“Oh? Who?”
A good question, that. Think, man, think!
She raised an eyebrow as the silence stretched between them. “Your Grace?”
“I’m, er, er . . . well, the thing is, I’m . . .”What?Speak, damn it! But his brain, usually so reliably diabolical, failed to produce a single convincing lie with the weight of those green eyes upon him.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I really must be getting back to—”
“I’m hosting a Christmas house party, here at Grantham Lodge!”
CHAPTER11
“AChristmas house party?” The Duke of Grantham was hosting a fortnight of jolly festivities to celebrate the wonders of the season? “You’rehosting a Christmas house party?”
“I believe I just said so. But you look surprised, Miss St. Claire. Is there some reason, in your estimable opinion, why I shouldnothost a Christmas house party?”
Under the cover of her lashes, Rose gazed at the man perched on the edge of the desk. His shoulders were stiff, his lips turned down in a stern frown, his gray eyes as frosty as winter clouds shrouding the sun. “Why, no. No, of course not, Your Grace. It’s just that . . .”
Well, he wasn’t precisely bursting with merriment, was he? In fact, of all the gentlemen she was acquainted with, he was the very last one she would have imagined would host a grand holiday celebration.
Indeed, it would perhaps be best if he didn’t attempt it, for it was bound to be a grim, cheerless affair. “It’s just that I was under the impression you detested Fairford, and couldn’t wait to return to London.”
He blinked. “Whatever gave you that idea? You have a most fertile imagination, Miss St. Claire. If I everdidimply such a thing, I can assure you, that was before.”
She waited, but he didn’t continue, just stared at her with those molten eyes. “Yes, Your Grace?” Before he realized how charming Fairford was? Before he was taken with a sudden and all-consuming passion for the holiday season? Neither seemed likely. “Beforewhat?”
“Before I . . . that is, before my . . .”
She cocked her head, studying him. It was a simple question, but the duke appeared uncharacteristically flummoxed. “Yes?”
“Before I . . . before I made up my mind to marry! Yes, that’s it. I wish for my, er . . . my future duchess to spend a Christmas at Grantham Lodge.”
He folded his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself.
“You’rebetrothed, Your Grace?” It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. He didn’t behave as if he was betrothed. Not that she had the least idea how a betrothed gentleman was meant to behave, and, of course, the duke might do as he pleased.
It was nothing to her.
Still, it was curious that little morsel of gossip hadn’t reached them here in Fairford, even considering their distance from London. The good citizens of Fairford tended to keep alert for rumors regarding the Duke of Grantham, and rumors of a soon-to-be-installed duchess were important news, particularly for his tenants.
“Er, well, not betrothed, exactly, but I may be so, very soon.”
“I see.” She didn’t, though. This betrothal seemed to have come on quite suddenly, rather like an attack of the vapors, much like the Christmas house party itself had done. Indeed, there was something strange about this entire thing, not the least of which was the duke’s shifty expression.
But in the end, did it matter? He might wed whomever he pleased. He might host the merriest Christmas party Fairford had ever seen to impress his future betrothed. He might festoon every corner of Grantham Lodge with greenery, sing Christmas carols until his lungs gave out, then drown himself in a bowl of wassail—
Ahem.
The point was, the duke’s Christmas party made no difference toher. She couldn’t possibly remain at Grantham Lodge for it. Indeed, there were a dozen reasons to be wary of his invitation, not the least of which was his reputation for ruthlessness. If she agreed to remain under his roof, she would be putting herself directly in his power.
Then again, if she wanted to fulfill her promise to Ambrose, what choice did she have? If she was going to persuade the duke to make peace with his past, she needed access to him, and it wasn’t as if he were likely to bring his fine London friends to visit Hammond Court, was it? It was hardly fit for guests, with its broken windows and collapsed roof.
Even she couldn’t remain there for much longer. It wasn’t safe. It had only been the ceiling of her bedchamber last night, but tomorrow it could be the roof itself.
She was running out of time.
As for this Christmas party, well . . . she didn’t know quite what to make of it, but if His Grace truly was on the verge of marrying, and the lady was to come here to Grantham Lodge, it would certainly be best for Fairford if she approved of the place and wished to spend time here.
