Page 61 of Bound to a Wicked Duke

“The Duke of Greyhall is a foolish man,” the Viscount greeted her with a kiss to the hand.

“Thank you, Charles,” Madeleine accepted the compliment as it was intended.

“I am forever at your service.” He joined his wife, each looking at the other in absolute adoration. They were so deeply in love, it was equally beautiful and painful to behold.

Other guests began to arrive, and Madeleine had no time for further thoughts upon her own heart. The Earl and Countess of Stonefield’s annual dinner party was a highly sought after invitation among the English ton. The Countess was known far and wide for her hospitable nature and impeccable taste. Everyone who was anyone wanted to be in attendance.

Once the flow of guests arriving had slowed, Lucy came up behind her and whispered in her ear. “A messenger delivered this for you.” She passed a letter into Madeleine’s hand then retreated into the background. Madeleine excused herself for a brief moment and stepped into the library to read the letter in private. There was no wax seal, no tell-tale signs of who might have sent it. Opening the folded paper, she scanned its contents.

M.,

Meet me in the garden.

H.

“H for Hardy? Percy?” Madeleine breathed his name. Her heart constricted once more. Crumpling the paper, she tossed it into the fireplace and watched the flames turn it black then consume it all together.

She turned toward the foyer, planning to have Lucy send him away, but once she reached the library door, she found that she could not do it. She had to see him. Especially if it was to be the last time that they should ever lay eyes upon one another again. Making certain that she would not be followed, Madeleine traversed the foyer, skirted the kitchen, and exited out into the back garden.

“Percy?” she called out softly, her heart beating as fast as tiny bird’s wings.

“No,” a masculine voice replied, and Herbert Mowbray stepped out from the shadows into the waning moon’s light.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Percy sat in his study drinking alone when his butler announced the arrival of a guest. “Lady Laura Knight to see you, Your Grace.”

Percy stood sighing. “What does she want now?”

“She did not say, Your Grace.”

“Very well. Show her in, but do not go far.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” The butler bowed out of the room, then reemerged with Laura Knight in tow.

“That will be all, Mr. Hargraves,” Laura commanded Percy’s butler as if he were her own. To Hargraves’ credit he did not move but looked to Percy for his true orders.

“Do not go far, Mr. Hargraves. Lady Knight will not be staying long,” Percy commanded, giving Laura a reproving glare.

“As you wish, Your Grace.” Hargraves inclined his head in respect then stepped outside of the door but went no further.

“Why do you look so dour, Percival?” Laura used his given name, causing Percy to growl in warning.

“It is Your Grace to you,” he corrected her. He would have no misunderstandings between them. “What are you doing here, Lady Laura? I have made it quite clear that you are not welcome at Greyhall Estate or any other establishment of my possession.”

“Now, now, Percival,” she chastised him as if he were a child, completely ignoring his prior correction regarding his given name. “Why so formal? My name is Laura as you well know. We were almost family once upon a time,” she purred like a demented kitten. “There is no need to follow the strictures of society when we are alone together as we are now.”

Percy shook his head quite emphatically to the negative. “Whether I had wed Francis or not, you and I would never have been family.”

“She was my cousin. Our mothers were sisters. That would have made us family.” Her voice held irritation at his refusal to acknowledge the link between them.

Percy shook his head. “I do not care if the two of you had been sisters, you and I would never be family. One cannot be family with a serpent.”

Laura laughed at the insult as if he had offered her a witty compliment. “Oh, Percival, you do flatter me so.”

Percy attempted to control his temper. “It was not meant as flattery. I meant it as the deepest of insults.” His voice held no kindness in an effort to make his position quite clear. “What do you want, Lady Laura?”

She met Percy’s eyes, her brows arched as if he should have known better than to ask. “I want you, of course.”

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