The realization hit her then and there as another crash rang out and the scampering of paws intruded once more, along with the squeal of a chamber maid. Pippa was falling in love with the Duke of Northwich, the man she had married, the man she had once been convinced was dishonorable and deceitful, an utter scoundrel.
He was none of those things. She knew that now. He had proven himself to her in so many ways.
“I have a suspicion we should not waste another moment,” he said then, taking her hand in his.
Together, they rushed down the hall, back in the direction from which they had come. They found their way into a smallish chamber compared to others in the spacious and grandiose manor house. Which was to say that it was still quite large, merely not as vast as some of the other chambers. Blue damask and chintz furniture greeted her, along with a bevy of watercolors depicting flower gardens. She did not think she had entered this particular salon yet.
He closed the door at their backs, enclosing them in the chamber with the elusive pup, who had hidden himself beneath a chaise longue. Roland approached the furniture slowly.
“Hullo, little fellow,” he crooned. “I will not hurt you, I promise.”
Her heart. It was aching. Or mayhap all the jagged shards of it were being cemented back together again.
There was something about the site of the tall, strong duke dropping to his knees on the carpets to coax a puppy from beneath a chaise longue that thrust realization upon her. She was not just falling in love with Roland.
She wasalreadyin love with him. She had never stopped.
He had found a puppy in his travels, and he had been thinking of Charlotte.
“Out you come, old chap,” he urged, holding out a hand for the pup to sniff.
Two wide, brown eyes and one sniffling little nose could be seen edging nearer.
“That’s the way of it,” he encouraged the pup.
Then, with an ease that belied the manner in which the pup had been running about, the poor footman chasing after him, Roland scooped the small ball of fur into his arms and rose. The dog was frantically licking his chin as he turned to face her.
“We are old friends, this scamp and I,” he told her with a wry grin. “If only I had not been so distracted by my beautiful wife, he would not have been left to linger in the entry hall and this could have been avoided.”
The tiny dog was gazing at Roland adoringly, pink tongue flying over his jaw and ears now.
She knew the feeling, for she was rather besotted with her husband herself. But what to do with those feelings? How could she trust this burgeoning love in her heart? She had been wrong once before.
“Pippa?” Roland’s voice brought her back to the moment. “You are not happy about the pup? I must beg your pardon. I ought to have asked your opinion first. However, the rascal was running wild on the farm we visited, and he was nearly trampled by one of the work horses. I did not dare leave him, after I had set my heart upon bringing him home to Charlotte.”
How to explain? It was not the excitable pup which was causing her heart to pound and concern tightened in her belly just now. Rather, it was the way she felt for Roland.
She forced a smile. “I am not displeased about the pup. I was merely surprised. Char-char will love him, I have no doubt.”
The look he gave her was searching and steady. “Then her heart is far more easily won than her mother’s.”
The warmth blossoming in her belly had nothing to do with the sunshine beyond the walls of Wylde Park and everything to do with the man standing before her, who was still being adored by the puppy in his arms.
“Roland.” His name was all she could manage past the sudden rush of feelings. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but the prospect of such a revelation was also terrifying.
“You needn’t say more,” he said, a sad smile turning up the corners of his very fine mouth. “I have promised you time and yet at every turn, I am making a muck of things.”
He was not making a muck of anything.Shewas. She had from the first. Since their parting in Oxfordshire. Even now, she was still too fearful to reveal the way she truly felt to him. Too fearful this tentative happiness would be stolen from her. Fearful she was wrong, that her judgment was suspect, and that opening her heart again was dangerous.
“This is a lovely salon,” she said instead of delving further into any of the riot of emotion coursing through her. A rush to fill the silence with something—anything—had hit her. “I do not think I have been in this chamber yet.”
Roland’s country seat boasted more rooms than she had bothered to count. However, the housekeeper had informed her the number was one hundred eighty-three. She fancied she could wander about for the rest of the summer and still not enter them all.
“This room was my mother’s favorite.” Roland cast a glance around the brightly lit, inviting chamber as the puppy wiggled in his arms. “She painted every picture hanging on these walls.”
The news had Pippa giving a second, more thorough look at the framed pictures adorning the damask. “Heavens, your mother was a talented woman.”
“She was. She also excelled at charcoal sketches. I have some I shall show you, if you would like. Perhaps after we introduce our little friend to Charlotte.”
