Page 8 of The Duke’s Suspicion

For a moment, silence fell among them. Mr. Davies glanced at her once out of the corner of his eye but gave no other indication of noting her presence. He seemed to be waiting for the duke to decide whether she merited an introduction.

She dipped into a curtsy, a shallow one. Anything deeper might send her toppling once more into the mud. “I’m Miss Burke,” she said, mustering all the dignity she could.

“Oh, er, pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Burke,” the gentleman stammered and bowed again. “Walter Davies. Raynham’s man of business.” His gaze flicked over her once before lighting somewhere in the vicinity of the duke’s chin.

“I found Miss Burke sheltering in the gardener’s cottage. An unhappy accident separated her from her family, with whom she was traveling to Windermere.”

“’Tis fortunate you rescued her, sir.”

Tristan—she would not go on thinking of him as “the duke”—accepted Mr. Davies’s praise with a stiff nod.

As neither of them showed any sign of consulting her opinion on the matter of the supposed “rescue,” she cleared her throat, drawing both sets of eyes her way. “I wish to be reunited with my sister,” she said. “At the very least, I must get word to her, to let her know where I am.”

“But the rain and the flooding have likely made that impossible,” Tristan interjected smoothly. “I fear the best we can do at the moment is to send a messenger to Endmoor to leave word for her family when they are able to return there.”

Mr. Davies nodded his agreement. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll see to it that a lookout is kept in the village for…for the Burke family, is it?”

Tristan looked at her expectantly.

“Yes—er, no.” For a moment, she had forgotten her sister’s newly acquired title. “My sister is Lady Ashborough.”

“Lady Ashborough?” Mr. Davies exclaimed. “The authoress?”

Erica nodded. “The same, sir.”

Tristan looked from one to the other in open incredulity, but Mr. Davies did not seem to notice. “Oh, The Wild Irish Rose is delightful. I’m no’ sure I can bear it until the next installment is released.” In his excitement, t’s began to drop from his otherwise proper speech. “I dinna suppose you know…?”

“Whether Lord Granville is the villain he seems? Even if I were so fortunate as to know the story’s outcome, I would not dare reveal it, sir. My sister would—” She hesitated. Cami was going to have her head, either way.

“Of course, of course.” Mr. Davies nodded, disappointed but resigned. “You may rest assured, Miss Burke,” he said, “that my son will do all in his power to find her and to set her mind at ease.”

“I would advise him to go on foot rather than risk a horse.” Tristan quickly reclaimed control over the conversation with that commanding tone of his. She doubted he ever offered mere advice. “And tell him to take the eastern path, through the wood. The main road appeared to be under water.”

“I’m not surprised to hear it, Your Grace. Some of Her Grace’s guests told quite a harrowing tale about the state of the roads. And that was well before last night’s rain.”

“Guests?” The echo of that single word hung on the air long after the steam of his breath dissipated.

“Aye,” said Mr. Davies, though the affirmation rose like a question, and his lips gave a nervous twitch. “She planned a grand welcome for you—and here I’ve gone and spoiled the surprise.”

“For which I can only be grateful, Mr. Davies. The surprise would be all hers, and not a pleasant one, were I to step into the drawing room looking like this.”

Mr. Davies dared to give a rusty laugh. “Aye, Your Grace. That it would.”

Despite his claim of gratitude, however, Tristan still looked vaguely unsettled by the other man’s revelation. He dipped his head once more, a sign Mr. Davies evidently read as dismissal, for that gentleman at last jumped into action.

“Very good.” He bowed sharply, nearly poking them both with the spines of his umbrella. “I’ll send Kevin out straightaway. Miss Burke is welcome to wait here for any news.” The enthusiastic glimmer in his eye foretold a few more questions about the plot of her sister’s novel if she accepted his invitation.

Without looking at her, Tristan offered Erica his arm. “I will not impose upon you, Mr. Davies. I made a promise to Miss Burke. She is my…responsibility.”

That hesitation. She felt certain he’d been about to say “my problem.”

Except she was neither his responsibility nor his problem. Not his in any sense.

She glanced toward Mr. Davies, but even if he wished to, he obviously believed he dared not contradict his employer. Why was Tristan so determined to take her to Hawesdale Chase? His behavior smacked of something more than simple hospitality.

Then an earlier question jostled its way to the forefront of her mind: Why had he stopped at the cottage to begin with? It was as if he didn’t want to go home alone. Or perhaps he didn’t want to go at all. What awaited him in that enormous, ornate mansion? A sister, he’d said. And a stepmother. Was that all? With five siblings, Erica hardly knew what solitude was.

Loneliness, however, was another matter entirely.