“It’s only five stories high but every floor except the attic has twelve-foot ceilings,” Chase said softly near her ear. “An entire wing burned to the ground; I believe it was in 1816. Blackheart had it rebuilt and then went on to have modern improvements put in throughout the undamaged parts of the house. It’s now a spectacular blend of modern architecture and the original Georgian design.”
Bethany pressed her forehead against the window. She’d forgotten that the Duke and Duchess had perished in that fire, leaving four children orphans; four-year-old twin daughters, and two sons. Lord Lucas, the second son who’d served as an officer in the military, and the oldest brother who’d had to abandon his pursuits at university to take over the dukedom. Westerley had told her parents all about it when he’d returned from school on holiday.
“You can’t tell there was ever a fire,” she commented.
Bethany loved her mother with all her heart, and she’d doted on her father. Losing one parent had been devastating. What must it have been like to lose both of them at once?
“This side is all new.” Chase pointed to the right. The façade appeared to be unbroken. “Blackheart didn’t want any reminders.”
Chase was leaning close to her and his scent, as usual, sent surges of awareness racing through her.
“Perhaps guests will be so distracted by the furnishings they won’t take note of us,” Bethany half-joked, half hoped, doing her best to ignore the fluttering sensations around her heart.
His soft laughter was calming but also managed to heat the blood already surging through her veins. She forced herself to breathe evenly.
The last time she’d seen these people… She dismissed the thought before it gave her a fit of vapors.
When their coach finally arrived at the entrance, a footman, dressed all in black but for a striking silver trim, opened the door with a flourish. Bethany remained seated while her mother climbed out, followed by Crabtree.
Once they had exited, however, and the manservant reached inside for Bethany’s hand, she froze. An attack of panic that no amount of seven-letter words could cure had taken hold of her limbs.
“I can’t move,” she managed to utter. Chase was going to have to send her back to Byrde House. She’d have to spend the evening alone with his mother.
And that would be the end of her social life as she knew it.
And Tabetha’s.
Chase glanced over at her and then back to the open door. “A moment please,” he instructed the servant.
The footman winced. “But, My Lord, several others are waiting…” The man glanced behind them at the long line of vehicles.
“Two minutes,” he bit out.
If she hadn’t been so terrified at that moment, she would have marveled a bit at how authoritative he sounded.
Chase grasped the door and pulled it shut, leaving the two of them sitting alone together in the carriage. How ashamed he must be of her. And after he’d told her he thought she was brave no less!
She did not expect what came next.
In what could only be considered an expert maneuver, Chase lifted her so that she was sitting across his lap, leaving her with no place to put her arm except around his neck.
And then he was kissing her.
Deeply.
Thoroughly.
Unapologetically.
Such a kiss went beyond her wildest dreams. Oh, but this must be love. A feeling so marvelous couldn’t be anything else.
Why else would she feel excited, frightened, protected, and aroused all at the same time? She tightened her arms around his neck and savored the taste of him.
When his mouth abandoned hers and dipped lower, she moaned. When he dipped it even lower, her moan was punctuated by a breathy hitch. His whiskers scratched the tender skin of her breast, and she arched to be closer to him.
It was then that she truly appreciated the design of this particular gown.
“Triston,” she murmured. If her heart beat any more violently, it would leap right out of her chest. She forgot where she was, what day it was,—her name.
