And he realized he truly meant it.
* * *
Lyra enjoyed the time she spent with Fanny. She could certainly see where she was a preferred companion, for she never ran out of witty stories to tell. More than once she’d coaxed a reluctant laugh from Lyra when the last thing she’d wanted to do that day was exhibit any sort of joy.
She’d tossed and turned half the night fretting over what to do about this dangerous attraction growing between her and Alister. Even if she was released from all charges regarding Roger’s death, there was still the small detail that her reputation was forever tarnished. She would no longer be welcomed into the higher echelon of society, even after her year of mourning had passed and she was allowed to accept invitations. Even if she were bold enough to take Alister on as a lover, she would only hinder his chances in gaining a respectable lady to wed. Fanny had mentioned the rumors of his need to marry for money and all the debts he would bring with his lofty title.
Now, thanks to Roger’s brother,shewas destitute.
Not that she would ever be considered as a proper candidate for the role of Duchess of Albright.
Regardless, she didn’t wish to live off her brother’s charity. The very idea didn’t set well with her, but when all was said and done, she might not have a choice. Appealing to her elder sister, Margaret, was definitely out of the question, for they had never been close, and as much as she was gaining a stronger relationship with her mother, she couldn’t spend the rest of her days under her mother’s thumb.
She supposed she could sequester herself in Cornwall at Eversleigh Hall and live with her father’s ghost that remained there. She might even become a legend herself; a specter who terrified the village children and stood on the lonely cliffs overlooking the sea to watch the waves crash below, like something out of a Gothic novel.
She spent most of the day with Fanny, so it wasn’t until dinner was announced that Lyra saw Alister again. Until Mrs. Birdwell’s arrival, they had taken their meals in a more leisurely fashion. It had seemed rather absurd when it had just been the two of them, especially when she was reduced to wearing mourning, and he was acting as her jailer.
Thus, seeing Alister in all his finery once again was rather startling. He wore a pair of caramel-colored breeches and a bottle-green waistcoat and jacket. His snowy-white cravat boasted a ruby stickpin, and for some reason, that single gem vividly brought out the burnished copper highlights in his hair.
Lyra had never thought that she might be a fan of red hair on a gentleman, but it suited Alister rather appropriately. He truly was rather handsome, and it was a shame the rest of the ton was too narrow-sighted to see it. But she supposed he was the sort one had to know to appreciate all of his good qualities, like the confidence and charm that she always knew was there.
Disturbed by the direction of her thoughts, Lyra was content letting the duke and Mrs. Birdwell carry the conversation throughout the meal. She enjoyed their easy bantering as she sipped her wine, picking at her pheasant for the most part instead of actually consuming it.
Against her better judgment, she found that her eyes kept straying toward Alister, especially when he gave that all-consuming, husky laugh that caused that dangerous fluttering in her mid-section. However, when his focus would shift to her, she quickly dropped her gaze back to her sorely neglected plate.
It wasn’t until they were waiting for their last course to be brought out, an enticing baked plum pudding, that Lyra turned her head too fast. She put a hand to her head, feeling slightly dizzy, but then again, she supposed she’d just consumed her third glass of wine.
“Are you alright, Lady Weston?” Alister’s deeply concerned voice broke through her reverie.
She forced a smile. “Yes, quite well. Thank you, Your Grace.”
He frowned slightly, whether it was because he didn’t believe her or because she was back to the formalities, she wasn’t sure.
But what did he expect? Granted, they had been on a first name basis when her breast had been bared for his viewing pleasure last night, but surely he had to know that things were different now that Mrs. Birdwell was here. The proprietiesmustbe observed.
She suddenly frowned. Unless there was a particular clause she’d missed when she’d signed that contract…
“Is there something wrong with the dessert, my lady?”
Lyra snapped to attention, searching her brain for an appropriate response to Alister’s query. “I was merely trying to recall something Mrs. Birdwell said earlier today. Something about a raccoon and a fox, was it not?” She grinned, pleased by her quick thinking. “It was so entertaining that I thought His Grace might like to hear it.”
Fanny gave a light chuckle. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed the tale quite so much, my lady, but I’d be glad to tell it again.”
“That sounds ideal, Mrs. Birdwell,” the duke answered politely, although Lyra didn’t miss the disapproving glare he shother.
Lyra poked at her pudding with her fork, muttering under her breath as she did so.What right does he have to be angry withme? I haven’t done anything but sit here and—
“Did you say something, Lady Weston?”
Drat.She gave him her sweetest smile. “No, Your Grace. Nothing at all.”
This time, when he would have sent her a silent reprove, she promptly turned her attention to their chaperone. “Fanny, if you’ll excuse me, I fear the temperature in the room isn’t agreeing with me. It seems a bit stuffy in here.”
Lyra didn’t give Mrs. Birdwell much of an opportunity to respond as her, “Of course, Lady Weston,” was spoken to Lyra’s retreating back.
Clenching her fists, Lyra refused to feel ashamed for leaving. In truth, the dukewasmaking her rather ill, or more specifically, like an errant child that should be taken across his knee! She shivered at the very image, but then wondered if it might actually have its merits…
Oh, for heaven’s sakes, just stop it!
