“Do you love my grandson, Lady Grenfell?”
The question shocked her. She gawped at Mrs. Carrington-Smythe, uncertain of what to say.
Because the answer terrified her.
“I… Mrs. Carrington-Smythe…” she stumbled. “I don’t know how to respond to such a query.”
A silvery brow winged upward as shrewd emerald eyes met hers. “I think you do, Lady Grenfell. And if there is one thing that I have learned in the many years of my life, it is that love is stronger and more powerful than anything else. Be brave enough to listen to your heart, my dear.” She thumped her cane and then rose from her seat slowly. “I bid you good day.”
Lottie watched Brandon’s grandmother leave the room in a swish of black and navy skirts, the gold head of her cane glinting in the lamplight.
And as the door to her drawing room closed, leaving Lottie alone with a cup of cooling tea, the truth that she had been stubbornly refusing to acknowledge fell upon her like an avalanche of snow sliding down a mountain slope.
Somehow, she had fallen in love with the Duke of Brandon.
What in heaven’s name was she going to do about it?
Brandon wasat his desk in his study, perusing a letter from the director of the orphanage thanking him for the latest funds he had sent and cataloging what they would be used for,including training for apprenticeships and education efforts for the children. The muffled barks of Cat, followed by Pandy’s delighted laughter and the telltale thump of her feet down the hall, punctuated the silence, making him smile. Grandmother’s unexpected change of heart meant that the Society could continue hosting revelries at Wingfield Hall, and in turn, he would continue diverting funds to the orphanage. His friends would receive their portions. And all was right in his world.
All except for the glaring absence of the woman he loved.
How would he persuade her to marry him?
A knock sounded at the study door, startling him from his musings.
“Enter,” he called.
Shilling opened the door. A blur of fur raced past him in the hallway behind, but to his credit, the butler didn’t even flinch.
“Cat!” Pandy cried, enthusiastically racing after the spaniel. “Come back here!”
“Is Miss Pandora playing chase-chase again?” he asked Shilling, unable to keep from grinning.
“Yes, Your Grace. Miss Bennington gave Miss Pandora a break from the nursery for one quarter hour.”
And his Pandy girl was using her freedom wisely.
“I see. Was there something you required of me, Shilling?”
“There is a caller to see you, Your Grace,” Shilling said. “Lady Grenfell.”
Lottie.
Lottie was here?
Lottie was here.
He shot from his seat as if it were fashioned of hot coals. “Send her in, if you please.”
Brandon glanced down at his clothes. No stains on his shirt. His waistcoat was a staid shade of gray rather than the purple King had despaired over. His trousers were a bit wrinkled. Nohope for it. He hadn’t time to change. He raked a hand through his hair, hoping he was presentable. Ink smudged his fingers.Blast.
He extracted a handkerchief and hastily wiped them before recalling that he’d given the handkerchief to Pandy earlier, and she’d used it to wipe the white mucus from Cat’s eyes when she had awoken that morning. Now he had sticky dog eye mucusandink on his fingers.
“Fuck,” he muttered, frantically trying to find a square of linen that was unsullied.
“I hope you don’t curse like that around Pandy.”
He looked up, and there she was, crossing the threshold of his study, wearing a blue afternoon dress that hugged her figure and brought out the brilliance of her eyes and hair. Blonde lace lined her decolletage and peeked from her sleeves, and she was so bloody beautiful that it was all he could do to keep from rushing to her and taking her in his arms.
