“Argh!” Rafe jolted up.
He was not in a bed but at his desk. His head jerked back and forth as he took in his surroundings.
Little wonder the nightmare had been more powerful this evening. He had returned home to his castle on the edge of Sussex, to oversee the work that was requested by his steward. Just being in the castle had reconjured all the bad memories.
“A dream, just a dream,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his temples as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. He’d lost his tailcoat at some point. Sat in his waistcoat with his shirt sleeves neatly folded up to his elbows, he was only warm thanks to the roaring fire in the room. “Just a dream,” he repeated, sitting tall and stretching his neck as he looked about the space.
This study had been his father’s room before his and was the one place in the castle where Rafe usually found solace. The great mahogany desk and damask chairs were flanked by old settle benches, betraying just how old this castle truly was. The walls made of old gray stone were covered in tapestries, some dating back to the fifteen hundreds. Between them was the great gray-stone hearth, inlaid with a marble plinth above the flames that bore the emblem of the Duke of Ravensworth. Two ravens were bent together, their beaks practically kissing.
“I can’t keep doing this.” Even as Rafe spoke, he reached for the brandy carafe beside him on the desk, pouring out a second glass. If he was to improve his reputation and be a better duke, then he would have to stop drinking so much for starters.
Deciding the second glass would be his last for the night, he drew forward the paper he had been writing on before he fell asleep, using the light of the fire to check his words.
‘Dear Simon,
Sussex is as cold and as bitter as I remember it. The servants do their best to take care of me, as always, and I can see that what my steward says is true – there is much to be done here to reclaim the castle’s former glory, or at the very least, make it habitable again. I intend to oversee all the plans before I return. I shall also have to return many times this next year to ensure the building work is completed to schedule.
In the meantime, would you be able to assist me in finding more suitable lodgings in London? I have been thinking a lot on what you have said about me struggling perhaps to turn my reputation around. Those small rooms in the darkest parts of Covent Garden are perhaps not so wise.’
He broke off reading as there was a sound deep within the castle. It sounded like the front door closing of the keep, but he knew that had to be impossible. Who would come to see him out here in Sussex? He turned to look at the window, marking that as it was late afternoon, the light was slipping from the sky already. It wouldn’t be long until it was dark.
Turning back to face his desk, he caught sight of a small miniature portrait he kept at the corner of it. It was of Juliet when she was alive, smiling at the painter with those thin lips.
Rafe jerked his head away, not wishing to think of her at this moment. Thoughts of her would only make it harder to stay here in the meantime.
Instead, his thoughts drifted to another. He saw the red-haired woman from the ball a few nights before. He saw their kiss and the way she had held onto him as he had indulged in such a kiss.
He also saw how they had bumped into one another at Hyde Park. She hadn’t recognized him, that was plain in the way she seemed to look through him rather than at him. He could hardly blame her for not realizing he was the man she had kissed, for he had put together his disguise very well that night of the ball, choosing a mask that covered most of his face and tying back his hair in a way that he never normally did.
Still, Rafe couldn’t help being disappointed a little that she had not recognized him despite it all.
Who are you, I wonder?
His curiosity about her he had expected to fade after the ball that night, but he was wrong. If anything, he wanted to know her all the more, and often found her creeping into his thoughts when he least expected it to be the case.
A light tap at the door drew his attention.
“Yes?” Rafe called.
The door opened and his butler, Stede, stepped through the gap with his usual formal smile in place. Stede always bore a stiff upper lip and barely talked to Rafe at all these days. He preferred a cool formality to be between them and Rafe had given up long ago attempting any sort of friendship with the butler.
“A guest has arrived to see you, Your Grace.” Stede bowed, clearly thinking his task was done as he returned to the door.
“Wait.” Rafe stood. “Who is it?” It couldn’t have been Simon, for his friend surely would have written ahead to forewarn Rafe of his coming.
“I did not ask her name. She is in the drawing room.”
“She?” Rafe repeated, startled, for he had not been expecting a woman.
“Yes.”
“I see. Thank you.” Rafe tightened his hands at his side but kept his thoughts to himself. He supposed Stede resented him for not being more of a present duke at this castle over the last few years. It wasn’t something he could be angry at the butler for.
As Stede left, Rafe turned and looked back at the weather through the lead-lined window. It wasn’t just gray and growing dark with the early nights of late autumn, but it was raining heavily too. The russet trees in the distance swayed from side to side, battered by the wind.
Who would come calling through this weather?
Rafe left the study and took a candle with him, hurrying to the drawing room. The castle was so vast and empty that his footsteps echoed on the stone floors. When he eventually reached the drawing room and stepped inside, he realized he had expected his visitor to be Simon after all, so the sight of a young woman drenched to the bone standing in the middle of the chamber was a shock.
