Page 14 of Denying the Duke (Lords and Ladies in Love 3)

Then with any luck, she would fall asleep and wake up in some other time and place, and as some other woman.

…

Almost a week later, Patience put aside the embroidery she worked on and walked to the drawing room window at the sound of horses and carriage wheels. Despite her desire to leave the Abbey and return to her family’s estate, her father insisted on accepting the duchess’s invitation to remain.

And she knew why.

A carriage with the Duke of Bedford’s crest on its door rolled to a stop in front of the Abbey. Her hand flew to her chest and she sucked in a breath as Alex stepped out, looking every inch the duke.

Now that she had the opportunity to study him without his awareness, or others observing her, she noticed the changes in his body. Thanks to his years in His Majesty’s service, the thin frame of the young man he’d been at one and twenty years had filled out to that of a man.

A dark brown greatcoat covered broad shoulders, flapping against muscular thighs. His stance and demeanor spoke well of years spent in the military. The greatcoat remained open, revealing a starched cravat, a snug jacket, and shiny boots.

He turned from the carriage after giving instructions to the driver, and faced the portico. Patience backed up a little, even though she was sure he could not see her. Alex studied the house, his more mature face—with lines he hadn’t had four years ago, along with a full mustache on his upper lip—brought flutters to her stomach. He was more handsome, more confident, and apparently, no longer interested in her.

She quickly returned to her seat as he made his way up the pathway to the door. Both her mother and the duchess had retired to their rooms for a lie-down. Father had departed after breakfast, which left her alone.

With Alex.

She licked her dry lips at the sound of voices in the entrance way. Shortly after, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure it would wake her mother.

“Ouch.” She stuck her finger with the embroidery needle and dropped it on her lap. Quickly picking up a book, sh

e hurriedly reversed it when she realized she held it upside down.

“Lady Patience.” Alex lounged in the doorway, arms crossed, casually leaning against the frame. His unruly hair was just as she remembered it. But, oh, nothing else was the same. The coolness in his eyes instead of the grin she’d loved. The lines near his eyes and between his brows confirmed he frowned a great deal, and most likely squinted in the sun.

“Your Grace.” She dipped her head. The poor piece of embroidery in her lap was squeezed into a wrinkled mess.

Silence.

His eyes roamed over her, as hers did the same to him. Was this even the Alex she knew? The man she’d dreamed of for four years? The man she had prayed would rescue her from his brother? Something only death had succeeded in doing.

Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and entered the room. She felt like small prey to his stalking beast. His presence consumed her. He stopped about five feet from where she sat, the familiar scent of bergamot wafting from him. She’d never felt so unsure of herself in her life.

“You look well.”

There were so many other things he could have said, hence her slight disappointment at his words. “You, also, Your Grace.” Lord, her voice shook. She closed her eyes, wishing herself far away. In her bedchamber, hiding under the covers. Anywhere but here with this man she thought she’d known so well, who was now a stranger. Yet, in remembrance, she once again felt the power of his arms around her, his kiss on her lips.

“May I sit?”

She gave a slight nod. “Of course.”

He took the seat across from her, flipping his tailcoats behind him. He leaned back, his foot resting on his knee.

“Shall I send for tea, Your Grace?”

…

If she said Your Grace one more time, Alex swore he would pull her off that chair and ravish her mouth until she melted at his feet. He couldn’t believe he’d told her she looked well. She looked incredible. The young miss of sixteen had turned into a desirable woman of twenty years. Her deep breaths drew his eyes to her delightful breasts like metal to a magnet.

Seldom seen pale sunlight drifted through the window, highlighting her golden tresses that had been fastened into a loose bun at the top of her head from which stubborn curls escaped. The beautiful green eyes he’d seen in his dreams for years stared back at him, as if in fear.

Fear?

“Yes, perhaps tea would be good.” He did not want her fear. He wanted—hell, he wasn’t certain exactly what he wanted. Life had changed for them both. He had dark, destructive memories and dreams. Responsibilities now he never expected, nor wanted.

And she had never married his brother.