One minute later, she was standing at the servants’ entrance of Huntley House, with Anna by her side. “I need to speak to His Grace at once,” she told a maid, who hastened away to convey her message.
“My lady,” Anna implored for what had to be the fifth time at least, “You really shouldn’t be here.”
That sentiment was echoed by Pierson, who arrived soon after with a brisk step. “Lady Gabriella. Would it not be more seemly to use the front door? This is highly irregular.”
“I am aware of that, Pierson, but I would like to keep this visit discreet—especially since my parents are unaware of my coming here.” She gave him a meaningful look that would hopefully do the trick and then said, “Now, will you please let me in?”
Staring down at her, Pierson stepped back and waved her through, closing the door behind her. “Right this way,” he said, striding off through a hallway that led past the kitchen and onward to the servants’ stairs, by which they were able to reach the foyer. “Please wait here a moment,” Pierson said as he closed the stairwell door behind them. Turning about, he then strode away to deliver the news of her arrival.
Gabriella glanced about. She considered the bench against the wall. Perhaps she ought to sit? No. She was much too agitated for that. Instead, she began to pace while Anna watched with increasing unease. Surely the duke’s secretary would have advised him against accepting the invitation from Lady Fielding. She clasped her hands to still her trembling fingers. This was bad. Really, really bad.
“My lady?”
She spun about to find Pierson standing behind her. Inclining his head, he indicated the hallway to his left. “His Grace will see you now. If you’ll please follow me.”
Chapter 6
Nodding, Gabriella told Anna to have a seat on the bench while she waited and then followed the butler, his leisurely pace provoking her nerves until they finally reached a door where Pierson paused to knock.
“Come in!”
The door was pushed open. “Lady Gabriella to see you, Your Grace,” Pierson intoned. He then stepped aside so she could enter, her eyes falling first on Mr. Richardson, who was standing the closest. He bowed his head in greeting, while she offered a smile in return. She then turned more fully toward the other person in the room—the man whom she’d come to see.
Her breath caught.
Standing behind a massive desk was Huntley, except he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the man whom she’d sat down to tea with a couple of days earlier. Gone were the plain, working-class clothes. Instead, he wore a crisp white shirt with a brown waistcoat, a dark green jacket and beige trousers. His coffee-colored hair had been trimmed around his ears and at the nape of his neck. His jawline, which appeared freshly shaved, accentuated the angular shape of his face. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were dark brown with tiny flecks of amber, and that his nose was elegantly shaped—a feature she’d initially missed when she’d been distracted by his unpolished looks.
“Lady Gabriella.” His voice held a raspy texture that somehow, quite inexplicably, managed to tickle her senses.
Swallowing, she tried to ignore the sudden flutter in her belly. “Your Grace—you appear quite transformed.”
The edge of his mouth twitched. “Do y—you approve?”
His attempt at proper speech went straight to her heart, accelerating its pace like a piece of music approaching a crescendo. Unsettled by the sensation, Gabriella deliberately straightened her spine. She forced herself not to stare at the slight dip between his collarbones. “Yes. But a cravat would not have hurt.”
His eyes remained on her, unblinking. “I disagree.”
Unsure of how to respond, Gabriella looked to Richardson. He’d been with the previous duke for the last five years or so, so Gabriella was well enough acquainted with him to feel comfortable in his presence. He glanced toward the duke, who hesitated a moment before waving at a chair. “Will ye-ou have a seat . . . my lady?”
“Thank you.” Gabriella lowered herself onto the chair, her skin pricking at the realization that Huntley was following her every move. Sucking in a breath, she expelled it slowly in an effort to calm herself.
He cleared his throat, the sound immediately drawing her gaze to his by reflex. “I err . . .” He scratched the back of his head with a boyish restlessness that forced a smile to Gabriella’s lips.
There was something so endearing about the uncertainty of a large and powerful man that very nearly melted her heart. “Would y—” Huntley caught himself again. “You, care for some tea, Lady Gabriella?”
“I would love some. Thank you.”
Her positive response seemed to ease the tension in Huntley’s posture. He went to the bell pull and gave it a tug before returning to his chair and sitting back down.
“If that will be all, Your Grace,” Richardson began.
Gabriella instinctively froze. Huntley looked at her, his brown eyes warming with understanding. “Stay,” he said, addressing Richardson, before adding a gentler, “please.”
“If you wish,” the secretary replied.
Gabriella breathed a sigh of relief. The thought of being alone with Huntley tightened her nerves. Perhaps it was silly, but there was just something about him . . . something that urged her to keep her wits about her when in his presence. She licked her lips, moistening them before gathering her courage and meeting those dark brown eyes of his with determination. “I have come to warn you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
