“So that you can meet your worldly end in the snowbank after all?” Marchingham asked unkindly.
“No.” Tears welled in her eyes. Tears of frustration and sadness and failure. Oh, how she had been looking forward to seeing Lila and Letty again at last. To presenting them with their gifts. To staying up far too late, exchanging stories about the turns their lives had taken over the last three years. “So that I can rescue the presents I brought for your sisters from the snow.”
On the last word, her voice cracked. She very much didn’t want to exhibit any weakness to the duke. Particularly not after his harsh words and stinging accusations. But much to her humiliation, the tears spilled, rolling hot and fast down her cheeks.
Christmas was ruined. She hadn’t managed to surprise her friends. She was trapped with their horrible brother. It was still snowing. And she had no clothing, aside from the travel gown on her back.
“Don’t cry, Adelia dear,” Aunt Pearl said softly, patting her hand. “You’ll make me weep too.”
Addy sniffled. Swallowed. Dashed at the tears with the back of her hand. How embarrassing. She was Miss Adelia Fox, daughter of one of the wealthiest men in New York City, and yet she had never felt more helpless, nor more like a failure.
“You needn’t weep, Miss Fox,” the duke said curtly.
His words—far less cold than his earlier tone—caught her attention. She’d supposed he would triumph over her sadness, her inability to control her own emotions. But there was, unless she was mistaken, a hint of sympathy in his voice now, in his gaze as it met hers and held.
“Your trunks have all been collected,” he said gruffly.
Addy’s mouth fell open. “They have?”
He nodded. “A few of the lads and I returned to the carriage, and we loaded them into a wagon and brought them here.”
He had exhibited such callous indifference over her concerns earlier. And yet, he had ventured into the snow yet again on her behalf. Addy didn’t quite know what to do with this information.
“Thank you,” she told him, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice.
He returned his attention to his plate. “The grooms were brushing the snow from them in the stables. I expect you’ll find them awaiting you in your room after dinner.”
“I am indebted to you,” Addy managed, though the admission was not without another wound to her already fragile pride.
“Indeed you are, Miss Fox,” he agreed, his eyes lifting from his plate to hers once again.
She swallowed, not liking being beholden to him or the way she couldn’t help but to admire how very handsome he looked, the lamplight glinting in his golden hair. He had dressed formally this evening, in a black coat and trousers, a gray damask waistcoat, and a crisp white neckcloth. He would have looked at home in any of the social gatherings in New York Cityin his elegant attire, and yet she knew instinctively he would have stood out. When he almost smiled, he was nothing short of beautiful, and much to her dismay, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to have that harsh, unforgiving mouth on hers.
When he raised an imperious brow at her again, Addy realized that she was staring at him. Having improper thoughts she ought never to have about a man as cold and unfeeling as the Duke of Marchingham. She reached for her wine and took a bracing sip, aware of the furious heat creeping up her neck and reaching her cheeks.
What was wrong with her? The man had orchestrated the rescue of her trunks and her person, but that was all. She didn’t like him, and it didn’t matter how lovely he was to behold.
An awkward silence descended once more, and Addy turned her attention firmly to the consumption of her roast andharicot verts, which had turned cold.
“That was most kind of you to fetch dear Addy’s trunks,” Aunt Pearl ventured. “You have been a godsend to us all.”
Addy stifled the urge to kick her aunt beneath the table. The man was already insufferable. There was no need to further inflate his opinion of himself.
“Despite the unexpected nature of your visit, I aim to be an affable host,” he said mildly.
Addy snorted. An affable host might have avoided pointing out that they were uninvited guests.
“Did you say something, Miss Fox?” he asked.
“Nothing at all, Your Grace,” she answered with mock sweetness.
Addy swore the corners of his mouth twitched, as if he suppressed a smile. But his countenance remained implacable as he returned to his meal in more silence.
Lion slowly pulledhimself from the depths of slumber to the realization that someone—or perhaps more accurately something—was licking his face. His eyes jolted open, and in the low light of the flickering hearth, he discovered a dark, furred beast perched on his chest. Said beast moved enthusiastically to his ear, licking behind it.
“Good God,” he grumbled, knowing at once what the thing was.
Dandy.
