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W
hat the devil is going on?
“Look there.” Graham nudged Griffin in the ribs. “What do you suppose old Alberts wants?”
His brother followed his gaze to the doorway of the ballroom where the butler beckoned to them both with some urgency. “I’ll admit I have no idea. Usually, he’s the epitome of reserve.”
“Should we indulge him? He looks quite crazed about the eyes.”
Griffin shrugged. “We might as well. No sense in alarming Father and ruining his ball until we know what the devil Alberts has stumbled into.”
Excitement tingled at the base of Graham’s spine. Finally, something to do that didn’t include dancing or doing the pretty with the country gentry. He set off around the perimeter of the room with Griffin, and once they’d gained the doorway, Alberts led them some distance away along the corridor. “What is amiss, Alberts? Why the need for such cloak and dagger tactics?
The butler drew himself up to his full height and looked down his nose at them. “Lord Hollingsworth, Lord Bonham, a woman has arrived on foot to the castle. She claims she’s walked three miles in the rain and wants sanctuary.” He huffed. “Her clothes and boots speak as a testament to this fact. However, I wouldn’t put it past her to have invented the whole story, for she possesses a tart mouth and a quick wit.” His expression hardened. “Also, she has brought a cat.”
“What?” Graham was properly flummoxed. “Someone walked here in this weather?”
“And at this hour?” Griffin added with incredulity in his voice.
“That is what she said,” the butler confirmed.
Graham glanced at his brother. “It smacks of intrigue.”
“To say nothing of a grand coil we should probably not involve ourselves in.”
But they continued to stare at each other, and the curiosity in Griffin’s eyes matched what was currently bubbling and building through Graham’s chest.
“It’s been quite some time since we’ve had any sort of excitement around here that didn’t have anything to do with romance or Christmastide.”
“Indeed.” Griffin rubbed a hand along his jaw. “Yet this is Father and Mother’s big evening to shine.”
“There is that.” In order to make a decision, they needed more information. “Who is she?” Graham asked of the somewhat agitated butler. The mystery was better than endless rounds of dancing with females who didn’t interest him... or worse, dancing with his sister who would extoll the virtues of her fiancé and the wedding plans she intended to make.
“I have no idea, my lord. She didn’t give a name.”
“Whyever not?” That was odd.
Alberts shrugged. “She said she didn’t wish to endanger anyone with that information, but she needed to speak to the duke immediately. In that she is quite adamant.”
Graham shot a glance to his brother, who shrugged. “Is she from the area?”
“I don’t know that either.”
What the devil had Alberts been doing this whole time? Before he could speak, Griffin asked a question of his own.
“Is she a villager or perhaps a tenant on Ivy lands?”
“I wouldn’t know, my lord.” Alberts clasped his hands behind his back. “Her clothes speak to quality.”
“Interesting.” But Griffin frowned. Was he leaning toward ousting the visitor from the castle?
Softly, the butler cleared his throat. “What would you have me do?”
Anticipation tingled down Graham’s spine, but for what, he couldn’t say. “Where is she?”
“I’ve shown her into the blue parlor for the time being until I could speak with His Grace.”
“I see.” He glanced his brother, who seemed as mystified as he felt. “Once the opening waltz is over and the guests begin to enjoy the ball, inform Mama and Papa. I’ll try to find out where our visitor is from and why she’s here.” He looked at the butler. “In the meantime, please have tea brought to the parlor. No doubt she’s cold and hungry.”
“I had the same thought, my lord. It’s being delivered as we speak.”
“Good.” Griffin nodded. “Perhaps it’s for the best that you speak with her, Graham. No need to sound an alarm until we know more.”
“Do you wish to accompany me?”
“Not at the moment. I feel more of a need to protect Papa until we know what’s going on.” He darted a glance to the doorway, but concern creased his brow. “If you need assistance, shout or come grab me.”
Worry circled through Graham’s belly. There was always a threat to any duke, but surely it wouldn’t come in the form of a woman with a cat, no less. “Will do.” Twin threads of misgivings and curiosity twisted down his spine as he set off for the parlor in the opposite direction than what the butler had taken.
At the door, he peered into the room before announcing his presence... and was struck dumb. Good Lord!
The woman who occupied the parlor was nothing short of an angel, and a Christmas angel at that. The red taffeta gown called attention to her smooth, pale skin, but sadly at least four inches of the hem was caked with wetness and mud, no doubt ruining the splendid garment. A black cloak lay over the back of one of the delicate chairs, while a white long-haired cat groomed itself on a chair somewhat removed from her position. Graham’s attention remained firmly stuck to the visitor. Upswept blonde hair was held in place by a pair of Mother-of-Pearl combs and put her graceful neck on display. Though she kept her back to him as she warmed her hands at the cheerful fire dancing behind the grate, he couldn’t help but notice how petite she was and how the cut of the gown put her ample curves on display enough that she could tempt any man beneath this roof.
Never had he seen a more charming or exquisite vision, not even within the demimonde of London. As he stared, his chest tightened, for he’d forgotten how to breathe the moment he’d laid eyes upon her. Perhaps she hadn’t walked here at all. Had she fallen from the heavens then?
Get hold of yourself, Graham!
In some confusion and with a firm shake of his head, he came into the room and cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her. “Good evening. Alberts made me aware of your visit.”
“Oh!” The angel whirled about from the fireplace, and once more, he was struck dumb, for her features made her even more beautiful than her profile. Impossibly blue eyes had rounded as she looked at him. Twin spots of high color on her cheeks spoke to either the cold or embarrassment. A sprinkling of freckles decorated the bridge of her nose. Though there was a gentleness in her countenance, the fear and despair in her eyes caught his attention and his consternation. “Are you the Duke of Whittington?” Those startingly clear eyes roved up and down his person, and he swore he felt her regard as if she’d caressed him. “Somehow, I assumed he was older.” Her voice was melodious, and she spoke with some degree of refinement that indicated a connection to the ton.
Never had he wanted to be his father more in the whole of his life. “Uh, no. I’m his youngest son, Lord Bonham.” He didn’t take his eyes from her face. In the soft candlelight and the warm illumination from the fire, the different shades of blonde in her tresses glimmered as did tiny flecks of gold in those blue irises.
“I see.” A crestfallen expression took the place of the previous interest. “They sent you to ferret out if I’m a threat or demented.”
The fact she’d managed to discern that impressed him. “Perhaps.”
She sighed. “Is the duke in residence?” The pout currently tugging down the corners of her nearly full lips had him staring all the more. How old was she? Why the devil was she here? And more importantly, was she currently attached?
“He is, and this night is his annual wedding anniversary ball, so I’m loathe to interrupt that on a whim.” Though he hated to disappoint this enchanting bit of womanhood upon first meeting, his first priority was to keep his parents safe.
“Might I speak to him? I have a feeling he’s the only one who can help.”
Why would she not assume the same about him? “In a moment.” Graham gestured to a sofa. “Before I call him in here, there are questions I would ask of you. Surely you can understand why.”
“I suppose, though there’s something wrong in the world when a gentleman doesn’t immediately trust a lady.” She sat on the piece of furniture he’d indicated and arranged her skirting over her legs. That was when he noticed she’d removed her half boots, no doubt in deference to the carpeting, but he couldn’t stop peering at her dainty stocking-covered feet. In fact, her whole person was exactly that. If he took her into his arms, he could probably tuck her head beneath his chin.
The perfect height. The perfect form. The perfect amount of intrigue to tempt him.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “It’s not a matter of trust but of security.”
“That I can understand, for that’s exactly what I need as well.”
Graham frowned. “You are in danger?” When she didn’t answer, he rested his gaze on her. Why was she fleeing? And from whom? He’d find out in short order. “What is your name?”
She bit her lower lip, and he died a thousand deaths for he wished to kiss her so that he might see if those two pieces of flesh were as soft as they looked. “I’d rather not endanger anyone here with that information. The less you know—”
He held up a hand. “The Ivy family is more than capable to taking care of themselves. My father’s reach is quite powerful. Don’t think we are helpless.” Never had he been prouder to be an Ivy. As he caught her gaze, he said in a softer voice, “Please tell me your name. If you wish for assistance, this is necessary.”
“All right.” She nodded. “Miss Arabella Holly. I’m the daughter of Squire Morgan in Oxfordshire.”
“Ah.” He recognized the name from some of the gaming hells in London he used to frequent in prior years. “You have my sympathies, for he has rotten luck with cards.”
“And with anything else,” she shot off in response.
The impulsive nature of her words amused him.
“Oh, and that is Moonbeam.” She gestured toward the cat, who’d now curled itself up into a rather fluffy ball. “I couldn’t leave home without her. She’s family.”
His lips twitched with the want to smile. How darling. “I can imagine that she is.”
“Do you like cats, Lord Bonham?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever had cause to be around them enough to know.”
“Well, if Moonbeam trusts you then I will too.”
“I suppose time will tell.” When he next glanced at the cat, the feline rested amber eyes on him as if trying to assess his worth. It was both unnerving and exhilarating. “Tell me of your family. Is it a large one?”
“Not really. There is only my parents and me. And Moonbeam. My father has always despaired that he wasn’t able to sire a son and heir.” Her shrug was an elegant affair. “I suppose I was a constant source of disappointment.”
“I rather doubt that.” Graham searched her face for signs of dissembling, but there were none. Nothing except honesty shone in her eyes. “You’re from Oxfordshire. Where?”
“Just over the border into Warwickshire.” She waved a hand. “Father’s holdings aren’t extensive.”
“It’s obvious from the state of your clothing that you have indeed walked here. Now I’d like to know why you sought out Ivy Castle.”
A sigh came from her so deep it could have originated from her toes. “I’d rather tell the story once, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to wait until the duke arrives.” The tiny waver in her voice tugged at his chest and was as effective in engaging his interest as a fishhook.
“Very well.” A footman brought in a tea service and placed it on a low table in front of her. Graham dropped into a nearby chair, and once the footman departed, he asked, “Would you like me to pour out a cup for you? I’m sure you’re chilled to the bone after your misadventure.”
Her eyes widened. Relief and gratitude flooded those pretty depths. “I would appreciate that. Thank you.”
“Good.” If he could manage not to fall into the clear pools of those blue, blue eyes, he might manage to not make a cake of himself. Where was the confidence and suave charisma he was known for in London? The poise he’d always shown that had helped to make him into the rogue that he was? “How do you take your tea, Miss Holly?”
“Strong and straight, which is how I like it when I’m worried.”
One of his eyebrows rose. That didn’t seem to match the angel’s personality. “And when you’re not?”
A faint blush stained her cheeks. “A splash of milk and a lump of sugar, accompanied by a few biscuits. The sweeter the better.” An unexpected giggle escaped her as she rested her gaze on him, and once more his breath stalled. “I have a weakness for things that are bad for me.”
How utterly charming. And altogether different from other women he’d known before. Suddenly, he wanted to be something that was utterly bad for her, and it wouldn’t take much effort on his part...
But they’d only just met, and his immediate reaction notwithstanding, he couldn’t very well kiss her senseless. So he went ahead and put the mentioned milk and sugar into a cup of tea and offered it to her. When her fingers brushed his at the hand off, charged tingles rushed up his arm to his elbow. A tiny gasp left her throat. Had she felt it too?
There was no time for questions, for his parents arrived on the scene.
His father was immediately alert, standing in the middle of the room with his back straight and his bearing pensive and taut. “What is going on here that interrupted our anniversary ball?” There was no doubt that his father was the duke. Notes of command rang in the inquiry, and Graham quelled the urge to grin.
“Are you the Duke of Whittington?”
“I am.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Slowly, Miss Holly rose to her stocking-covered feet and executed a curtsey. “Your Graces.” She darted her gaze between his parents. “I’ve arrived here after an axle on my coach broke and left me stranded. I’m pleading upon your mercy to grant me sanctuary.”
His father snorted. “Rather doing it up too brown, aren’t you? This is hardly Drury Lane and there’s no need for such maudlin measures.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s the truth regardless of how fictitious it sounds.”
This time Graham couldn’t tamp his grin. Apparently, she felt no threat in arguing with a duke. When he caught his mother’s eye, she narrowed hers. “Miss Holly refused to tell me her tale until you arrived. However, she did tell me that her father is Squire Morgan of Oxfordshire.”
“A run of bad luck, that. I’m afraid your sire is rather bad ton.” For long moments, his father leveled an assessing gaze on their visitor. “Your surname is Holly?”
“Yes.” She nodded, still clutching the teacup in her fingers.
“And at Christmastide, in fact.”
The woman shrugged. “At times, it’s been the bane of my existence, Your Grace.”
“I don’t doubt that it has been, but who am I to judge when my own name is Ivy?” A ghost of a smile curved his father’s mouth. He gestured with a hand and drew Graham’s mother forward. “This is my wife, Lady Whittington.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Miss Holly. No one should be anxious during this time of year,” his mother said as she swept forward and engulfed the young woman in a hug that had spears of jealousy shooting through Graham’s chest. “You needn’t fear, for while in Ivy Castle, nothing can harm you.” Then she pulled their visitor down to sit beside her on the sofa. The cat chose that moment to pace in front of their feet.
“Thank you,” Miss Holly whispered with a trace of tears in her eyes. The hand holding the teacup shook. Moonbeam uttered a meow, no doubt sensing the distress in her mistress. “I’m quite fine, Moonbeam,” she whispered and gave the feline a pat to the head.
Graham had the sudden urge to tuck her into his arms and protect her from the world. Where the devil had that thought come from?
With narrowed eyes, his father glanced between him and Miss Holly. “Well then, we shouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.” He took up position at the fireplace, leaning a fist against the mantle. “By all means, please proceed, Miss Holly. You have my ear, but only for a short time, for this evening is very much for my family and I’d like to return to the festivities.”
“I’ll endeavor to explain quickly.” She peered at Graham, and her forlorn expression speared straight through his heart. “Thank you for talking to me until your father could come.”
“Truly, it was my pleasure, Miss Holly,” he managed to eke out from a tight throat. When his mother frowned at him, he took refuge in fixing a cup of tea for himself. No sooner had he leaned back in the chair than the cat twined between his legs, no doubt leaving copious amounts of hair behind. He didn’t mind, for he wished to make friends with the beast in an effort to further his own agenda.
What had brought her to this pass and why? For that matter, why did he feel the need to sweep her into his arms and carry her away from whatever dragons she fled from?
What is happening to me? I am not a noble hero.