“What?” Even in his drunken haze, Dubois seemed to have realized something was wrong, and now he was staring at Dorian with a mixture of annoyance and wariness.
? “You may think you can get whatever you want, but I am here to tell you that you cannot,” Dorian murmured. “There are still some gentlemen left in the ton who are not afraid of a fight.”
And before Dubois could say anything else, Dorian stood. His movement was so abrupt that his chair fell backward, clattering onto the ground. He didn’t bother to pick it up.
“Lady Leah is the most beautiful, interesting, kind, and selfless woman of the ton, and if you think I would sit by and let you force her into marriage, then you are completely deluded. You are the most despicable gentleman I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and I promise you, you will never so much as look upon Lady Leah again, let alone marry her. I promise you that on my very life.”
And w ith a swirl of his cloak, he turned away from the white-faced Dubois and strode from the room, tossing a few coins onto the bar as he left.
Anger gave him speed and purpose. He mounted his horse quickly, turned him away, and began to ride hard back through the streets of London. The pounding in his ears was still ringing, and his body was coursing with energy. He hadn’t felt like this in many years. Purposeful. Strong. Sure.
His last words to Dubois echoed in his ears as he turned onto the quiet Mayfair street where the ivy-covered Dredford House stood. They kept echoing as he dismounted, tied up the horse, and then slunk through the front garden to the side of the house where the family bedrooms were.
It wasn’t hard to find hers. She was silhouetted in the room, brushing her hair, the warm, buttery light of the candle flickering out to greet his eyes.
Nor did it take long for Dorian to find what he was looking for: the lattice underneath the ivy, which helped it grow upwards along the red brick. It wasn’t strong, but he could use the brick for footholds as well. And so, without hesitation, Dorian began to climb the ladder toward Lady Leah’s room.
Dubois might think he could get whatever woman he wanted, but he was wrong. He couldn’t have Lady Leah.
Chapter Eight
“Ican brush my own hair tonight, Clara,” Leah said, as her maid bent to take the brush from her hand.
“Are you sure, milady?” Clara asked, pausing and looking hesitantly from the brush to Leah’s face. “I can do it for you.”
“I don’t mind,” Leah said, smiling at her maid. “I think I’d like a few minutes alone for myself to consider everything the past few days have brought.”
“Very well, milady. Have a good night.”
The maid shut the door behind her, leaving Leah alone. With a small sigh, Leah turned to the mirror and lifted the brush to her hair. Her long, dark locks had been let all the way down, and they cascaded around her shoulders.
Her hair was still curly from the hot iron this morning, which her maid had used to put her hair into a fashionable coiffure forthe promenade she had taken with Lord Eaton. The afternoon promenade had gone very well, and as Leah began to brush out the curls, she allowed herself to feel a small measure of hope.
Lord Eaton was a good man, she thought. Perhaps a little studious and dry, but a good man. And he had been attentive all afternoon, asking her questions about herself, giving thoughtful replies. The conversation was easy, especially after Nottington’s lessons.
And he seems to really like me.He had even brushed his hands very lightly against hers as they’d walked next to each other. That bordered on flirtatiousness, if you asked her.
Yes, it had gone very well, and she was hopeful that he would propose in the next few days. Which she desperately needed, because the end of the fortnight her brother and Nottington had promised her was coming to a close. Lucien hadn’t been able to guarantee that he could keep Dubois away any longer than that.
A proposal is imminent, she told herself sternly as her heart began to race in her chest.You won’t be forced to marry Dubois.
Why, then, was there a very small part of her that was dreading Lord Eaton’s proposal? Why was there a small part of her that hoped he changed his mind? Why did her stomach turn to knots when she imagined marrying him?
Shaking her head, she tried to push these thoughts away. They were ludicrous. Lord Eaton was her best bet…
At that moment, there was a thumb against the window, and Leah nearly jumped out of her skin.
Whirling around, she stared at the window. It was dark out, and she couldn’t see anything because of the flickering candlelight inside: only her reflection was visible. She stared at it for a long moment, her heart hammering.
Maybe a bird flew into it… Or a stray tree branch hit it…
She had just looked away when it happened again.Thump!It didn’t sound like a bird. It sounded like someone… knocking.
Jumping to her feet, Leah ran over to the window and pulled it open. She looked down, and, to her astonishment, found herself staring into the eyes of the Duke of Nottington. He was clinging to the edge of the windowsill and the lattice underneath the ivy, which she was shocked to see could support his weight.
“What are you doing?” she cried, and he immediately shushed her.
“Be quiet,” he said. “You don't want your brother, or anyone, to find me here.”
