I held back a cry of protest and turned my head, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I had best leave before I am found out.”
Until a few days ago, I had no designs on Noah other than friendship. Now that I had a taste of his kisses, I wasn’t sure I could do without them.
Chapter Thirteen
Lord Oliver, Duke of Hayesford
Grandmama adjusted the shawl over her narrow shoulders, her color ashen in the dull light from the dreary day. The illness sapped her energy, but she’d insisted on joining me in the drawing room. I loweredThe Strandin my hand and paused in reading the works of Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle. By the steady rise and fall of her chest, she’d fallen asleep.
“Don’t stop, boy,” she said in a reedy voice, heavy lids revealing her pale blue eyes. She’d been both grandparent and parent since my own had passed. The doctor’s current prognosis hadn’t been positive, and it pained me to believe I might lose my grandmother.
“Sorry, I—”
A knock at the door preceded the entrance of the butler. “Beg pardon your graces. Lord Peterson and Lady Amelia Brimley would like to know if you are in,” the butler said.
Amelia and Noah were here? Excitement and trepidation hit me at once. I had canceled on both of them, albeit for a good reason. Assured that Grandmama looked better than she had this morning, I set aside the magazine. “You can put them in the green drawing room. I shall attend them there,” I said.
“Nonsense, bring them in here.” Grandmama waved a frail hand at the retainer. Using her cane for leverage, shestraightened in her seat before replacing the polished wood to its customary place by her side.
“Grandmama, you are unwell. Visitors will be too much for you.” She’d begged off the Queen’s dinner, which meant her illness was serious.
“I will decide whether I am too ill or not. Samson, bring our guests in. It is near teatime, so fetch some refreshments,” Grandmama said. The brooding look she cast me brooked no disobedience.
“Very good, my lady,” Samson said, forever stoic.
“It will be pleasant to see Amelia again, cheeky lass that she is.” Grandmama adjusted the tartan blanket on her lap. Blue veins showed under the freckled skin of her hand, a large ruby ring on her middle finger. Rumor had it that the ring once belonged to Queen Elizabeth I, a cousin on my father’s side. As the eleventh Duke of Hayesford, the ring would be passed down to my wife. Amelia. The earlier tension returned. I still needed to ask for her hand before the week was out.
Samson returned with the couple trailing behind him. My heart in my throat, I took in the sight of her familiar visage, trying to gauge her mood. She had every right to be upset with me, and from the downward tilt of her mouth, she was. I swallowed the rush of dread. I never meant to hurt Amelia.
Noah acted as her escort, the dapper brown tweed suit flattering his lean build. His dark hair was combed to the side. The bright smile he offered the second our eyes locked lightened my heavy heart. My grandmother might be sick, but she was still with me.
“Your grace, I heard you were ill. I pray you are well,” Amelia said, breaking away from Noah and rushing to my grandmother’s side. The two got along swimmingly, which was yet another reason to make her my wife. Amelia barelyacknowledged me, which meant she was in a snit. She had every right to be upset, but my grandmother’s health took precedence.
I shot to my feet and held out my hand to Noah, clasping his outstretched one. Our palms connected, a rush of heat racing right into my core. “Lord Noah, thank you for escorting Amelia here.”
“She was worried about Lady Gwendolyn.” He squeezed my hand before he withdrew his. He turned to my grandmother and offered a bow. “Lady Gwendolyn, thank you for receiving us.”
“I always have time for the future Duchess of Hayesford and her charming brother-in-law,” she said, sitting upright in her seat. Color touched her cheeks, and a spark of life returned to her frail frame. She patted Amelia’s hand, a militant gleam in her shrewd stare. “Have you decided on a wedding date yet?” she asked Amelia.
Amelia stiffened and snapped her head around to look at me, her eyes wide.
I stifled a groan at Grandmama’s inappropriate comment. But she was a duchess and answered to no one but God and the Queen.
“I, um, no your grace. Oliver and I are not engaged.” Amelia spoke in a low tone, glancing from Noah to me. Chilliness oozed from her eyes as they met mine. Yes, indeed, she was in a snit. The ever-present guilt hit me, and I swallowed.
