Romancing the Duke (Castles Ever After #1)(24)

The air left Izzy’s lungs in a breathy, “Oh.”

She stared up him. The poor, confused man. He seemed to believe this sort of growly, lewd declaration would send her running and screaming into the countryside. Instead, his words had the opposite effect. With every carnal suggestion he made, her confidence soared to a new, dizzying pinnacle.

He wanted her. He wanted her.

And she wanted to do a little dance.

“Your Grace?” A bright, feminine voice trilled up from the courtyard, like birdsong. “Do be calm. I’m on my way. Whatever it is you need, I’m here.”

Ransom jerked into motion. Whirling away, he reached for a shirt thrown over the sofa’s back. It took him a few seconds of fumbling to lay his hand on it.

“Who is it?” Izzy asked, gathering his coat in advance.

Whoever the visitor was, he wanted to look presentable for her.

“It’s Miss Pelham.” He jerked the shirt over his head, punching in different directions to work his arms through the sleeves, then accepted the coat she offered. “The vicar’s daughter. Another interfering woman I can’t seem to be rid of.”

Good heavens. Even vicar’s daughters were throwing themselves at him? Izzy didn’t find it hard to believe, but she found it a bit disappointing.

Oh, listen to her. It wasn’t as though she had some claim on the man. One kiss in the dark, and she’d become a jealous harpy. She pushed the envy aside.

Then a young woman entered the great hall, and the envy pushed right back.

Izzy had been to Court, many parties, and even a London ball or two. She could honestly say this was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Golden hair, with little ringlets placed artfully about her face. Ribbons streaming from her blue muslin frock. Pleasing figure. Practiced smile. Immaculate lace gloves.

“Your Grace?” The young woman breathed the words as a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to her chest. “You’re well. Thank the Lord. I expected to find you prostrate and delirious from fever, after the tale I heard from Mr. Duncan. It simply can’t be true. Surely you haven’t recently received a visitor by the name of—” Then her eyes landed on Izzy, and she halted abruptly. “Oh it is true. She is here.”

The basket Miss Pelham carried dropped to the floor, and she clapped both hands to her cheeks. “You’re Izzy Goodnight?”

Izzy dropped a slight curtsy.

“The Izzy Goodnight?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

The young woman gave a small cry of excitement. “Forgive me. I just can’t believe you’re here. Really here, so close to my own home. Oh, please say you’ll call at the vicarage.”

“I . . . I’m sure I’d like that very much, Miss Pelham.”

“What an honor, truly. But I can’t imagine what brings you to Northumberland.”

“It’s this.” Izzy gestured about them. “Gostley Castle. I have inherited the property from the late Earl of Lynforth.”

“Inherited? This?” The young woman’s eyes flew wide. “I can’t believe it.”

Izzy smiled. “It was a shock to us all, I believe. His Grace and I have been negotiating our landlady-tenant relationship.”

Miss Pelham bounced in place, and her heels clicked on the stone floor. “I’m going to be neighbors with Izzy Goodnight.”

“Miss Pelham . . .” the duke interrupted.

“I’ve read all the Tales, you know. So many times. When I was younger, I cut each installment from the magazine and pasted the pages into a book. I brought it with me just in case the rumor was true.” She reached into her basket and pulled out a large, loosely bound volume. “I’d be ever so honored if you’d sign your name to it.”

“Miss Pelham.”

“Oh, I can’t help but ask,” she blurted out. “Can I have a lock of your hair, Miss Goodnight? For the book.”

“Miss Pelham,” he interrupted, jarring them both. “Miss Goodnight is under the mistaken impression that it would be safe for her to reside here at the castle until our property dispute is settled. Kindly help me persuade her that this is not the case.”

“Oh,” Miss Pelham said, drawing out the sound. “Oh, no.”

The young woman laid the folio aside. As she drew near, her scent was overpoweringly sweet. Izzy recognized vanilla and . . . gardenias?

Her white lace glove closed protectively on Izzy’s wrist. She whispered, “Miss Goodnight, you can’t live here alone with him. I’ve been visiting for months with no inroads. The man is the worst sort of rogue.”

Izzy stared at her with amusement. Did she think the duke couldn’t hear her whispers?

Rothbury went on, “Now tell her that most of the castle is barely habitable.”

“He’s right, Miss Goodnight. I’ve lived down the hill all my life, and it’s a shambles in places. Rotted timber, vermin. Most unsafe.”

“Good and good,” he said. “Now kindly explain that this is not London or York. This is the country, and people hold to traditional values. An unmarried woman cannot take up residence with an unmarried man.”

“It’s all true,” Miss Pelham confirmed. “There would be vicious gossip. The villagers wouldn’t have anything to do with you.”