‘It turns out he did not marry that girl after all and is quite unattached,’ Mrs Merriweather added.
‘He can be as unattached as he likes—I want nothing to do with him!’ Heather declared hotly.
Grace, despite her slowed thoughts due to her head injury, caught on quickly. Her sister’s irritation—and the telltale signs of an attachment—told her everything.
She decided to call her sister’s bluff.
‘Well then, why don’t you go down and refuse him? Why are you letting him linger?’ She watched with satisfaction as a horrified expression spread across Heather’s face. ‘Go speak to him, poppet. He has come for you.’
Tears welled in Heather’s eyes. ‘I... I cannot. I am still angry with him. Why did it take him so long to come? I don’t understand!’
Grace’s expression softened. ‘Then go ask him.’
Heather nodded and left the room.
THE NEXT MORNING, ASsoon as the doctor declared her well, Grace insisted on getting dressed—despite Mrs Merriweather’s protests. However, both Mrs Merriweather and Lady Elizabeth insisted she remain in her bedchamber.
Heather spent much of the day speaking with Mr Smith and, when she finally returned, it was with good news—she was now the happy fiancée of Mr Smith.
Celebrations were in order, with Lady Elizabeth and Jane joining them.
With Heather now settled, Grace turned her thoughts to her own plans. She wished to return to her cottage. The conversation with the Duke regarding Lord Harry’s fate could wait until she arranged her departure. However, she was spared the trouble of seeking him out.
A familiar knock sounded on her chamber door.
The Duke himself entered.
He stood at the threshold, his presence commanding. Grace’s heart drummed at a wild pace, the room fell silent.
‘I wonder if I may speak with Miss Skye privately, ladies.’
Chapter 30
Despite the impropriety of leaving them alone, the ladies promptly vacated the room without a single word of remonstration. Grace noted the twinkle in Lady Elizabeth’s eye as she departed, leaving her puzzled.
She turned her attention to the Duke. He hesitated at the threshold, looking slightly unsure of himself. His pallor struck her—he had not slept well either. Yet, despite his weariness, his gaze lost none of its intensity as it settled upon her.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked softly.
‘I am well, all thanks to you,’ she replied, knowing she owed her life to him.
His expression darkened. ‘I would never have been able to forgive myself if anything had happened to you.’ His voice was raw, his words unyielding. He meant them.
Grace nodded. ‘If I had to do it all again, I would not hesitate. You have no reason to feel guilty for involving me—I believe I involved myself from the very beginning by writing that letter and visiting Gibbs.’ She hesitated before speaking, a heavy feeling settled on her heart, ‘Now that this matter is concluded, I intend to return to my cottage after Heather’s nuptials. I have no desire to remain here.’
Upon this last statement, he drew up a chair and sat opposite her, entirely too close. Worse still, he was smiling.
Grace was incensed. At the very least, she had expected him to look a smidge contrite at her leaving.
Indignantly, she stood—too quickly. Her head was still woozy.
The Duke stood as well, catching her arms to steady her. She tried to bat his hands away, but he held her close, his voice low and intense.
‘I will not let you leave this room again until you allow me to say what I have been holding back for far too long,’ he said fervently.
He pulled her back down to sit, this time beside him on the sofa, his grip gentle but firm. At his touch, warmth prickled up her arm. His voice shifted, his eyes burned with fire.
He was... annoyed with her, Grace realised.
