Addicted to the Duke (Imperfect Lords #1)(6)

“It is an urgent summons, so her ladyship will have to take me as she finds me. I shall go on to the explorers club afterward.” Formal dress for this meeting would send Hestia the wrong message.

“Very good, Your Grace.”

As he waited for his carriage to be summoned, he recognized the excitement building was not about the tales of North Africa he would hear later. He’d not seen Lady Hestia for over eighteen months. He made it his mission to avoid her when she came to town.

Why Hestia could not ascertain that he did not wish to see her, talk with her, he could not understand. She reminded him of the darkest days of his life, and that’s the last thing he needed to be reminded of.

Why couldn’t she marry like a young lady of quality should? Every time he came back to London he prayed he’d hear the news of her betrothal. He blamed her father. Still gallivanting around the Mediterranean engrossed in history when he should be home ensuring the safety and future of his daughter. Surely she could find someone suitable.

It wasn’t from lack of offers. She was beautiful, had a large dowry, was the daughter of a well thought of, if slightly eccentric, earl, and she could be utterly charming when she wanted to be. Of course there was the scandal of her Turkish pirate abduction, but he had rescued her over four years ago, and her impeccable behavior since meant the incident was virtually forgotten.

Already his gut was churning with building anger, wondering on what pretext she had sent for him. He was surprised her aunt had not forbidden her to contact him. Surely she would not have set up a situation where she could meet with him without a chaperon?

His mouth firmed. If she thought he could be trapped into marriage, the little minx did not know him very well. Hell, that was the problem. Hestia didn’t know him at all. She thought she did, but all she saw was her white knight. A man who rescued her from the clutches of evil.

Little did she know that he had once partnered with that very evil. Done things with Murad that would make the devil faint.

And in his drug-induced haze enjoyed it.

He knew why she had not married. Hestia was waiting for him. Silly girl. The sooner he disabused her of this notion, the better.

On a sigh he snapped the book closed and rose.

He strode out to his carriage and barely noticed the bite in the air. Spring was slow in arriving. Still it felt good to be outside. His leg began its constant jiggle as his impatience to have this meeting over grew. He was only going because he owed her father, and with the earl in the Mediterranean, he could not discount she had a legitimate reason for summoning him.

Blast the girl. Over the years it had not taken him long to conclude her trips to London coincided with his. She had not hidden her infatuation from him, and for the first few years after he’d rescued her, he put it down to the fact he’d saved her from Murad.

He tried to be discreet when it came to his paramours, but Hestia would no doubt have heard gossip. She knew he was not a monk. He had hoped it would lessen her hero worship of him. He was not worthy of such honor.

But her devotion had never faltered, worse luck. So the only safe thing for him to do was to put distance and formality between them. It worked. Lately she was polite when they accidentally bumped into each other, and the light in her eyes when she looked at him had dimmed as the years rolled on.

His gnawing unease increased when he acknowledged that this summons was indeed a change in her usual behavior.

Something was wrong.

His pulse sped up and he banged on the carriage roof. “Can we hurry if you please?”

His heart was still pounding as he mounted the steps of the Earl of Pembroke’s townhouse. The last time Alex had set foot in this house, his father was still alive and he’d only had his honorary title, Marquess of Tavistock. Even though at the time he was a duke in waiting, he’d been chewed up and spat out. He did not blame his lordship, but it was all for nothing. He was not interested in Lady Hestia, and never would be.

The front door opened before he reached the top step, but he barely noted who announced him because he simmered with self-directed fury. He couldn’t wait to ascertain the situation and then be on his way again so he could resume pretending she didn’t exist.

In the hall he closed his eyes and summoned control of the last vestige of his temper. He needed his wits about him.

As he was shown into the drawing room, he could feel the heaviness of doom pervading the air. Then he saw her and his breath hitched. His body reacted and that angered him even more. He’d known her for more than four years. He’d watched her grow up. Why was she having this effect on him?

Hestia stood by the fire, staring out the window at the far end of the room. She was dressed in black from head to toe. She was obviously in mourning. Her black silhouette should have doused the immediate desire that flared and heated his blood. Yet it did not. Her fingers were playing with the string of pearls wound in many strands around her neck, and all he wanted to do was unwind them and replace them with his lips.

At his entrance she swung around to greet him, and he could see the worry and exhaustion on her face. He moved quickly toward her, only just remembering to stop and greet Lady Eliza, her aunt, also dressed in black.

Lady Eliza acknowledged him with the tilt of her head. “It’s all right, Your Grace; as you can see we are both a tad overwrought.”

He moved toward Hestia as she held out both her hands to him and he took them in his own. Her voice wavered. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”