Page 30 of The Duke and the Spinster

It was his turn to laugh.

“I can try.”

With gentle fingers he found the pins in her hair, those that had not been lost in Fondleton’s carriage, and drew them out, letting the glorious golden tangle of it fall down her back. She held the pins for him whilst he did as he had dreamed of, that day in the forest clearing, which now seemed so long ago. He combed it through with his fingers, untangling and smoothing, until he could lift great coils of it again to pin them upon the crown of her head. He suspected that the tendrils he left to fall over her shoulder were not as artfully placed as a maid would have achieved, nor was his pinning as certain of staying in place, but at least the result looked moderately respectable.

Lady Juliana moved cautiously to the water’s edge and considered her reflection from as far away as possible.

“A talent indeed – that is far more artful than I usually achieve with a good mirror and a brush!”

“I am pleased to be of service, my Lady.”

She blushed, as if recalling his rank and title, then shook her head a little, and brushed her skirts into a better semblance of tidiness, attempting to hide the areas that had been crushed in her struggles in the carriage.

“I believe that I am as respectable as is possible – now, the path to Hardcastle House?”

“This way. I will accompany you. After the last few hours, I cannot risk leaving your side – I would keep you safe, always.”

At his choice of words, she paused, tilting her head that tiny amount, considering. After a moment, with a small shrug, she turned and started along the path. Between there and the Hardcastle House gardens they saw no-one, and Garrett began to feel that this might even succeed – he might yet get Lady Juliana back to her parents with her reputation intact.

And when he did, he knew what he would do. But how would she react? He did not know, yet his whole future rested upon that moment. A completely new kind of fear filled him.

~~~~~

Juliana felt as if the world had gone mad. In a few short hours she had been peaceful in the summer sunlight on a deserted road, then terrified, molested, and bound in Fondleton’s carriage, and rescued by the Duke – again, for surely his coming to Bath after her also counted as a rescue of sorts. She had felt a kiss that she hated and a kiss that she liked, liked so well that she could wish to feel it again, and her hair had been dressed by a Duke. All of which was beyond improbable, for a woman whose life had been, for the last few years, lived in quiet seclusion.

She glanced sideways, to where he walked beside her, his dark hair lit by the sun to a shine, his handsome face calm, as if he had intentionally hidden his feelings about the whole affair. She wished that he still held her hand, as he had in their flight down the hill from the back of the Inn stables. She wished that they could stop walking, that he might bring his lips to hers again. She did not understand her own yearnings.

This man had, from the first day she had met him, thrown her life into turmoil. Yet she could not regret the meeting. She also wished, she discovered, that Hardcastle House was not approaching as fast as it was. For, once they walked up through the gardens and in through that door, her life would be back as it had been – a lonely trap, where she was threatened with the destruction of her family, by more than one person. Even if, with this escapade, she had managed not to destroy her reputation herself, others still stood ready to do it for her. But they continued to walk, and stepped from the grass of the riverside onto the gravelled paths of the formal gardens, and, inevitably, reached the terrace door to Hardcastle House. Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for her, waving her past him and into the building where the trap of her life waited.

The parlour they stepped into was empty, as was the hallway. The stairs seemed impossibly high, and yet far too short, for soon she was standing at the door of their rooms. She knocked, and waited. He stood beside her, silent, almost as if he also dreaded the opening of the door. Dreaded or not, it creaked open.

“Lady Juliana! Your Grace!”

Mary’s voice was high, ending in a shocked squeak.

They stepped inside, the maid falling back before them, barely retaining the presence of mind to then close the door. The parlour they stepped into from the small entryway was a tableau of shocked faces, frozen in whatever they had been doing when Mary had spoken. Suddenly, after the tensions of the previous hours, Juliana found it utterly comical. She burst into laughter, and the Duke beside her appeared to be struggling not to join her.