Page 21 of Wedded to the Ruthless Duke

Why is he here?

He was let inside by the butler.

Grace turned, perching against the windowsill as she watched her mother rant and rage with Tabitha beside her, trying to keep her calm.

“We are ruined. All of us, forever!” Althea wailed.

“Aunt.” Tabitha had hold of her hand. “Breathe a little, I beg you.”

There was the lightest of knocks at the door.

“Not now,” Althea snapped at the person knocking.

Yet the door opened of its own accord anyway. The butler skulked back in the doorway, for he was not the one to open it.

In front of him, his hand on the door handle, was the Duke of Berkley.

Those burnished eyes shot to Grace first. She swallowed around the lump in her throat, doing her best to keep her tears at bay.

“Good morning,” he said, turning to face the stunned gazes of Althea and Tabitha. “I’d like to speak with the Marquess of Garton.”

CHAPTER7

Philip stepped into the room, all too aware that the butler ran off behind him, clearly eager to be away from the shouting voices which had been sounding from this room mere seconds before.

“Ahem,” the Marchioness cleared her voice. She released her niece’s hand beside her and made an appearance of trying to look in control, brushing down the creases of her dress.

Philip looked away from her, his eyes zeroing in on Grace.

It was a far cry from the way she had looked at him last night. She sat slumped against the windowsill, the ridiculously overly frilly dress hiding all the curves which he knew were there, which he had felt the night before. Her honey hair was falling out of its updo completely, wild about her shoulders, and her eyes were red.

She’s been crying.

“I’m afraid it is not possible to speak to my husband, Your Grace.” The Marchioness stepped forward. Any appearance of propriety she was trying to make was fading fast, however, as she cast repeatedly dark glances at her daughter. “Anything you have to say to him can be said to me, I’m sure.”

No chance.

Philip would at least be proper now. He would need to ask for the Marquess’ blessing, and he would damn well get it.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I must speak to the Marquess himself.” Philip’s firm voice clearly put an end to the matter.

“Well, I suppose you have already taken enough from this family; what can we hold back from you now?” the Marchioness said with a resigned sigh.

“Mama,” Grace hissed from her place at the window. Her mother merely offered another one of those glares in reply.

“Dear Tabitha, would you go to my husband and see if he can accept the Duke as a visitor, please? You’ll find him in his study.”

Miss Tabitha curtsied and left the room. Her eyes swiveled between Grace and Philip before she parted, slipping past his shoulder.

“Well.” The Marchioness tried again to be calm. She clasped her hands together, tapping the fingers, her eyes looking up and down Philip. “I suppose you too have seen the scandal sheets, Your Grace?”

“Strangely enough, I have,” he said drily.

He walked away from the lady, having had quite enough of the way she was looking at him. He walked straight to Grace, who stood off the windowsill in alarm.

He briefly looked down at that awful gown again, wishing he could tear it off her, but the thought of Grace in a chemise and stays alone was doing something to him. A heat burned across his skin, and he had to shake it off.

His gaze flicked back to her face. She sniffed as she looked at him.

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