Page 27 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke
He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “First to the altar gains bragging rights.”
“I shall toast to that.” She pretended to tip her glass toward his, and promptly gulped down the entire contents, desperately trying not to cough as the potent liquor hit the back of her throat.
Anything to rid her mind of that troubling disappointment, as it attempted to creep back in again.
“I should be leaving,” she said abruptly, leaving her glass on the bench as the port’s warmth slipped down into her belly.
Duncan nodded, adding a fresh prickle to her disappointment. “Yes, you probably should. I would not want anyone at your own residence wondering why you are returning in a gentleman’s carriage in the small hours of the morning.”
“Oh, I would not worry about that,” she said without thinking, for Mrs. Mitford slept at her own cottage in the village, and the butler could sleep through a thunderstorm. There was no one else there to miss her.
He raised an eyebrow. “No? You are welcome to stay, if you would prefer?” A smirk played upon his lips. “In your own chambers, of course.”
“I think not.” Standing and smoothing down the front of her dress, Valeria retreated inside. “Do I leave the same way I came in?”
Duncan followed her into the drawing room. “I shall escort you.”
“There is no need,” she insisted, grabbing her cloak and throwing it around her shoulders, struggling to tie a knot at her throat as her fingers trembled.
Duncan approached her slowly, as one might a startled horse, and gently closed his hands around hers. With warmth in his eyes, he removed her hands from the task and took over.
She swallowed thickly as his fingertips grazed her throat while he fashioned the knot, watching the concentration on his face, entirely too aware of how close he was.
“There,” he said, taking hold of her hood and bringing it up over her head. “You are a thief in the night once more.”
She took a shaky breath. “I am no thief, for I have stolen nothing.” She met his shining gaze. “You,on the other hand…”
“Me?” He dipped his head, his eyes flitting to her lips. “What is it thatIhave stolen, may I ask?”
She forced herself to step back, out of danger. “Several hours of my time and what remained of my dignity,” she retorted, putting as much irritation into her voice as she could muster. “I look forward to beating you to the altar.”
She skirted past him, her heart thundering and her breaths shallow as she hurried on through the drawing room door, retracing her steps through the entrance hall and a labyrinth of corridors to reach the servants’ exit. Indeed, as she burst back out into the cool night and ran along the faint path, she could not get away from Thornhill Grange, and the duke it belonged to, fast enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It had been a week since Valeria’s lessons with Duncan, and the seasons were beginning to change. Spring slipped seamlessly into summer, the days longer and warmer, the new buds blooming, the world brimming with potential in those heady afternoons and balmy evenings.
Yet, Valeria had been given no opportunity to put her education into practice. Her father had returned with a terrible cold that had put her plans for courtship on the shelf, her days filled with nursing him back to health. After all, there was no one else to do it, for upon her father’s return, the butler had been released from his employment, and Mrs. Mitford had been partially released from hers. From now on, she would work just two days a week; it was all the Maxwells could afford.
“Papa, what are you doing out of bed?” Valeria asked, looking up from the correspondence that had arrived with the morning post.
Aaron shambled into the drawing room, a bit more color in his cheeks. “I cannot lie there a moment longer. I promise, I am much improved.” He sank down onto the settee, frowning at the jacquard upholstery. “I should have someone come and appraise this. We could last well enough until the winter if we sell some things.”
“It is something to consider,” Valeria agreed, holding up the letters that had arrived. “But allow me another few weeks before we start getting rid of heirlooms and whatnot. I have enough invitations to see every evening occupied until the end of August.”
A flurry of such letters had appeared on the post tray over the past few days, an almost overwhelming quantity.
Aaron frowned. “In London or the counties?”
“London, unfortunately.” Valeria grimaced. “That being said, I know that the Viscount and Viscountess of Mentrow are not using their apartments this Season, given that Catherine is heavily with child. I took the liberty of writing to them, though I am still awaiting a reply.”
Noah and Catherine had become reasonable friends of Valeria’s, by way of Isolde, who had almost married Noah once upon a time. If Edmund had not confessed his affection when he did, Noah would never have found happiness with Catherine, and Isolde would not have had the gift of true love. As such, there were no hard feelings about that past engagement, their friendship blossoming where marriage had not.
Of course, Valeria could have stayed with her friends in London—they would have welcomed her eagerly—but if she was summoned to another lesson, she did not want to have to explain why she was sneaking out. Nor would her father’s pride permit him to reside under someone else’s roof, especially not with his niece in tow—the three of them needed space of their own.
“And when is Beatrice due to arrive?” Aaron asked, his expression tense. “Would it be wise to take her to London? I suppose I could watch over her here, while you venture to the city.”
Valeria waved a hand. “She will do perfectly well in London. Why, I am convinced that she will be no trouble at all, for it is the feeling of restriction that makes her behave as she does. If she feels she is at greater liberty, I am sure she will be on her best behavior.”
