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Handing
Jupiter’s reins to a waiting groom, Royal Dewar eased his future
bride off the big gray stallion into his arms. Standing at the
door, his butler made an odd, sputtering sound at the sight of him
carrying a half-conscious woman up the stone stairs into the house.
“There was a
carriage accident on the road,” Royal said. “Miss Caulfield was
tossed out of the vehicle. Send someone to get the physician.”
Greaves
scurried toward a footman who stood in the entry, one of only
fifteen servants in the house, all that were left of the eight-five
men and women the household had employed before the late duke,
Royal’s father, had lost the Bransford fortune.
The marriage
his father had arranged to Jocelyn Caulfield, an extremely wealthy
heiress, would soon remedy that.
The footman
bolted for the door while Greaves dispatched a list of orders.
Royal didn’t slow, just continued up the wide, carved mahogany
staircase, the lady nestled against his chest, her gleaming blond
hair spilling loose around her shoulders, her rose velvet skirts
draped over his arm.
“She needs
someone to attend her,” he said to Greaves, who hurried to catch up
with him. He looked down at his future wife, her face and figure as
winsome as his father had promised. “Which room is to be hers?”
“The duchess’s
suite, Your Grace. It was the nicest in the house.”
Because his
father couldn’t bear to sell the elegant furnishings in his beloved
wife’s bedroom. Though it wasn’t quite the thing to ensconce a
duke’s future bride in a room adjoining his before they were wed, it
was probably the right decision.
Royal turned
the silver handle on the door, kicked it open with his boot, and
strode into the room. Greaves raced ahead to turn back the covers
on the big four-poster bed and draw back the damask curtains. The
chamber, done in a soft, sea-foam green with lovely rosewood
furniture, was a room his mother had loved.
Royal wondered
if Jocelyn would approve, looked down at her as he laid her on the
bed, and realized her eyes were open and that they were the exact
same soft green hue.
“How are you
feeling?” he asked. Pulling off his gloves, he reached down to take
hold of her hand. It was icy cold and she was shivering.
“The fire,
Greaves. The lady needs warming.” But the old man had already set
to the task and low flames had begun to lick over the grate. With
his permission, the door swung open to admit one of the
chambermaids, who carried a long-handled warming-pan hot from the
kitchen. Another maid appeared to help remove the lady’s gown and
get her settled beneath the heated sheets.
“I’ll come
back once you are at rest,” he promised, stepping impatiently into
the hall. He could hear the maid chattering away and found himself
smiling at Jocelyn’s sigh of pleasure as she settled into the deep
feather mattress.
Another maid
appeared. “I’ve a heated brick for your lady’s feet, Your Grace.”
He nodded his
approval and she disappeared into the room. “It feels wonderful,”
Jocelyn said to the women as they quietly fled the room. “Thank you
all so much.”
Royal didn’t
wait for the door to close, just walked back into the bedroom. He
smiled down at the woman in his mother’s bed and tried not to think
that once they were married, she would be spending most of her
nights in his.
“I hope you
are feeling a little better.”
Jocelyn smiled
up at him. “My head still hurts, but now that I am warm, I am
feeling a good deal more myself.”
“The physician
should be here soon, and my aunt is due to arrive at any moment, so
you will be properly chaperoned.”
“I look
forward to meeting Lady Tavistock.”
“As she looks
forward to meeting you."
She moved to
sit up and winced.
“Are you
certain you are well enough to sit?”
“I need to get
my bearings.”
He reached
over and helped her adjust the pillows.
“Thank you. I
appreciate your care of me, Your Grace.”
Instead of
leaving as he had planned, he sat down in the chair beside the bed,
reached over and took her hand. “Your ordeal is over. We shall
find the brigands who attacked your carriage and deal with them, I
promise you. Now try to get some rest.”
She smiled at
him so sweetly his chest tightened.
“I’m immensely
grateful you came along when you did. If you hadn’t, I should
probably still be lying out there, frozen utterly stiff by now.”
He smiled.
“But I found you and now you are safe.”
She gave him a
last soft smile and her eyes slowly closed. Royal resisted an urge
to lean over and press his lips against her forehead. “Sleep well,
Miss Caulfield.”
Her lovely
pale green eyes popped open. “Oh, I am terribly sorry for the
misunderstanding, Your Grace. But you see I am not Miss Caulfield.
I am her cousin--Miss Lily Moran. |
