Page 11 of Taken By the Broken Duke
Archie was inching his way towards the bread. She froze, not wanting to startle him and silently urging her companion to do likewise. When she glanced at him though, he was looking at her still, not at Archie.
“Why is that?” he asked. “Do you perhaps… dislike your host?”
“I do notknowour host,” Juliet murmured, “I have never met him. It is just that…”
She did not know how to explain but reasoned that she had already said too much for discretion. If this man was acquainted with the Godwins, he already had enough information to cause her a considerable amount of trouble from Aunt Margaret. Still, if that meant she was barred from attending future balls or luncheons, then that might not be entirely a bad thing. Except that it would mean spending the rest of her life as their ward, reliant on them for a roof over her head and the clothes on her back. That was not an attractive prospect either.
“I do not know how to dance,” she finished, somewhat lamely.
The man chuckled. “That can be learned. Is that really your only objection?”
“I am happier with my own company,” Juliet added.
“As am I.”
“Then why are you here?” she could not help but ask.
“Why are you?”
“I was forced to attend by my aunt and uncle. I am here out of duty.”
“As am I.”
Archie was almost within reach—but at that moment, Juliet felt the familiar, dreaded weakness that was the sign of an attack. Her legs began to feel shaky and a cold sweat formed on her brow. She put out a hand to steady herself. Archie backed away a few steps. Juliet leaned on the balustrade, closing her eyes for a moment.
“Are you unwell?” the man whispered, concern in his voice.
“It will pass. I just need to… to sit for a moment,” she breathed.
Archie scampered up to her hand and she scooped him up, putting him back into the drawstring bag before allowing her legs to give way. She had intended simply to slide down the balustrade until she was sitting on the floor with her back to it. But, her balance failed and she found herself leaning outward, the upper half of her body sloping over the stone railing. She felt strong arms about her suddenly and then the man with the stag’s head was lifting her from her feet.
Juliet fainted.
CHAPTER SIX
Horatio looked down at the mysterious young woman. The strange, captivating creature who felt utterly alone amidst a hundred guests, yet entirely at ease in the quiet company of a single pet mouse.
With a folded handkerchief, he gently dabbed at the sheen of sweat that had formed on her smooth brow. ‘Archie’ had been transferred from the pouch she carried to a drawer that Horatio had emptied of contents and refilled with some broken bread and cheese. The little creature seemed quite content as he replaced the drawer, closing it all but a crack.
He smiled to himself.
The entire escapade had amused him, giving a bright interlude to what would have been a tedious duty. The stag mask lay on a sideboard and he had pulled a chair over to the chaise in order to watch over his patient. In his curiosity, he did not think that a very similar scenario had occurred before and that it had not ended well for him.
“Who are you, mysterious lady, I wonder…” he whispered, studying the contours of a bewitching face, with lips faintly parted, and chest rising and falling in deep slumber.
Even with the pallor of illness upon her, she still appeared divine. In fact, it almost enhanced her beauty, making her seem delicate, vulnerable. He found himself drawn to her, wanting to protect her. The ball was still underway in the Great Hall and had been for some time. Horatio found that he had lost interest in it.
As he gazed at the woman who had come into his life so unexpectedly, he found his breathing quickening. His heart was racing. He stood, angry at his own weakness, his body betraying him. Being curious about the odd behavior of a stranger in his home was one thing. But to indulge in other foolishness was the purview of empty-headed young lovers. He was neither empty-headed, young nor a lover.
Striding to the sideboard, he took up a decanter of French Bordeaux, the liquid inside ruby red. Pouring himself a glassful, he lifted it before twisting to regard the young woman again. The time it had taken to walk to the sideboard and pour a glass of claret had been the longest that he could bring himself to turn away from her.
And now, there was a growing sense of familiarity.
He put it down to spending too long gaping at her and took a swig from the crystal tumbler. But the gnawing feeling that he should recognize her would not desist. He frowned, walkingslowly back towards her, tilting his head so as to look at her supine face from another angle.
No, it was not simply that he was becoming familiar over the last two hours. The beauty spot high on her cheek was the main trigger for his memory. Why did it make him think of that unbearable old dragon, the Lady Margaret of Wetherby? Possibly because Lady Margaret also had a beauty spot. But again, there was more to it.
Setting down the wine glass suddenly, he strode to the desk which stood before the room’s imposing, stone fireplace. Rifling through the drawers eventually brought to hand a list of guests for tonight’s ball. He skimmed down the list of names, cursing Hall for his unintelligible cursive. But Horatio’s was not much better. He had been the bane of his tutor’s life and had abandoned the world of letters at the earliest opportunity, preferring sport to learning. Well, hehad, before his future had been cruelly snatched from him.
