the neat stacks she had made and then walked past her to stand behind his desk. “You may take your book and go to bed now. As you have so obviously pointed out, I have work to do and you are keeping me from it.”
Just like that, he was dismissing her as if she were a common chambermaid and the post from Mr. Milton as if it was of no importance at all.
Perplexed, Henrietta took a step toward him. “But aren’t you going to open the letter from the solicitor?”
“Of course.”
She waited, but he made no move to pick up the letter and open it. Their eyes met and held for a moment.
“May I wait here until you do?”
“You could, Miss Tweed, but there wouldn’t be much point. I wasn’t planning to read it tonight; as I’ve just said, I have other work to attend to.”
She glared at him in surprise and took another step closer to him. “Why not? That letter can prove that everything I’ve told you about myself is true.”
“It can only prove that Mr. Milton says the same thing you say. And I’ve already told you that I have little doubt about your story. It is so unbelievably strange that it must be true. Whatever needs to be done to settle the matter officially, I will do tomorrow—or, perhaps I should say, in due time. In any case, it’s too late to do anything about your predicament tonight.”
“But have you no natural curiosity about what the man wrote?”
“I have plenty of all kinds of curiosity, Miss Tweed, just not about this, not right now.”
If she were in his place, she wouldn’t be able to wait until morning to open the letter and see what it said. But she had already made note that she and the duke were very different in many ways. However, he was definitely too cavalier about her guardianship, and she couldn’t allow that.
It wasn’t her place to suggest anything to such a powerful man as a duke, a man who had already given her sanctuary without proof. She was being extraordinarily bold and brave when she said, “Then may I ask of you, for my peace of mind, that you look at it tonight so that I might sleep better?”
The seconds ticked by and he made no move. He simply stared at her with those dreamy eyes that seemed to nick her soul. For a moment she thought he was going to deny her request. But suddenly, he picked up the letter and the paper knife she had conveniently left on the right side of his desk and broke open the wax seal. Several sheets of foolscap had been folded together. He pulled the lamp closer and briefly read the top sheet before laying them all on the desk.
“Have no fear for tonight. Your slumber should not be disturbed. Mr. Milton confirms every word of your story. He has copied verbatim the part of your father’s will about the list of guardians. He assures me that I am free to send my solicitor to view the original document or, if need be, he will bring it to me.”
Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief and smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you for reading it, Your Grace. I do feel much better.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Miss Tweed. I will be looking into other arrangements that may be considered for your welfare.”
The carelessness with which he spoke those words caused Henrietta to shiver.
“What kind of arrangements?”
“As your lawful protector, I’ll do what most guardians do for their charges.”
Hope surged within her that he might free her from the bonds of his guardianship. The thought was exhilarating that she might have a permanent home here in London. She could make friends, attend parties, take walks in Hyde Park, or wander the grounds of Vauxhall Gardens without fear that the curse would strike again.
“You’ll consider letting me be my own guardian,” she whispered almost breathlessly as hope flooded her chest.
His gaze searched her face for a moment before he said, “No, Miss Tweed.”
“You will let me live here with you?”
“Only for a short time. To do otherwise, I fear, would be too danger—would be unacceptable. I am a bachelor, and you are a young lady.”
“Then what will you do with me?” she asked, her hope fading as fast as it had risen, knowing there were few options open to her. “Are you considering sending me to a convent?”
“No, that never crossed my mind, unless that is your desire.”
“No, I feel I’m much too opinionated for that kind of service.”
“I agree wholeheartedly with that. What I intend to do is find you a husband.”
“Over my dead body!” she exclaimed, saying the first thing that came to her mind.
He frowned. “I hope you wouldn’t attempt anything so serious as to harm yourself, Miss Tweed,” he said sternly.
Henrietta was so shocked by his statement that her shoulders flew back, her chin lifted, and her gaze pinioned him. His steely gaze stayed on her face, and she matched his intensity.
“No, of course I wouldn’t. I am only making you aware of how grave I consider your suggestion of intending to find me a husband.”
“But that is what young ladies your age do.”
“I would sooner go to a convent than be forced to marry a man not of my own choosing—and especially one you might consider acceptable.”
“I’m not heartless. Of course, you would have to agree to anyone I would suggest.”
Henrietta knew she would have to marry one day. Most young ladies did. But it wasn’t something she had reason to give much thought. She wanted a home she could call her own, but she had never considered that it might come with a husband.
In a rush of fretfulness that was hard to control, she said, “Sign my inheritance over to me, Your Grace, and allow me my freedom.”
“I can’t do that. If I’m to take seriously this debt of my father’s that has been passed to me, what you suggest would be irresponsible. Your father, as would my own, would expect me to see you properly wed.”
“I know my father never would have brought me to London one day and expected me to start looking for a husband the next.”
Blake saw raw passion in Henrietta Tweed’s eyes, and that alone kept him from telling her that, yes, he believed her father would have brought her to London one day and married her off the next. But all he could think was
that he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she melted against him and surrendered everything to his will.
If fate was going to send a tempting, young lady to his door, why couldn’t she have been one he could ravish, rather than one he had to protect?
He shook his head and looked down at the stack of ledgers on his desk. He was weary.
“Go to bed, Miss Tweed. I have a lot of work to do, and you are hindering me.”
For a moment, Blake didn’t think she was going to leave. He thought she would insist on saying something else, but thankfully, after only a moment, she turned and walked proudly out of the room with her book tucked under her arm.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered after he heard her footsteps heading up the stairs.
If all wards were as strong, outspoken, resourceful, and desirable as Miss Tweed, there wouldn’t be a man alive who would accept the guardianship of any young lady. The hell of it was, the way she challenged him as if she were his equal appealed to him. How many young ladies had that kind of courage and self-confidence? The ladies he danced with at the parties and balls seldom said anything to him for fear of saying the wrong thing. Not so Miss Tweed. She rushed in where angels wouldn’t dare tread.
He turned to the bookshelf at his back and poured himself a splash of brandy before taking a seat in the chair behind his desk. He sipped his drink and thought back to a few minutes ago. He had almost kissed her when he touched her hair. He had wanted desperately to do so. If she hadn’t stepped away, would he have kissed her?
Blake chuckled quietly. Why was he berating himself? He was a man who loved beautiful, exciting women, and Miss Tweed was both of those things. And much more. Of course he had wanted to kiss her. She’d stimulated him more than any other young lady had in a long time—if ever.
But he wasn’t supposed to kiss her. Whether he liked it or wanted it, for now she was under his protection. And that made her untouchable.
If all went well, Constance would be her chaperone and take charge of her. He wouldn’t have to see her or come in contact with her—very much.
Plenty of bachelors would kill to offer for the hand of a beautiful, capable, and intelligent young lady like Miss Tweed.
