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He would never have left England if not for her. He would never have been forced to marry. She might not know what happened in India, but in many respects, he blamed her.
It always came back to Louisa.
Guilt turned to resentment. Irritation that she had the nerve to show up at his home. Anger that she’d been naïve not to see how he felt about her six years ago. Fury that she turned his life upside down.
“I will see her,” he said in a low tone.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Get a bedchamber readied for her. This storm is getting worse.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is she in the receiving salon?”
A blotchy red color saturated the cheeks of Jenkins’ pale face. “She was dripping from the snow. I left her in the hall until I knew if you would see her.”
No more than she deserved. Harry clenched his fists. His conscience railed at him to do the right thing. “Put her in the salon and get a fire started. I shall be down presently.”
As his butler left, Harry shook his head. The man looked down on anyone below the rank of viscount, assuming they were not good enough to speak with the duke. He rose from the chair in his bedchamber and went to the mirror.
Seeing how badly Charlotte had mangled his cravat this afternoon made his lips turn downward. Bloody hell, how would he keep Louisa from discovering Charlotte? It was only for the night. By morning, Louisa—and the memories of the past—would be gone.
He stroked the short beard covering his face and wondered if he should wait to
greet Louisa after shaving. He shrugged. She had interrupted his holidays, so she could bear to see him in his disheveled state.
Walking down the black marble stairs, he again thought that her being here would bring back memories he’d tried so hard to suppress. As he reached the last step, he noticed Jenkins looking around as if he’d lost something, or perhaps someone. “Did you misplace her, Jenkins?”
“I left her right here, Your Grace,” he said, pointing to a particularly wet spot. “Her bag is still here.”
“Did you check the receiving salon?”
“I was about to, sir.”
“I will check myself. Make certain Miss Drake did not leave due to your lack of hospitality.”
Perhaps she’d realized her mistake in coming here and hastily departed. As if to remind Harry of his unwelcoming thoughts, the wind howled outside. Striding down the hall, his anger at her returned. No matter how important, she should have written to him. There was no reason for her to put her health at risk by traveling during a blizzard.
He walked into the silent receiving room and thought it empty until he heard a soft sigh. Then he spied the black wool cloak on the floor. Stepping toward the wingback chair by the fire, relief washed over him.
Louisa Drake sat in his favorite chair with her eyes closed and her full pink lips slightly parted. Her chestnut hair had fallen out of its chignon, and dark brown tendrils clung to her lightly freckled cheeks.
When they first met, she’d only been seventeen and still had a slight fullness to her face. That roundness had disappeared over the years, exposing high cheekbones on a heart-shaped face. He’d always been fascinated by the soft angles of her face, and even now, he couldn’t look away.
“What have you done now, Louisa?” The enormity of her actions caused him to drop into the chair next to her. Any other woman of her station would know how improper it might appear if someone discovered her at his home without a chaperone.
“Did you find her, sir?” Jenkins asked in a hopeful tone from the threshold.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Have the maids open the rose room and ask Mrs. Raney for a maid to assist her. And tea, Jenkins. She will need tea to warm up.”
“Of course.”
For a few moments, Harry just stared at her. What could be so damned important that she would risk her reputation to see him? Of course, she’d never been overly concerned with her name. There were numerous times they had almost been caught on the terrace of someone’s house instead of being in the ballroom. Not that they’d been doing anything but talking.
That was all she’d ever wanted from him.
A long sigh escaped his lips. Everything was different now. He was the Duke of Worthington. The responsibility of the estates, Charlotte, the tenants, and so much more, all fell on him. He could no longer be the irresponsible young man she knew so many years ago.
