Page 18 of Taken By the Broken Duke
“Don’t see much choice if that’s their price,” Hall said in earnest.
“Oh, it will be their price. I can assure you of that, old friend. Just wait and see. But it is too high a price. Too high by half.”
The trouble was that Hall was right. There wasn’t much choice if Horatio wished to restore his name. He would need the cooperation of a family in good standing. And the family of the woman he was accused of assaulting would be the most influential. It would be thought that if they could forgive, then others should as well.
It infuriated him that he needed to defend himself in such a way when he was entirely innocent. That the same woman had besmirched his name twice. Perhaps there was a solution though. One that would deny the Godwins the glory of joining their family to his but which would force them to his side. Something that would help to repair the damage to his reputation and could easily be undone once the public interest had abated. And the Godwins would not be able to refuse.
“You’ve got a plan, Your Grace. I know that look,” Hall smirked wolfishly.
“As perceptive as ever.”
“Will I send for Lord Gilbert and his wife? The former isn’t much use without the latter,” Hall said.
“No, wait until a physician has seen to their niece and all is settled. Then send them to me in the Black Study.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
CHAPTER NINE
Juliet clung to the crumbling stone. Below her was a lethal drop to an unyielding, marble floor. The stone under her fingers was crumbling with age, the more she tried to grip the more it gave way. Finally, a large chunk broke away under her grip. It fell as her hand dangled in empty space. After a long time, she heard the sound of it crashing into the marble and splintering into a thousand pieces. She daren’t look down, fearing that the sight of it would rob her of the last of her strength and see her plummeting. Then, as her fingers gave up their grip, a hand grasped her wrist. It was a strong hand with a hold on her like a vice. She looked up, dangling from the Herculean strength of that hand, and into a pair of cool blue eyes.
“I’ve got you,” the duke said.
Without apparent effort, he lifted her. Then he was holding her in his arms, carrying her away from the edge. Suddenly, they were in a bedchamber. The stone balcony from which she had dangled was crumbling and ancient. The drop below was nolonger to the marble floor of a ballroom but to a white-capped river far below, dashing itself from saw-toothed rocks.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered.
He carried her across the room towards a chaise upholstered in gold and red silk. He wore a coat of red with gold brambles worked into the sleeves, snaking up his arms to entwine a Prussian collar. Over this his satin, brown hair cascaded to his shoulders. His hands felt strong but gentle on her fragile body, making her feel safe in a way she had never experienced before.
“My name is Horatio. Or have you forgotten?” he said, gently.
“I believe I had…”
It seemed that she had known his given name, but at the same time, had forgotten it.
“Horatio,” she said, feeling as though she were tasting the name on her lips for the very first time, “it sounds like the name of a hero of Ancient Greece,”
“Like Hector?” Horatio asked.
He lay her on the chaise, her head supported by soft cushions. He sat at the other end, cradling her feet on his lap.
“Hector was a Trojan,” Juliet pointed out.
“Was he? I was the bane of my tutors. I didn’t pay much attention to books,” Horatio said with a simple, boyish smile.
He unbuckled and then removed her left shoe, tossing it over his shoulder with grinning insouciance. Then he removed the other. Juliet wriggled her stockinged toes as he began to gently massage her feet. She squirmed deeper into the soft cushions of the chaise.
“I feel like the wife of Caesar, drowning in luxury,” she breathed.
Horatio paused for a moment, thinking to himself. “That would make me your slave?” he asked.
“Or Caesar,” Juliet smiled.
“I think slave is better.”
Juliet blushed deeply.
“And I remember enough of my classics to know that slaves were not permitted to dress as finely as Caesar. No gold thread or fine woven wool for me.”
