Naturally, she’d seen him at various tonfunctions over the years and had even shared a dance with him during her first season, but that was where their association ended. They had never been more than casual acquaintances who acknowledged each other with a brief nod of recognition when they were in the same vicinity. She’d wondered more than once over the intervening years what might have happened if she had encouraged his attentions. Granted, he’d never made any sort of untoward advances, but sometimes, the way he looked at her…
Lyra instantly pushed such thoughts aside. The past was already written and couldn’t be undone, no matter how much she might wish otherwise.
The duke was of average height, just shy of six feet, with reddish brown hair and warm, brown eyes. He had a firm build that one might consider quite muscular, with a flat stomach, narrow hips, and broad shoulders. His manner of speech and character were above reproach, his reputation untarnished. He truly was the perfect example of English nobility.
So why washehere to see her?
Once she had recovered from her initial shock, Lyra quickly recalled her manners and dipped into a slight curtsy. “Your Grace.” She cast her dark eyes downward, suddenly self-conscious about her attire, for she’d been stripped of her widow’s weeds by a maid shortly upon arrival and given a plain, white cotton gown to wear. “I hope you will forgive my appearance, but I fear current circumstances demanded a more modest state of dress.”
Albright strode forward and offered a polite bow. “Rest assured, there is no need to stand on ceremony with me, Lady Weston. I’m here on a matter of business.” He gestured to a crude table with two chairs near the wall. “Shall we sit?”
Lyra did as he asked and clasped her hands in her lap, her mind whirling.
As he sat, he withdrew a single document from his waistcoat. His actions were simple, his expression impassive, but for some odd reason, his calming presence made her feel at ease, and she began to relax.
She turned her focus on the document he pushed toward her. As she began to read, the full ramifications of what it said caused her to glance back up with a slack jaw. “I’m being released?”
The duke was eyeing her steadily. “Yes.”
Lyra released the breath she’d been holding.
“If you consent to the terms of this contract, you will be allowed to leave the Tower.” He paused, before saying evenly, “Under my custody.”
Her eyes instantly shot back to his, and she couldn’t keep a shiver from passing through her, although it wasn’t from fear. She’d always had the sensation that there might be more behind that cool façade; another side of the Duke of Albright that he kept carefully hidden. It unnerved her, but at the same time, she had the feeling that he would keep her safe. Perhaps it was his eyes that reassured her. Either way, when faced with rotting in jail, he certainly seemed like the better alternative.
But that didn’t keep her from asking one question.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
He didn’t immediately reply, as if he were weighing his words carefully. In the end, he merely said, “I believe in justice, and until you are proven guilty, I see no reason for you to be treated as anything less than a lady with all the comforts allowed her station.”
Lyra pursed her lips. She had the feeling he’d only told her a half-truth, at best. However, since she had no other options, she signed her name on the paper and handed it back to him. “Then I agree.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lyra was led out of the Tower a short time later on the duke’s arm, in the mourning clothes she’d arrived in. There were no guards or shackles to accompany her as she was handed into the duke’s personal coach. Her departure was, indeed, much more pleasant than her arrival.
Once the duke had settled himself across from her, he tapped the roof to let his driver know they were ready to go.
As they set off, Lyra thought about striking up a conversation to ease the awkward silence that had descended, but somehow, bringing up mundane topics like the weather seemed rather foolish in light of the circumstances. In the end, no words were spoken as the finely sprung, upholstered carriage made its way across the Strand and back to the fashionable part of west London.
When they finally came to a halt before Weston House, Lyra could see the nearby window dressings flutter as the duke assisted her to the ground. Lyra clenched her fists, for while those occupants had stood idly by during her abusive marriage and done nothing, now they were more than willing to rip her reputation to shreds.
How she yearned to hide away from those prying eyes and disappear inside these familiar four walls.
Perhaps forever.
The front door opened. Lyra had to swallow nervously as she led the way up the steps. She dared a tentative glance at her butler, Barton. She could only imagine how her servants might treat her now. They had always been more loyal to her, even when Roger was alive, although they never spoke out against him, lest they incur his wrath and find themselves on the street without a reference.
Barton bowed respectfully. “Glad to have you back home, Lady Weston.” Then, with a gentle smile that she had never seen from the stoic man, he added, “Weallare.”
The relief that flowed through Lyra was so strong that a sob escaped her and she wavered on her feet. Instantly, a strong arm came around her waist to steady her. She blinked a few times to recover her bearings, then turned to thank Barton—but it wasn’t her butler’s eyes she gazed into.
“I…thank you, Your Grace.” She wondered why her voice sounded so breathless as Albright pulled away, but she decided not to dwell on the matter overlong as she walked inside.
“Would you care for some tea, my lady?” Barton asked.
Lyra would have loved nothing more than to go to her room and lie down in an effort to pretend this day had never happened, but instead, she automatically fell into the role of proper hostess. “Yes, thank you, Barton. And perhaps something to eat?” She turned to the duke. “Shall we retire to the parlor?”
