Page 45 of An Innocent Bride for the Duke

“Ashbourne dropped his own spyglass on the ground and had to scrabble about to find it and then crawled into the bushes for shelter, like a hunted fox.”

“He can certainly run fast enough for a man of his age,” reflected Benedict with satisfaction, having taken the telescope from Damien after his first shot so that his friend might shoot at the rabbits too. “I hope he will think better of repeating such behavior in future.”

“If he doesn’t, there’s something very wrong with him,” responded Damien cheerfully.

Benedict nodded, suddenly less optimistic about this afternoon’s sport having been an end to Lord Ashbourne’s unfortunate behavior. He resolved to speak to Lady Esher on the subject.

There was something very wrong with that man, wasn’t there? Who knew what he might do next?

Chapter Nineteen

It felt so strange to Louisa to be sleeping in her own adult bedroom again that night. With Seraphine and Damien only along the corridor from the nursery suite, there was no need or good reason for her to sleep so close to the children any longer.

The peace and tranquillity of Louisa’s bedroom on the second floor felt like loneliness and despair tonight.

What is wrong with me?

Nothing had changed in the room and yet everything felt different. Louisa’s favorite water-color painting of Rosemere by old Mr. Chapps, a local artist, still hung opposite her bed as it had done for years. Now, however, the scene looked impossibly distant, as though Louisa was regarding her beloved home from a thousand miles and a thousand years away.

The same selection of brushes, combs and perfumes lay on Louisa’s familiar dressing table and yet her face looked so strange and pale in the mirror as she sat down to unpin her hair before bed.

The wind in the trees outside sounded its usual quiet rushing through the window that Louisa had bid Melissa to leave slightly open. Rather than being soothing tonight, the noise was somewhat mournful, echoing the sorrow in Louisa’s heart.

This may not be the exact dream you dreamed as a young girl, Louisa, but just think, it might be the start of something even better…

Seraphine’s well-intended words came back to Louisa again as she tossed restlessly on her pillow, and tears pricked her eyes at the hopelessness of the situation. There had been no opportunity today to speak to Benedict about her unhappiness as her cousin had recommended.

What difference could it make anyway? The Duke of Northwick might well understand, even sympathize, but he could not give back her youthful dreams. He could not write her love-poems of the kind that Sir Benedict had written to Lady Elizabeth.

“Sir Benedict,” Louisa whispered softly in the darkness, trying to conjure the image of that dashing knight on his pure white steed, as she had done on so many nights when she was young, carried into sleep by thoughts of the hero’s valiant deeds and unconquerable love for Lady Elizabeth. “Sir Benedict…”

Tonight, however, Louisa could conjure almost nothing of her old paladin. Each time she tried to visualize a man on a white horse, she saw only Benedict Hale, Duke of Northwick, his hair in disarray, a smile playing on his lips and his unique eyes twinkling at her, one blue and one green.

This will not do!

Swinging herself from bed, Louisa pulled on her dressing gown. She did not want the all-too-human Duke of Northwick whose kisses had undone her. She wanted the perfect Sir Benedict of the fairy tale, whose hair was always in place, whose eyes were some standard shade of blue and who never embraced young ladies in drawing rooms late at night. She wanted children born from love, not well-scheduled duty.

Padding along the passage from her bedroom and then down the staircase, Louisa made for the library, candlestick in hand. She could picture exactly where her favorite old book would lie on its shelf with other old novels, for no one but her would ever have reason to touch it. Maybe tomorrow she would pack this book away forever, but tonight she wished to read it one last time.

“Sir Benedict,” Louisa murmured again as she pushed open the library door and then stopped dead in the doorway, her heart lurching in her chest. “What are you doing here?!”

The Duke of Northwick stared back at her with apparently equal surprise. Leaning against a set of shelves with book in hand, he too looked as though he had risen from his bed and come downstairs to read, his hair disordered, his collar discarded and his shirtsleeves rolled to the forearm.

“I couldn’t sleep, Louisa,” he told her. “I came down to look for a good story to distract me. Can you recommend any?”

“Not that one,” Louisa replied sharply, suddenly realizing what he held in his hand and instinctively going over to take it from him. “Give it to me."

Why on earth did he have to have picked up that book? There were easily a hundred other novels and poetry books on those shelves beside him.

What had possessed him? And why was he looking at Louisa like that..?

This vision of loveliness was the last thing he needed tonight, Benedict realized as the golden-curled figure in its nightdress advanced on him. What in God’s name was Lady Louisa doing down here at this hour? Had she not learned her lesson about the danger of being alone with him after their fateful encounter in the drawing room?

“Give it to me,” Louisa insisted, her eyes fixed on the book in his hands.

The White Knight of Wanderham was only some slight and well-thumbed old novel that Benedict would likely have rejected and replaced on the shelf, before continuing his search for something more interesting. Now, however, his curiosity was piqued. Why did Louisa want it so much? Or did she not wish him to read it?

Glancing down again at the page, he read the opening lines which introduced the hero of the story, presumably the noble knight depicted on the corresponding print.