Should she sit or stand in this man’s presence? He was a duke, and yet… just look at him!
With his tousled dark hair and unbuttoned jacket thrown over an open shirt, he looked as though he had just rolled out of bed. Was he a drinker, still tipsy from a late-night rout? That was not at all what Cecily needed right now.
But no. His eyes were steady and clear, and he showed none of the telltale signs of heavy drinking she knew all too well from watching her uncle. Yet, if he wasn’t drunk, then what was the explanation for his receiving her in such a disordered state?
Her eyes darted back to his chest. His shirt was open enough that she could see a smattering of dark hair on his well-muscled torso, and the sight stirred those strange butterflies in her stomach once more.
“It is noon,” she returned rather primly, tearing her eyes from his chest and glancing at the clock. “It is not morning at all.”
That only made him laugh.
It would have infuriated Cecily if she had not been so worried about Mary. She remembered how amused he had been by her last night, too.
“It is morning to me,” he replied. “But morning, noon, or night, what are you doing here at Greyhaven House? I did not think you liked me so much that you would seek me out so soon after our first encounter, but perhaps I was wrong.”
Cecily’s cheeks burned at his familiar and rather flirtatious manner. Should she ask pointedly whether his wife was here?
No, she had to focus on Mary and not aggravate him.
The Duke gestured for her to sit back down in the leather armchair and took the identical chair opposite.
“Do excuse my intrusion, Your Grace,” she began politely. “You were evidently not expecting to receive guests so… early, but I had to come as soon as I could.”
“I am glad to see you, although my pleasure in seeing you does not explain your presence.”
Cecily continued to blush, uncomfortable at receiving such attention from a married man, even though he had said nothing so very inappropriate, certainly not compared to Lord Ashworth.
“Your Grace, I…”
“Did I say something wrong?” he queried, as though reading her thoughts. “I am within my rights to ask for your purpose here, especially when you have still not told me your identity, despite evidently acquiring both my name and London address.”
“Your Grace, forgive my confusion,” Cecily said. “It is only that gentlemen are usually properly shaved and dressed by this hour. I am not accustomed to being received like this.”
“I dare say they are,” he laughed, as though her observation was indeed very funny. “But I don’t much care what gentlemen normally do, any more than you care what ladies normally do. If you did, you would not have come to my house unchaperoned and uninvited. Perhaps we are both unconventional people.”
She met his deep blue eyes and felt a surge of something very odd in her chest.
Was what he said correct? Was she unconventional in the same way as this outrageous man? She did not believe so, but for amoment, she almost wanted it to be true and to be able to say and do exactly as she wished.
“I dare say it is easier to be unconventional when you are a duke,” she remarked and then shook her head, determined to move on to the matter at hand. “I came to ask for your help. My sister is in grave trouble, and you are the only person who might assist me.”
“You intrigue me ever more,” he answered, his voice teasing, clearly not grasping how serious the situation was. “Do I know your sister? What has happened to her?”
“Something terrible has happened, Your Grace. My sister has eloped with your brother, Lord Patrick Winslow. Mary is only nineteen, and my uncle was trying to marry her off to old Lord Ashworth. She can’t know what she is doing, only that she wants to escape. I must find her before it is too late.”
“Patrick has eloped?” the Duke repeated incredulously, sitting up straight in his chair with an astonished look. “But I only saw him last night… Wait, he received an urgent message from a woman when we were at Mildenhall, only a few minutes before I saw you. Was that note from your sister?”
“I expect it was,” Cecily told him gravely. “Mary wrote a note to me too, and I found it when I got home.”
Remembering where she had secreted the letter, Cecily blushed again and turned away from him to pull it out of her stays. Whenshe turned back, the Duke was looking at her with even greater interest and some confusion.
He took the letter, read it with a laugh of surprise, and then another of genuine humor. “So, that’s why Patrick took my carriage and I had to get a cab home from Mildenhall House. Now it all makes sense.”
“I do not think it is amusing,” Cecily protested stiffly. “What are you going to do about this?”
“Do?” he asked incredulously. “Why should I do anything? It says they are going to Scotland to get married, and you tell me that your sister is fleeing the threat of forced marriage to the randiest old man in London. Your family is noble, and my brother is twenty-eight. Why should I do anything? It seems like the best outcome for everyone, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Well, it does not seem that way to me!” Cecily retorted angrily, getting up again and stamping her foot in frustration. “Mary is naive enough to think that they can reach Gretna Green overnight. What if your brother doesn’t marry her? What if he abandons her somewhere on the way and her reputation is tarnished? As the older brother and head of the household, aren’t you responsible for that too?”
