Page 99 of Never a Duke
Ned grasped her hand. “With me?”
Rosalind nodded. “Take me to your house. Her Grace has seen fresh clothing packed for me in your coach, and she all but ordered me to avail myself of your hospitality—not that I needed her encouragement.” Though having that encouragement meant worlds.
Ned linked his fingers with Rosalind’s. “You are sure?”
“I am absolutely certain, and we are wasting time.”
“Far be it from me to argue with a lady at the end of such a trying day.” He offered his arm and Rosalind took it. No duke had ever handed his duchess into a coach with more dignity, or—once the horses were trotting along—been kissed by his duchess with more passion.
***
“Bob has accepted Lord Stephen’s hospitality,” Ned said, as the coach swayed around a corner. “They were in the thick of a discussion about the challenges of growing cotton in New South Wales when they departed.”
And seeing Bob casually climb into Lord Stephen’s coach had been daunting. Bob had climbed right back out, punched Ned on the arm, and promised to have lunch with him at the club the next day. Once an older brother, always an older brother—thank the Deity.
“Did you want to run after Lord Stephen’s coach to make sure they went no farther than his lordship’s residence?” Rosalind asked.
“Yes, and to pitch his lordship to the cobbles for stealing my brother.” Except, Stephen had been right to offer Ned a respite from Bob’s company. “I haven’t asked if Bob is home to stay, or whether he’ll return to his shop in the Antipodes. Our father is there. Papa never remarried, and he’s minding the shop for Bob. Bob nipped out to deliver an order one day and he saw this older fellow sitting on a bench, staring out across the water. After all the misery we’ve been put through, they just bumped into each other on the other side of the world. That was years ago, and all this time, they talked of looking for me.”
Rosalind snuggled closer. “You are overdue for some miracles, Ned, and there’s time to sort it all out. Bob didn’t come all this way only to jump on the next outbound ship.”
Rosalind was asking Ned for a respite too, from all that still required sorting out. “I want you to know something, my lady.”
“Hmm?”
“I do love you. That was not bravado or heat-of-the-moment dramatics.” Though love, contrary to the maunderings of the poets, did not make life’s hard decisions any less painful.
“I trust your love, Ned Wentworth, which is why I am planning to spend the night with you.”
Now, when Ned needed the clarity that always came with detaching himself from his immediate experiences, the distance refused to come. He was too delighted with the feel of Rosalind nestled against him. Too intrigued by her use of trust and love in the same sentence. Too worried about all the discussions he and Rosalind would face in the morning.
“My house is nothing grand,” Ned said. “I did not want the usual bachelor lodgings, and Jane found this place for me. I’m close enough to the bank, but not so close that I’d be tempted to nip back into the office at all hours.”
He was babbling, and about the damned bank. “I’ve thought about offering Artie a place here,” he went on, “though I suspect he’ll want to stick with the other badgers.”
Rosalind bussed Ned’s cheek. “In the morning, we can talk about anything you please, such as whether Artie’s Sissy might accept an offer of employment as your maid of all work. Now, I would like to see your home.”
As the coach came to a halt, an odd combination of pride and trepidation assailed Ned. “I love having my own place. Love the peace and quiet of it. The Wentworth household is grand and always awash with guests, family, servants, children.…I was lonelier there than I have ever been in the solitude of my own dwelling.”
Ned handed Rosalind down from the coach, collected her bundle of clothing, and wondered when his tendency to confide in her without notice would abate, if ever.
“I know that loneliness,” Rosalind said, as the coach rolled away in the direction of the mews. “A woman assigned a companion is all but announcing to the world that nobody in particular needs her underfoot. She is extraneous to all endeavors, not even decorative. One unfortunate individual is paid to ensure the lady doesn’t become a bother to society generally.”
“You may bother me all you like.”
Rosalind smiled and ascended the front steps. “Do you keep your front door locked at all hours against London’s thieves?”
“I do not. First, no self-respecting thief marches in the front door. He or she uses a window in the garden, where nobody will see them gaining entry. Second, everything on the premises worth stealing is under lock and key. I do lock my bedroom door, though.”
“As do I,” Rosalind said. “Ned—this isn’t necessary.”
He’d opened the door and scooped her into his arms. “Yes, it is.” He set her on her feet in the foyer and closed the door. “Welcome to my home, Lady Rosalind, and I hope to your new home as well.”
She leaned into him. “You are so romantic. Whatever shall I do with you?”
Before Ned could suggest she make wild, passionate love with him, she was whisking off her bonnet—one of Jane’s, unless Ned was mistaken—and unbuttoning her cloak, also Jane’s.
He hung them up, placed his hat on its customary hook, and then he was trailing Rosalind up the steps, her bundle of clothing in his hand, and a sweet sense of anticipation crowding out most of his worries.
