Chapter Eight
Brynn fidgeted witha glass of brandy in Clarion’s drawing room, where they had gathered before dinner. They waited for the duchess to join them, and Brynn, for one, grew impatient.
Lucy regaled the men with a droll description of the modiste’s faux French accent and Maddy’s amusement over Lucy’s difficulty choosing a flavor of ice at Gunter’s.
“When Rob brought me before, we chose to be served in the square, and I tried the lavender, which was a delight, but Maddy urged thefruits glacés. I’m ever so glad I listened to her, even if she did choose the bergamot herself.” Benson’s plucky little wife glanced to the door again. “I must have worn her out!” She shrugged.
The duchess Brynn knew wasn’t the sort to be worn out by shopping and tea at Gunter’s.But how well do I know her, really?he reminded himself. He repeated those words to convince his heart he didn’t really know her, heart and soul, as he tried to believe, and frowned when Clarion murmured, “Harris told me she meant to rest before dinner.”
“You told me the two of you rode through the park. Did you speak with anyone?” Benson asked.
“I’ve not been introduced, and the town coach is closed, so there was little opportunity,” Lucy murmured. “We need an open carriage for rides in the park.”
“You are welcome to the Clarion landau, but you ladies need a gentleman to attend you. This isn’t Ashmead.” The earl looked to his brother for confirmation.
“If they have a groom with them and their maids, there should be no issue about propriety,” Benson countered. “Were you comfortable, Lucy?”
“I am no fragile flower, as you well know, but I’ll admit it isn’t quite like the country. The crush of carriages and the scrutiny of the privileged gawkers—and not so privileged ones—can be unnerving.”
Lucy didn’t appear distressed, but her words concerned Brynn. “Gawkers?”
“Crowds are a part of London life, Morgan,” the earl murmured.
“True enough, and not just in the park. As soon as we turned off the square, one man stood at the corner and stared as if he wanted to peer inside the carriage.” Lucy shrugged. “He seemed harmless.”
Morgan swallowed a howling urge to demand that Madelyn be protected. He clamped his jaw closed. His overwrought reaction would bring scorn, there had been no threats, and he had no right to demand anything. She had two brothers, both titled, both financially better off than Morgan should the need arise.
Lucy’s third recounting of fabrics and an argument over whether to order a ball gown only pulled attention to what preyed on Morgan’s mind. Where is the woman anyway?
His heart leapt when Her Grace joined them as if his thoughts or his nightly dreams had finally conjured her. His goddess wore a flattering gown, a sage green lightly accented with copper embroidery. The silk flowed down her tall frame and caressed her curves in graceful folds, leaving him dry-mouthed and speechless, heat rising. The expression on her face dashed that heat. This was not the woman Lucy had described enjoying a day out.
“I apologize for joining you so late. I slept too deeply and struggled to wake up and dress.” Even her voice showed her weariness.
Benson approached her with an affectionate grin. “That dress makes it worth the wait, Maddy. It flatters you. I hope Lucy didn’t wear you out today. We’re both grateful for your assistance.”
“I certainly am. If you can make me look like that, I’ll be over the moon, but I fear Rob is correct. I exhausted you,” Lucy added.
“New gown, Madelyn?” David asked.
“Hardly. And at least a few seasons out of date, but I’ve always liked it.”
“Nothing that flatters you could ever be out of date.”
Her Grace’s gentle laughter greeted the earl’s bit of nonsense.
Brynn said nothing. He could only stare.Women would think otherwise.
Then the fool woman turned her attention on him. “What do you think, Colonel Morgan?”
“You look pale. Are you unwell?” Her head snapped back, and Brynn flinched. His words, a rude outburst that drew frowns from both brothers, had left his mouth without ever passing through his brain.
“Not kind, Morgan,” Lucy scolded, “but he’s right, Maddy. It must have been too much for you.”
The duchess looked from face to face, like a woman in the throes of a difficult decision, putting Brynn’s senses on alert. A faint relaxation of her shoulders, nothing so ill-bred as a slump, caught everyone’s attention. “I had an…” She drew breath, searching for a word. “…intrusionfrom the past.”
“We had an intruder?” the earl demanded before Brynn could.
“No, no. An intrusion of memory. I’d better explain.”
