“Go on,” he told Dandy.
And as if she had been awaiting his permission, Dandy finally turned away and trotted to Addy. Hastily, she retreated from the library, thinking grimly that somehow, both she and her dog had been charmed by the Duke of Marchingham.
She wished for a miracle, that the snow would melt entirely tomorrow.
Because the sooner she could leave Marchingham Hall and the handsome duke who presided over it, the better.
CHAPTER 6
Lion trudged through the snow in the frozen gardens at Marchingham Hall. The air bore a stinging chill. The sun was hidden behind leaden clouds, and flakes were beginning to fall anew, covering the tremendous amount that had already blanketed the land a week ago in the storm that had brought Miss Adelia Fox to his door.
Well, to be specific, Lion himself had been responsible for bringing the maddening hoyden to his door. But it was Miss Fox’s fault that she had been in such a precarious position in the first place, huddled in the fleeting warmth given from the heated brick at her feet in a mired carriage, about to perish in a snowstorm.
Regardless of the reason, she had been in residence at Marchingham Hall for the last seven days, tempting him with her sunny smile and her stubborn attempts at persuading him that he must decorate for Christmas. Seven days of turning a corner in his own house and discovering the faintest trace of violet and orris root that meant she was somewhere near and seeking her out despite himself. A whole week of her little dog following him about as if she had been his loyal companionfor years. Miss Fox vowed the hound’s steadfast adoration was down to the pocket cheese he continually offered her.
Lion thought otherwise. He and Dandy had simply…bonded.
He had forgotten what it felt like to experience the unfettered devotion of a hound. The French bulldog was quite possibly as mad as Miss Fox was, and yet Lion couldn’t help but find himself liking them both. Far too much.
And unfortunately for him, it looked as if his unexpected guests would be forced to stay at Marchingham Hall for even longer. Another week, perhaps, if the weather refused to warm and the snow would not melt.
He sighed, and then the happy bark of Dandy cut through the quiet of the snow-covered landscape. Lion turned to find a black blur racing toward him. Dandy adored racing about in the snow. He couldn’t lie—so much exuberance never failed to lighten his mood.
“Halt, Cerberus,” he commanded wryly, using the pet name he often used for Dandelion, much to Miss Fox’s irritation.
Two could play at the game of nettling, he’d discovered.
The dog came to a stop at his feet, her mouth open to reveal a line of startlingly white, sharp teeth, her tongue lolling. She must have exhausted herself. But where was Miss Fox?
“Dandy,” Miss Fox called as if on cue, rounding a hedge and then stopping when she caught sight of Lion.
She was bundled up heavily, the cold painting her cheeks a becoming shade of pink.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice breathless. “Forgive me for nearly bowling you over. I was rushing after Dandy. She was having one of her happy bouts, you see. One moment, she was burying her face in the snow and eating it, and the next she was tearing away into the maze. I could scarcely keep up with her.”
Dandy’s face was indeed coated in white.
“Your dog is madder than a Bedlamite,” he commented before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a small chunk of cheese. “Sit, Cerberus.”
Dandy obliged, her brown eyes fixed upon the treat he held.
“Her name is Sweet Miss Dandelion Mae, not Cerberus,” Miss Fox grumbled.
“She answers to both,” Lion pointed out, ignoring the ludicrous name the woman had given her dog.
“She doesn’t resemble a hideous three-headed dog monster in the slightest.”
Only Miss Fox would stand in the snow, arguing with him about such a topic. Lion wanted to kiss her again. He hadn’t. Not since his folly in the music room. He had been able to make certain that they were never alone, aside from the evening in the library when he had unburdened himself to her.
About Mittens, of all things.
His sire must be rolling in his grave.
“She is fearsome in her own way,” he argued, giving Dandy the cheese she was after.
She caught it before it fell in the snow, swallowing it down.
“Does she ever chew?” he wondered aloud.
