Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(29)

Well, no more. The time for sadness and frowns and regrets was at an end. Lionel would not have wanted any one of them to move through life in a constant gloom. She stared out at the passing streets. The sun peaked through the dark, gray skies, and then was swallowed by the fast moving storm clouds. No, Lionel would have likely committed himself to eliciting smiles and laughter, because that had been the kind of man he’d been.

It was time to honor his memory—by living.

Thunder rumbled overhead—and by setting her fears free.

…Bah, afraid of thunder? Why, merely imagine all of Mother and Father’s stuffy guests playing a raucous match of Bowls…

“My lady, perhaps we should turn back?” Agnes questioned from the opposite bench. “The weather is threatening.”

She leaned across the bench and patted the other woman’s hands. “Bah, it is just a bit of thunder.” Her smile deepened. She’d no intention of giving up her search over a little rain. No, free of Auric’s austere presence this day, she would make good use of her search. Thunder or no thunder.



Thunder shook the foundations of his townhouse and Auric froze, his pen poised mid-movement, and his gaze fixed on the handful of words written.

Dear Lionel,

I’ve failed you again…

He tapped the edge of his pen on those handful of words marked upon his opened journal in a deliberate, staccato rhythm. Taking pen to paper and committing words to his friend had brought him back from the edge of madness, early on. When sleep eluded him, or the amorphous memories crept in, he wrote to his friend. He found a soothing peace in being honest—if at the very least with the pages in a black leather volume.

Except, he stopped mid-tap and stared at those six words. Today he was preoccupied. He held his pen up and fixated on the sharp tip. With two meetings this week, he’d paid more than his requisite visit to the Marchioness of Roxbury’s home. The familiar niggling of guilt he carried, a debt he could never repay those broken people, the dearest friends of his now departed parents, still unassuaged.

He released a pent up sigh. There was the matter of the still troublesome Daisy. Annoyance roused in his chest. Nay, this was something far more gripping and potent. It sucked at his breath until his fingers itched for the reassuring presence of his black leather book. He drew in several breaths. What madness had possessed her to go off on her own to Gipsy Hill? Did she not have a care for the perils that could befall a young woman venturing beyond the fashionable end of London?

Auric tossed aside his pen. He fished around the inside of his jacket and withdrew the small, silver token given him yesterday. A ray of sunlight filtered through the curtains, a splash of cheer amidst the overcast skies. The hint of sun reflected off the shiny metal and sent beams of light radiating out upon the walls. Odd how, even amidst such thick gloom and darkness, there should be a hint of lightness. He passed the quizzing glass back and forth between his hands, his mind drawn once more to Daisy.

She was still a cheeky, insolent miss. And infuriating. And bothersome. And beautiful. He frowned. Where in blazes had that bit of madness come from?

A knock sounded at the door.

Grateful for the interruption, Auric closed his journal and set it aside. “Enter.” A footman entered, carrying a small, silver salver with a note atop it. The young man rushed forward and held out the missive. With a murmured thanks, Auric accepted the folded piece of velum, written in an unfamiliar scrawl. “That will be all,” he said dismissively, unfolding the page.

It felt essential that I inform His Grace of a certain lady’s return to Gipsy Hill—

“Wait!” Auric leapt to his feet with such alacrity his winged back chair tumbled backward.

The liveried servant froze on the threshold.

“My horse,” he barked. “Have my horse readied instantly.”

The young man nodded and sprinted off to see to Auric’s bidding. With a dark curse, he reread the handful of sentences on the unmarked missive and then stuffed it into the front of his jacket. In loping strides, he made his way from his office to the foyer.

What madness possessed the lady? There was no accounting for her ill judgment in going out not once, but twice to Gipsy Hill. And when he found the worthless gentlemen responsible for those ill-thought out trips, by God he would stuff the man’s teeth down the back of his throat.

His butler stood in wait, Auric’s cloak held out in his old, gnarled fingers. “When did that recent missive arrive?” He shrugged into the thick, black garment.

“Just a short while ago, Your Grace,” the servant said, entirely too calm.

Minutes? Seconds? Hours? “When?” he bit out. For every unaccounted moment was another blasted moment the lady was out on her own, unchaperoned with some shiftless bounder… A deep growl stuck in his chest.

“Six minutes and a handful of seconds, Your Grace.” Had anyone else uttered those words, they’d have hinted at sarcasm. However, the precise, masterful servant, Justin, attended his duties with a military like precision. He pulled the door open and Auric swept through the doorway then bounded down the steps to his waiting mount, a black gelding named Valiant. “Gipsy Hill,” he muttered. The horse whinnied in like displeasure. Even his blasted horse knew better. What in blazes was the lady doing in that unfashionable end of London? Again.

The servant handed the reins over to Auric. “My lord?” he asked, with a furrowed brow.