Pride & Passion. Charlotte Featherstone

an understanding.

      Blast him for so easily commanding the upper hand!

      “You are in for it now,” Isabella whispered into her ear. “Here is the end of your avoidance of his grace.”

      Refusing to acknowledge Isabella’s outrageous, but truthful, claim, Lucy stared out the window, wondering what dreadful illness she might concoct to relieve her of the night’s invitation.

      “I cannot say how excited I am,” Lizzy said with a smile that was beaming. “I adore music. One doesn’t need the gift of sight to enjoy it. And it’s been such an age since I left the house to do more than shop, or visit Isabella. Thank you, Lucy, for inviting me. What wonderful friends you and Isabella have become.”

      How could she do this, deny Elizabeth an outing? Lizzy was a good friend, and Lucy was being a poor one, thinking of nothing else but her own discomfort. No, she could not do this, hurt Elizabeth. One insufferable night with his grace. She could tolerate it, if for nothing else but the enjoyment of her friend.

      “Lucy and I feel very much the same, Lizzy,” Isabella added.

      “Well, then,” she said, while checking the door. His grace had left for his study, and Lucy wanted to be far, far away if he decided to return to the salon. “Shall we go upstairs and choose your gown for the evening?”

      “Oh, yes, yes, of course. You and Isabella have such a way with descriptions. I can almost see when you two are around.”

      Lucy dearly wished her knack with descriptions worked with words of denial. Because she truly wished she would have found the right words to say to make the duke leave before their conversation had even started.

      “But first, Lucy, I think you must take a few minutes to peruse the conservatory. We had planned on it during your last visit, and time got away from us, if I recall.”

      The idea of a few stolen moments of silence and solitude lured her to agree. That was what she needed, a moment or two to gather her spiraling thoughts, and set herself to rights.

      “If that would be agreeable, I would love to. There was a beautiful, bright pink flower that needs further investigation, I believe.”

      “Oh, the lily. Yes, yes.” Lizzy nodded. “And wait till you smell them. Gorgeous scent—heady and exotic. I’ve asked Sussex for an accurate description, but I shan’t bore you with what he told me.”

      “Well, then I am convinced that I shall give you a better description, Lizzy. I won’t be long, however.”

      Together they rose, and Lucy watched as her cousin escorted Lizzy from the room, grateful for a few minutes of peace to gather her thoughts.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      SILENTLY, LUCY ALL but tiptoed past the duke’s study and entered the room that was designed in the shape of an octagon. With its glass walls and ceiling, Lucy could see the gardens outside from every angle. Inside, the room was filled with a dizzying array of colors and scents, from miniature orange trees, to exotic palms. A water fountain, with its gentle cascade of water upon stones lured her, and she sat down on a rock as she trailed her fingers through the cool water, while capturing a delicate pink water lily in her palm.

      Despite the gentle patter of rain against the glass ceiling, and the melancholy sky, the room was bright and uplifting—and smelled like a warm, sunny spring day. With a little sigh, Lucy allowed the quiet to blanket her, and soothe her jangled nerves.

      It was the perfect place for contemplation, and she decided that if she were ever fortunate enough to be mistress of her own place, she would build such a room as this.

      “You look like a woodland nymph sitting beside an enchanted pool.”

      The lily dropped with a little splash, and Lucy found herself gasping in surprise, and jumping up all at once.

      “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Sussex stood against the wall, his legs crossed as he studied her with his disconcerting gaze.

      “I didn’t hear you come in.”

      “That’s because I was already here when you arrived.”

      Glancing away, she watched the cascade of water stream over the stones, and into the fountain base. “You should have said, should have announced your presence. I … I would have left you to your privacy.”

      Shrugging, he glanced away and plucked a brilliant pink lily from its stem. “It is not an unwelcome presence.”

      Their gazes met across the room, through the display of flowers and shrubs and gently waving palm fronds.

      Waving his hand, he indicated the room. “What do you think? A labor of love that was the pride of the previous duchess.”

      “I think it lovely,” she answered truthfully. “If I had a room such as this, very little would tempt me from it.”

      He smiled, and Lucy found herself momentarily disarmed by the beauty of that smile—of him.

      “Perhaps one shouldn’t be tempted from this room, but tempted in it.”

      This did not sound like the duke. It did not look like the duke, either. His cravat was loosened, and his hair was rumpled, as if he had been running his fingers through it. He was still wearing his dark jacket, and silver waistcoat, but she could see the wrinkles in the fine wool, the way it hung not quite as immaculately as it had when she had first seen him.