Loved by a Duke (The Heart of a Duke #4)(51)

Auric drummed his fingertips along his journal. It would be more important than ever to pay careful attention to those men courting her and, most importantly, the men she considered as prospective bridegrooms. This responsibility to see Daisy happy and cared for was a debt owed to Lionel. It had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with Daisy Meadows, herself.

Surely it didn’t.

He glanced across the room, his gaze alighting on the case clock. He’d not paid the Marchioness of Roxbury a visit in several days now. How could he have been so remiss? Auric tucked his journal into his top drawer and shoved it closed. Yes, a visit to the lady, and her daughter, just by nature of her position in the household, was certainty in order. Coming to his feet, he started for the door and made his way out of his office.

Why did it feel as though he lied to himself?



A short while later, Auric stood at the front of the Marchioness of Roxbury’s townhouse. He rapped once and waited. And continued to wait. With a frown, he peered out at the busy street. His presence had ceased to attract notice some years ago. Society had long known the close familial connection between his late parents and the Marchioness of Roxbury and her now departed husband. He impatiently beat his hand against his thigh. Yet in all his years knowing the butler, he’d never known him to keep a visitor waiting.

Auric raised his hand to knock, just as a slightly winded Frederick pulled the door open. “Frederick, how—?” The congenial greeting died on his lips at the beleaguered white-haired servant and Baron Winterhaven, in all his cool arrogance. The other man started.

The baron remembered himself first. “Crawford,” he greeted, sketching a bow.

He must appear the lackwit with his mouth agape. Auric snapped his lips shut. “Winterhaven,” he returned the greeting.

“Good day.” The other man settled his hat upon his head and then slipped by Auric.

He stared after the man a moment, and then stepped inside the familiar doors. Winterhaven? Had he truly put the man’s name down as a suitable suitor for Daisy? Surely not. The man was too damned aloof and laconic for the garrulous Daisy. He looked to the old servant. “What is the meaning of that?” he asked, shrugging out of his cloak.

The other man’s lips twitched. “I daresay I do not know what you refer to you, Your Grace,” he remarked, accepting the cloak and passing it off to a waiting footman.

Auric remembered himself and fell silently into step beside the faithful servant, walking the familiar corridors to the Blue Parlor. As the Duke of Crawford, he held himself to certain standards and expectations. It was one thing putting inquiries to the servant about Daisy’s well-being. It was quite another to boldly inquire as to the unexpected appearance of a bounder who had no business with the two ladies here. He scoffed. Had he truly considered Winterhaven bookish and boring? No, the man was likely a rogue, wholly undeserving of Daisy. Auric furrowed his brow. Surely he recalled some mention of Winterhaven in the gossip columns. Not that Auric put much stock in the gossip sheets— They stopped outside the parlor. A husky laugh spilled from the open door and into the hall, the sound of Daisy’s unrestrained mirth so vibrant it momentarily froze him to the floor. Desire coursed through him. How had he failed to note the captivating quality of her laugh? He registered Frederick’s curious stare. What manner of madness had she weaved upon him these past days? He gave a tug of his lapels.

Auric stepped into the room and found Daisy with his gaze seated on the robin’s egg blue sofa—with a gentleman entirely too close. He narrowed his eyes. Daisy and the Earl of Danport sat engrossed in conversation. By God, he’d known he’d been correct to silently ink the man’s name from that blasted list. With his knee pressed against her skirts, Danport ogled Daisy’s generous bosom as though she were a ripe berry he’d like to pluck. A primitive growl rumbled in Auric’s chest and the couple looked as one to where he stood framed in the doorway. Did he imagine the guilty flush on Daisy’s cheeks?

“His Grace, the Duke of Crawford,” Frederick belatedly announced and then wisely took his leave.

A pall of silence fell over the room. Annoyance burned in his chest. Where was Daisy’s earlier laughter or unfettered smile? Instead, she studied him with a pensive expression.

Auric shifted his gaze and it landed on a bouquet of daisies in a crystal vase. He narrowed his eyes.

Sensing his focus, Daisy cleared her throat. “Aren’t they lovely? The earl,” she motioned to Danport, “brought them.” The other man had brought her flowers. He swung his attention back to the earl who slowly came to his feet, and in Auric’s estimation dropped an insolent bow. “Crawford,” the too charming by half gentleman drawled.

Urbane, possessed of all the right words, and a carefree attitude, the earl was everything that Auric had never been. Nor had he minded it. “Danport,” he said stiffly. Until now. Then turning his attention to Daisy, he instantly dismissed the other man.

She fiddled with her pale pink skirts, fisting the fabric in a way he’d come to recognize as nervousness. He narrowed his eyes. Nervous? Around him? Annoyance rolled through him and he strode over, stopping before her. The silence stretched on and he gave her an expectant look.

“A seat,” she blurted. He quirked an eyebrow. “That is, would you care to sit?” Her cheeks pinked.

“Indeed,” he replied in the indolent, ducal tone he’d practiced as a child.