“You will be my Duchess, Miss Holt, sooner rather than later,” he asserted with another laugh, his hand unerringly finding hers in the darkness and bringing it again to his lips.
Cecily gasped as if she had been burned, but she did not pull her hand away right away. Instead, her fingers stroked his lips of their own accord before she realized what she was doing and pulled back.
Even in the darkness, she knew he was smiling and felt despair over her own lack of self-control. No one had ever made her feel like this before.
“How long will it take us to reach Greyhaven Park?” she asked after taking a few minutes to slow her breathing.
“Around two hours, maybe less, since the roads are clear late at night. We will see what we find when we get there and then plan our course for tomorrow.”
* * *
The clocks had not yet struck midnight when the carriage pulled to a halt at the end of a long gravel drive.
“Here we are,” the Duke pronounced crisply. “Welcome to Greyhaven Park, Miss Holt.”
He had kept silent for most of the journey, although Cecily sensed his gaze on her several times and wondered what he was thinking about. Her own mind was on what they would find when they arrived at their first destination.
Could Patrick and Mary actually be there? What would the servants think if the Duke brought a young woman to his estate in the middle of the night? What sleeping arrangements would he expect?
A moment later, the driver opened the door and offered an arm to help her down. The Duke exited from the other side.
“I’ll bring those inside for you, miss,” the driver said when she reached for her bundles.
Cecily nodded, staring at the great house ahead of her.
Greyhaven Park was truly stunning, especially at night, with a bright gibbous moon overhead and flaming torches at the front door. As she watched, the door opened, and an older womanstepped out, taking a steady and expectant stance among the shadows at the top of the steps.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” the Duke remarked, coming to stand beside Cecily and share the view of the pale stone and marble edifice with its neoclassical columns and pediment. “My grandfather was quite the builder. He knocked down the old Elizabethan shack and put this place up in less than five years.”
“It’s a beautiful house,” Cecily said quite sincerely. “You are lucky to have it.”
“I suppose I am,” the Duke acknowledged rather philosophically, as though this had never occurred to him before. “Well, Mrs. Barnes is awake and waiting for us up there. We had best go inside and introduce you.”
“Who is Mrs. Barnes?” Cecily asked, looking again at the woman on the doorstep and sensing now some strain in the way she stood with folded arms.
“My housekeeper, technically. Guardian of the soul of the duchy of Greyhaven in her own mind…”
The Duke chuckled at his own words, though Cecily had no idea what to make of them and just hurried to keep up with him. He walked slightly ahead of her up the stone steps and tipped his head slightly to the housekeeper, whom Cecily could now see was a woman in her sixties, though she had a strong build and an energetic temper for her age.
“Mrs. Barnes, may I introduce you to Miss Cecily Holt, who has consented to be my wife?”
Cecily inhaled sharply. What kind of introduction had she expected from this darkly mercurial Duke? She could hardly object since what he had said was true.
The housekeeper’s eyes briefly swept over her, and her face showed a mix of sympathy, indulgence, and judgment.
“Very good, Your Grace. But why are you bringing the poor girl here alone in the middle of the night?” she demanded, her deference less convincing than her disapproval. “Engaged or not, it isn’t proper, and you know it. I told Lord Patrick the same thing.”
“Lord Patrick is here?” Cecily asked immediately, stepping forward as all other thoughts and feelings flew out of her head. “Is he with my sister, Mary? She is a little taller than I and has lighter hair.”
“They were both here last night and left first thing this morning. They’re going to Gretna Green! I told them not to be so foolish and that you could arrange a proper wedding for them here or in London, Your Grace, but they would hear nothing.”
“Mary is only nineteen,” Cecily said, her heart sinking at the news.
They had missed catching Mary here and would have to pursue the couple further in the morning. At least they were on the right trail, she supposed.
Glancing at the Duke, Cecily saw only amusement on his face while his garrulous housekeeper railed at him.
“Nineteen? Well, nothing good will come of that, will it? Running off without your father’s consent, and now His Grace here stealing away another daughter. Am I to have duels on the lawn next? Has the Duchy of Greyhaven really come to that?”
