Lord Sebastian's Secret (The Duke's Sons #3)(94)

Robert, the only one on his own, noticed them. He rose, a little unsteadily, and raised his champagne glass. “To the happy couple,” he cried.

The others broke off their conversations. One by one, they stood and held up their drinks. “The happy couple,” they all declared. Smiling, they sipped.

Sebastian grinned at them. Then he pulled Georgina into his arms and indulged in the kind of kiss he’d been dreaming of for hours. It was every bit as searing and sweet as he remembered. When he finally, reluctantly, drew back, they received a round of laughing applause from their families. Even the marquess joined in. Sebastian glanced down at Georgina, still grasping her hand. She read the message in his eyes as if they’d been wed for decades. Together, they faced the room and, in perfect unison, bowed and curtsied in acknowledgment.

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Nothing Like a Duke





One


The front axle of the post chaise snapped as one wheel slammed into a deep rut, throwing Lord Robert Gresham against the side window hard enough to bruise. The loud crack, sudden sideways lurch, and bumping drag that followed spooked the team pulling the coach. The vehicle lurched and bounced as the postilions struggled to get the four horses back under control. Robert braced his legs and clung to a strap until they’d slowed enough for him to push his way out and help. He leapt to the head of the offside leader and held on to wet leather. Mud from churning hooves filled the air, spattering his top boots, pantaloons, and greatcoat. A spray of the sticky stuff slapped his face as the horse tried to rear. “Be still. It’s all right,” he said, using the easy combination of reassurance and command he’d learned from his brother Sebastian.

It was a number of minutes before the horses were calm and the men could verify that the post chaise was irretrievably damaged.

“We didn’t see that dratted hole, milord, what with all the mud,” said the elder postilion.

As if on cue, the rain started up again, a slow but penetrating drizzle. A chilly drop slipped under Robert’s coat collar and trickled down his back. “A bad stretch of—” He looked up and down the narrow, rutted track. “I suppose one must call it a road.” He noticed that one of the horses had pulled up lame. The coach tilted forlornly in the middle of the lane, which curved around a small stand of trees just ahead. “We need to move the chaise.” If another vehicle came barreling around that turn, the results would be disastrous. Not that traffic appeared likely.

“We’ll drag her off to the side,” the man replied. “And Davy’ll ride back to that farm we passed and see about help.”

He didn’t sound optimistic, and Robert imagined he was right. The replacement would be whatever old thing the farmer kept in his barn. And it would take a couple of hours to procure. He looked around. There were no houses in sight, no buildings of any kind, actually, although they were no more than ten miles, he estimated, from his ultimate destination.

Robert sighed. It had been a long, hard journey into the North. If he hadn’t promised friends that he’d visit…but he had. Turning up his collar, he made his way over to the trees. The foliage, still thick in early October, kept off most of the rain. And it felt better to be out in the fresh air. He watched the postilions coax the team into dragging the coach off to the side. The younger one then mounted one of the horses and rode back the way they’d come. The other unhitched the remaining animals and led them over to a patch of grass, running his hands over their legs and checking for other injuries. Robert pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his face. The handkerchief came away muddy, and he suspected it hadn’t removed all traces of dirt. He leaned against an oak and resigned himself to a stretch of boredom. So much for his early start today.

The rain dripped from the leaves overhead. A light wind rustled through them. The horses sampled the grass. The postilion settled himself under another tree. Robert thanked providence it wasn’t colder. Time ticked past.

Gradually, Robert became aware of a sound beneath the murmur of water. It was a soft whining, as of some creature in distress, and intermittent. Just when he would decide he’d imagined it, it would start up again.

The next time this happened, Robert searched for the source. He had to wait through another period of silence before he found his way to a low bush. Raising one of its branches, he discovered a huddled bit of dark fur. When he bent to look closer, a small head lifted, and dark eyes met his.

It was a dog, quite young, he thought, soaking wet and shivering. As he eyed it, the whimpering began again. The sound seemed involuntary, because the tiny creature stared at him without demand, or hope. Even as he gazed, its head sank down again, too tired, or dejected, to resist whatever fate was about to descend. The brown eyes closed.

Robert straightened. He strode over to the chaise and pulled out one of the blankets provided to cover travelers’ legs. Bringing it back, he draped it over the puppy and picked it up, wrapping the small shivering form in warm wool. Cradling the bundle in one arm, he retraced his steps.

“What’s that there?” the postilion asked as he passed. “A rat?”