Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)(93)

She gasped. “Griff.”

“There. Now I’ve kissed you, in front of everyone. Shocking. And look, I’m going to do it again.”

He stopped dancing and used those strong arms to pull her close, and claimed her mouth in a passionate kiss.

When they parted, he wore a sly, roguish smile. “What would Mrs. Worthington say?”

She didn’t know about Mrs. Worthington, but somewhere a clock began to chime the hour. Pauline’s heartbeat stuttered.

The mail coach.

“I have to leave,” she said. “I must go, or I’ll never make it home in time.” She tugged out of his embrace. “I’m sorry. I promised my sister. You promised her, too.”

She dashed away from him, streaking out of the ballroom, back through the crowded antechambers, to the portico and down the stairs—just as fast as her slippers would carry her.

“Wait.” He called to her from the top of the stairs.

“Don’t,” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t make it harder, Griff.”

“Pauline, you can’t leave yet. Not like this.”

She tried to hurry but his footfalls outpaced hers easily. These stupid heeled slippers. When she tripped again, she kicked one off and threw it over her shoulder.

He dodged the flying slipper and caught her by the arm. “Wait.”

“Just let me go.”

“I’m not trying to stop you,” he said.

All the fight went out of her. She blinked at him. “You’re not?”

“No. I’m not.” His expression turned serious. “You need to go. Go home to your sister and open that circulating library. It’s your dream, and you’ve earned it. As for me . . . I have some work to do, too. I think it’s time I lived up to the vaunted Halford legacy.”

“Truly?”

He nodded, solemn. “To start, I’m going to be a man of my word. I promised to have you home by Saturday, and so I will.”

This was it, Pauline realized. He was truly letting her go. She would return to Spindle Cove and be a shopkeeper, and he would become a respectable duke. They would be further apart than ever.

Oh, God. They might never meet again.

“I have my carriage and fastest team waiting to see you home. But first there’s something I owe you.” He rummaged in his pocket.

The thought of him paying her made her stomach turn. The words spilled from her lips. “I can’t. I can’t take your money.”

“But we agreed.”

“I know. But that was before, and now . . .” She shuddered, thinking of Delacre and his five-pound note. “It would make me feel cheap. I just can’t.”

“Well. You must take this much, at least.” He pulled a coin from his pocket and placed it in her hand. He folded her fingers over it, still breathing hard. “For Daniela. I don’t have a penny.”

Oh, Griff.

“I expect great things of you, Pauline.” He touched her cheek. “Do me a favor and expect the same of me? Lord knows, no one else will.”

As he retreated back into his glittering, aristocratic world, she opened her fingers and stared at the golden sovereign on her palm.

Dukes and their problems.

Chapter Twenty-six

Griff watched his mother closely as she turned in place, taking in the walls painted with incongruous rainbows and frolicking Arabian colts.

“I did want to tell you.” He took a seat on a wooden stool draped with a Holland cloth. “I just didn’t know how. She was gone so quickly, and then afterward . . .”

His voice trailed off, and the duchess raised a hand in a firm, silent gesture, letting him know further words were unnecessary. She was no stranger to quiet suffering, holding her aristocratic grace through all manner of trials. He knew this news would hurt her deeply—it was why he hadn’t wanted to tell her. But she was the duchess. If he knew his mother, she would cling to her composure. Bear up under the weight and never crack.

Perhaps he didn’t know his mother at all.

She turned to him with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Griffin. I’ve been so worried for you. I knew you were hurting, and I knew the cause must be something horrible. You’ve looked horrible.”

Griff rubbed his face with both hands.

“No, I mean it. Just perfectly wretched.”

He made a gesture of helplessness. “My apologies.”

She sighed. “I was so hoping it wouldn’t come to this. Stay right there.”

She left, and returned within a minute, approaching him where he sat in the center of the room.

From beneath her arm, his mother unfurled the ugliest, most malformed knitted muffler he’d ever seen. She wrapped it once, twice, thrice about his neck.

It was the tightest, warmest hug he’d ever received.

He stared up at her, bewildered. “Where did this come from?”

“The knitting? Or the affection it represents? I’d rather not talk about the knitting. As for the love . . . it’s always been here. Even when we haven’t discussed it.”

He rose to his feet and kissed her on the cheek. “I know.”

For so many years now they’d been all the family each other had. He suspected they’d avoided admitting how much they meant to each other, for the simple fear of acknowledging how close they were to being alone.