Page 12 of Taken By the Broken Duke
Eventually, his finger halted on the nameGilbert Godwin, Baron of Swindon. Sliding across the page, his gaze settled on the names of the rest of the Godwin guests.Miss Frances Godwin,Miss Edith Godwin. One other. He glanced back to his slumbering enigma. Could she be Frances or Edith Godwin? He was aware that Lady Margaret had fiery red hair, and so did this young lady. Shecouldbe a Godwin. But then, who was the other that had been added to their party but not named?
The idea that she might be a Godwin gave him a pang of disappointment. It would be so ordinary, so mundane. He didnot care for the Godwins, they were grasping and materialistic. Gossipers and political schemers.
Then it struck him.
There had been another member of that family once... Not aGodwinthough. He could not for the life of him summon to mind the name of the girl. She had barely been out of childhood... But she had borne witness against the lies toward him and Lady Margaret Godwin had stood at her shoulder, urging her on.
His blood went still. Horatio’s eyes darted to the woman on the chaise. At that very moment, she stirred. He circled the desk and began to hurry across the room to her but hesitated. He watched as her eyes opened. She blinked dazedly, peeked around the room, and then saw him. He forced a thin smile.
“Evening,” he said simply. Her eyes drifted lazily to her drawstring bag. At that, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, your little friend is quite safe. I gave him some bread and cheese.”
He indicated the drawer which poked out of the desk slightly. She sat up but then fell back, swooning. He rushed to her side, taking her arm.
“You are not well. Come, I will give you one of the guest rooms and send for a physician—if there is not one already present.”
“Guest rooms? How can you…”
Horatio was taken aback for a moment. Then he realized that very few people had glimpsed him unmasked in the last several years. No reason why this woman should be able to recognize him. Very few would.
“This is my home. Allow me to introduce myself. I am… Horatio Templeton.” Years of hiding his besmirched identity had his name linger on his tongue a touch longer than comfort might permit, “…Fourteenth Duke of Ravenscourt. May I take your name?”
He was still sitting on the edge of the chaise, his hand holding her smaller one, while the other grasped her upper arm, supporting her. This close, he could almost taste her subtle, feminine perfume. Something sweet and floral, but not cloying or overpowering. He could see the perfect, delicate pores of her skin. The full, luscious shape of her lips. But it was her eyes that captivated him. Like emeralds, deep and intoxicating. He felt as though he could stare into their depths and become utterly lost in them. Realizing that he was staring wordlessly, Horatio came back to himself with a start. He allowed his hands to fall and stood.
“Do excuse me. I did not mean to stare.”
“No need to apologize at all, Your Grace. I think I was staring too,” she said tiredly.
“You may be excused, for it is apparent you are indisposed. I am without cause for my rudeness.”
He felt the heat in his own face, knew he was blushing, and hated the sensation, feeling foolish in the extreme. It was not like him to be so out of sorts around a beautiful woman.
“I did not think you rude, Your Grace,” the woman breathed, rubbing an eye with a balled fist. “Thank you for taking care of Archie for me.”
Horatio glanced at the drawer from which contented rustlings were emanating. “In truth, I would consider the company of animals far more agreeable to that of people. I maintain livestock on the estate, not for food I might add. Just for the pleasure of rearing animals.”
The woman smiled and the expression lit up her face. Horatio found himself smiling in return, powerless to resist—as futile as attempting to stop the sun from rising.
“Now you have my name, my residence, and even a glimpse into one of my interests—yet I still do not know who you are,” he laughed softly.
For a moment, the woman simply stared at him, the smile becoming fixed on her face, losing its meaning. Then she spoke hurriedly, “Your pardon, Your Grace. My name is Elisa Fothering.”
That name did not ring a bell. Good.
Horatio inclined his head to her. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Fothering. Welcome to Ravenscourt Castle.”
“Thank you,” Elisa said, “it is a remarkable house. Yes—yes, quite remarkable. I have never seen anything quite like it, yes.”
She was speaking in a rush, her words tumbling over one another as her fingers fidgeted with the hems of her skirts.
Horatio stepped closer. “I do not wish to pry, young Miss, but do you happen to perhaps have an explanation as to why you swooned?”
“Yes… I mean, no. I mean…” Elisa’s face went bright red. She was visibly flustered, “I am prone to these episodes is what I mean. They have happened before.”
“Are you here in company? With family, or…”
“My Aunt and Uncle and two cousins.” He looked at her expectantly, and only then, she finished, “Lord Gilbert and Lady Margaret Godwin.”
“Ah, so you would be theotherreferred to on my guest list. I wonder why they did not name you.”
