Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(16)

Duncan.

Ransom gave himself a shake. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s obvious, Your Grace.”

Obvious, and worrisome. It was a testament to this woman’s effect on him that Ransom hadn’t even noticed his valet’s return.

“I never thought I would say this, Your Grace, but it’s strangely heartening to see you back to your old debauchery. I’ll clear out of your way for the evening.”

“No,” Miss Goodnight jumped to insist. “Please, don’t misunderstand. This isn’t debauchery. I was just lea—”

“Duncan, this is Miss Isolde Goodnight. My new secretary. Tomorrow, we will find her new lodgings. But tonight, she will stay here. She’ll need a clean, comfortable room, a proper bath, and a hot dinner.” He gave her wrist a squeeze before releasing it. “Isn’t that right?”

Chapter Five

Izzy had always been raised to believe that “please” was a magic word.

She’d been misled.

Apparently, the magic word was “dinner.” In addition, the words “bath” and “comfortable room” had their own particular charms. When spoken in quick succession, they had the power of an incantation. Izzy hadn’t been able to say no.

“I hope this will do for tonight, Miss Goodnight.” Duncan showed her into a small, sparsely furnished chamber. “I know it’s meager, but it’s the only proper bed in the castle. My own.”

“How generous of you to offer it.” And how strange, that it would be the only one. “The duke doesn’t have a bedchamber?”

“No.” Duncan sighed, as if to communicate that this was a point of frequent contention. “He sleeps in the great hall.”

Izzy studied the manservant. He was tall and lean, with dark hair turned silver at the temples. Unlike the duke, he was turned out in a brushed black coat, a crisp neckcloth, and gleaming boots.

“So you are Rothbury’s valet?”

“Yes. Though it pains me to say it when his appearance is so willfully slovenly. It’s an embarrassment.”

“And how long have you been living here?”

“Seven months, miss. Seven long months.”

Heavens. Seven months was a long time. “What happened?” she asked. “How was the duke injured?”

“Miss Goodnight, I have served the family since before His Grace was even born. I am bound, by duty and honor, to avoid any gossip about my employer.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive the liberty. But I had to ask.”

Izzy supposed she would have to get the story from the duke herself.

Over the course of several trips, Duncan brought up her valise, a tray of simple, yet hearty food, a ewer of warm water, and a basin.

“It is paining me, Miss Goodnight, that I cannot offer you finer accommodations.”

“Please don’t worry. This is lovely.” Anything was lovely, compared to that chamber of horrors with the bats.

“It’s so frustrating. After long months of having my every attempt at proper valet service rebuffed, finally, we have a guest at Gostley Castle. A guest who ought to be cause for a proper guest suite and a seven-course dinner.” He dropped his voice to an unnecessary whisper. “You are the Miss Izzy Goodnight, am I correct?”

She nodded. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of me. The duke hadn’t. He said he isn’t a reader.”

“Oh, he isn’t. And wasn’t. Neither am I, for that matter. I only had one year of schooling. But the housekeeper used to read your father’s installments in the servant quarters. The Shadow Knight? Cressida and Ulric? Can you tell me anything?”

She shook her head sadly. “No.”

“Forgive me the liberty. But I had to ask.”

She smiled. Everyone had secrets. “I understand.”

He left and closed the door behind him.

Once she was alone, Izzy tried to make herself comfortable.

Snowdrop, of course, might as well have died and gone to heaven. This castle, with its ready supply of rodents, was the little beast’s equivalent of a stay at London’s finest hotel.

As she went about undressing and plaiting her hair, she recalled the sensation of the duke’s hands tangling through it. The prickling tension between their bodies as they’d ducked together, hiding from the bats.

She still felt that tension simmering within her now.

He’s not attracted to you, she told herself. He just wanted to intimidate her, and besides—any flirtations he might engage in were predicated on a misunderstanding. He wouldn’t be interested if he had his eyesight.

Before climbing into the narrow bed, she lit a stumpy taper with her flint, then fixed it on the floor with a dab of wax.

It was going to be a cold, lonely night. Izzy steeled herself to withstand it.

She’d been given the deed to this castle. Now she had to stake her claim to it, earn her place as its mistress. And she would. Excepting her clothes and a set of seed-pearl earrings left to her by Aunt Lilith, Gostley Castle was the first thing worth more than a pound or two that Izzy had ever owned outright.

She wasn’t going to give that up.

Tonight, no bat, rat, ghost, or wounded duke would frighten her.

But she couldn’t escape the dark.

It was childish to be afraid of the dark. As a grown woman, Izzy understood this. She knew it with her mind, and she felt it with her soul—but her gut. Oh, her gut could never quite be convinced. Much less her heart, which woke her with the sort of pounding that could drive nails.