Page 17 of Denying the Duke (Lords and Ladies in Love 3)

She took a sip of her sherry and glanced at Alex. Heavens, he is more handsome every time I see him.

Apparently, fresh from his bath, his hair was still damp, the curls on his much too long hair resting on his forehead and over the collar of his cravat. His buff breeches, too casual even for a country dinner, displayed his powerful thighs to perfection. His starched white cravat gave his tanned face a swarthy look worthy of a pirate. With the dashing mustache, all he needed was a knife between his teeth and a gold earring in one ear.

Mother and the duchess sat near the window, conversing freely. Although Patience felt awkward with her nebulous position in the Bedford family and there was no reason for her family to continue their stay, she was prepared to endure the unease to see her mother so carefree.

It seemed her father was attempting to engage Alex in conversation, but he only offered one or two word answers. Dear God, one hoped he wasn’t speaking of a marriage between them here and now. Eventually, Alex glanced in her direction and after a brief word to her father, he headed to the settee.

“Good evening, Lady Patience.” He bowed slightly. She did not offer her hand, and said, “Your Grace.”

His lips tightened, but with him addressing her as “Lady” what was she to do? It would certainly not have been proper to call him Alex. With the three others in the room watching them so closely, she felt the strain of their encounter as if they were actors on a stage. But she was unsure of her part in this performance. Who was to say Alex did not have a sweetheart in America? A woman who was waiting for him to send for her. Her stomach dropped at the thought, almost as if all happiness had vanished like a morning mist in the sunshine.

“May I sit?”

She nodded, and he sat in the chair on the other side of the fireplace. His strong, tanned fingers wrapped around the brandy glass. Her insides melted at the thought of those hands caressing her, holding her firmly against his chest as he plundered her mouth.

But was this her Alex? Where was the warmth that used to radiate from his eyes? Where was the smile that had made her heart trip? Although, his mere presence still had that effect on her.

Pushing all those thoughts aside—especially the one about a sweetheart in America—she smiled brightly. “How do you find the change in climate? I understand the weather in England is quite soggy compared to other places you’ve traveled.”

Alex snorted and took a gulp of brandy. “Ah, so we are to discuss the weather again?”

Heat rose from her middle to wash over her entire body. She used to be so comfortable with Alex. Now it was like they’d never met before. No, worse than that. They had been completely at ease when they’d first met. Now the strain was almost visible.

“I am sorry. You are correct. We needn’t discuss the weather.” Of course, there was so much between them, words spoken, and words unspoken, that weather seemed to be the only safe subject.

“How was your trip to London? Father said you intended to meet with your brother’s solicitors. I hope that all went well?”

If he were surprised at what could be considered improper questions, he didn’t show it. “The visit was short, but nevertheless productive.”

Thankfully, a footman arrived at the door and announced dinner. How sad that she was relieved to not have to talk to the man for whom she had once promised to wait.

Alex placed his glass alongside him and stood. He extended his arm to Patience and she placed her fingertips on the hard muscles. By correct procedure he should have escorted the duchess into the dining room. Patience was not sure whether it was on purpose that he walked with her, or if he’d been away so long from London Society that he’d forgotten.

Most likely he didn’t care.

He helped her into her chair and seated himself at the head of the table, looking notably uncom

fortable. His mother sat at his right, Patience at his left. Not sure what that meant, she turned her attention to the footman who poured her wine.

“Am I to assume, Your Grace, that you will be here for some time now?” Her father took a helping of turbot with lobster sauce from the plate a footman held.

“That is correct, Wilton. I have a great deal to learn.”

The duchess patted her son’s hand. “I am sure you will have no problem. I always said you were a bright boy.”

The look of incredulity that passed over Alex’s face was almost comical. Patience bowed her head, hiding the smile that threatened.

“Indeed, madam. You had always said so, I am sure. Just never within my hearing.” He took a sip of his wine. The coldness in his tone surprised her.

During their time together four years ago, his parents had made it quite plain they barely tolerated their second son, and had felt no parental love for him. ’Twas amazing what a title could do for a man.

The duchess flushed, but always in control, ignored Alex’s comment and turned her attention to Patience. “Patience, my dear. I know it must be horribly boring for you here with us all being in mourning. Perhaps, tomorrow, my son will break away from his many duties to escort you to the village.”

Patience wondered at how cool and collected the duchess had been throughout the entire death, funeral, and mourning process for the son upon whom she and her husband had heaped all their attention. One would think she would be somewhat distraught, but to Patience’s way of thinking, she had not loved Cyrus any more than she’d loved Alex.

“I am sure His Grace has much more important things to do than to accompany me to the village.” Patience glanced sideways at Alex who looked between his mother and her.

“If you wish to take a ride to the village, I will be happy to escort you.”