The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(24)

Looking around for an escape, Bran noted stairs down to the garden. There were several pathways, each with flickering torches, but only for a certain distance. The farther along a path, the dimmer the light became until the route simply faded into darkness.

Bran practically ran for the nearest path.

As soon as he passed the last light, he tugged his gloves off and stuffed them into the pockets of his coat. Then he pulled his cravat free, letting the ends drape down his front. So much for simply loosening it.

Why had he bothered coming tonight? Because he’d allowed bloody Clare and Kendal to talk him into it. And Kendal wasn’t even here. Was Clare? Bran hadn’t seen him, and he no longer cared.

Had it really been a waste of time? He had managed a waltz after all.

Yes, a single waltz. He congratulated himself on his mediocrity.

He was supposed to be wife hunting. But he’d be damned if he could do that. He hadn’t even been able to have a conversation with Mrs. Shaw without harkening back to his miserable past. It was difficult to be here in London, especially at a social event such as this, and not think of his brothers, how they’d driven him from England.

Not that he regretted it. The moment his ship had set sail, he’d felt free. And happy. He’d certainly never imagined he’d be back here.

There was enough light filtering through the garden that he could make his way along the path. But then it turned, and he was thrust into total darkness.

He heard an intake of breath as if it were the snap of a sail in the wind. He wasn’t alone. Then he heard the rustle of fabric and knew it was a woman.

“I can hear you,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He belatedly realized it was possible she wasn’t by herself, that there was perhaps a gentleman with her. He’d just turn and go—and hopefully find a way out without having to return to the ballroom.

“Lord Knighton?”

The voice was familiar. He relaxed even as his senses vaulted to hyperawareness. “Mrs. Shaw.”

“I just…I needed some cool air.”

“I did as well.” He moved toward the sound of her voice. “I’m glad I found you. Now I can apologize for causing you distress. I’m not sure what I said or did, but I suspect it was my inability to accept your kind compliment.”

“What?” She sounded genuinely perplexed. “You didn’t cause me distress.”

There was a quiver to her tone. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but if she was trying to spare his feelings, he’d let her do whatever made her comfortable.

“I’m the one who should apologize,” she said from rather nearby, meaning he’d managed to move closer. “Talking about your past, about Oxford, seemed to bother you. I didn’t mean to cause you any upset.”

“You didn’t. I’m the one who brought it up.” And he still didn’t know why, except that he felt unabashedly comfortable with her. “I’ve spent fifteen years putting that behind me. Being back in England has brought it all to the surface again.”

“If you’d like to tell me what ‘it all’ is, I’d be glad to listen.”

He considered that, but reliving his brothers’ torture and his mother’s ambivalence wasn’t something he wanted to do. Feeling as constricted as he had in the ballroom, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over his arm.

“Are you disrobing again?” she asked.

“You can hear that?”

“I’m afraid so. But since I can’t see you, it really doesn’t signify.”

He chuckled, pleased with her logic. “As it happens, I’d already untied my cravat before I arrived here.”

“I can’t even manage to feign shock.” Now her voice held a lilt of humor, as if she were smiling.

He laughed again, and a cool, early spring breeze wafted over him. How he missed the warmth of Barbados.

“Will you tell me about it?” she asked.

Had he said that out loud—about Barbados? Apparently so. “I could stand here all night and not manage to tell you everything.”

“Then just tell me something.”

He closed his eyes and summoned his home. “The colors there are like nothing you’ve ever seen—the blue-green water, the white-gold sand, colors that not even the rainbow can do justice to.”

“It sounds beautiful.” Her voice was soft, almost reverent. “How did you decide to go there?”

He opened his eyes but still couldn’t see her. “That was where the ship was headed. I didn’t care where I was going, so long as it wasn’t here.”

“You must have been terribly miserable.” She sounded as if she’d moved a bit closer.

“I wasn’t needed here.” Or wanted, really. His entire family had encouraged him to buy a commission or perhaps take a vicarage. He’d considered both ideas, but in the end had simply walked on the first ship leaving England. And he’d never looked back.

“And now?” Her question whispered over him, lulling him with its sweet curiosity.

“Now, I’m the earl. I’m needed.”

“And your brothers are gone.”

He exhaled, as if realizing for the first time that they really were gone. That he could perhaps be here and be happy. Or at least not miserable. Still, it wasn’t home. Not yet. “I miss the blazing sun.”