Read Online Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess by Daphne du Bois - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daphne du Bois
Ads: Link
plain.
“Yes?” she asked huskily, suddenly very aware of the nearness of him, more and more so with every passing second, in fact.
His eyes trailed to the portrait on the wall.
“I see you have found my mother,” he said in surprise.
With baited breath, she wondered if that would annoy him. And would it even matter if it did?
“ Is that she, then? I wasn’t entirely sure – the name plaque is missing.”
“ Yes. There are more in London.” He looked at the painting a bit longer, then sighed. “This is a good place for it. We must see about having another plaque engraved.”
And just like that , Holly’s heart swelled, because he thought that his mother’s painting belonged in her study, and perchance that meant a little bit that he felt that she belonged there too.
“I shall see to it,” she said, aimlessly brushing at a tendril of hair that had fallen into her eyes.
The duke nodded, then reached out with an agonising slowness a nd brushed the hair out of her face.
“It was in your eyes,” he said softly, by way of explanation, his gaze still trained on hers.
Holly didn’t respond, heart somewhere in her throat, and a delightful tingle where his hand had brushed her cheek.
Then he seemed to remember himself and step ped away, and it was as though the air was suddenly full of frost: cold and bleak. “If you can spare a moment, I wished to go over some of the accounts.”
“Accounts?” Holly echoed dazedly, before finally coming-to. How did he have such power over her? “Oh, yes the accounts! Certainly.”
“You do not mind? I hope Pontridge has not bored you so much that you have turned to keeping the books as your sole source of entertainment.”
“N ot at all. I have been mostly occupied with restoration – the house is so very beautiful, it is a great shame to see it in ruin.”
Strathavon inclined his head. “I am glad to hear it – I have always loved Pontridge, much more than any of the other estates. It is, I think, the best home I have ever had.”
Holly felt touched at this intimate confession. Home … Lost for words, she merely gazed back into his impossibly blue eyes, before moving to retrieve the books.
H e drew a chair to sit next to her at her desk, and it was all Holly could do to focus on the ledgers, when what she really longed for was reach out to him. To brush his sleeve with tentative fingers, to feel the warmth of his hand.
His scent and warmth teased her, and she hoped she did not say anything absurd, because after he was gone , she had trouble remembering anything of what had happened, except for the flood of feelings that had coursed through every fibre of her being.
*
Leaving Holly’s study, Strathavon felt unsettled and confused. Neither was a state that he wore well. It was why he had left as quickly as he had done. He had not wanted to leave, which was precisely why he’d had to.
The house around him buzzed with a life he had not seen in it for years. Servants went about their business, and the place came to life under Holly’s expert touch. There was warmth in the windows and a sense of comfort. She had even managed to get rid of the white soup.
But the house was not the only thing thawing under her guidance – more and more he’d found himself caught up in her stories, in the sparkle of her eyes or the tilt of her wrist. His heart was waking up as if from a long slumber in some forgotten crypt, and he was not at all sure how he ought to approach this new problem.
For a problem it was – the Duke of Strathavon could not afford to love. He had learned already the harsh realities of losing the people one cared about the most. Love was… inefficient. Careless. Unnecessary. He had seen too many times the chaos it caused and the wreckage it left in its wake.
H e could not remain at Pontridge for much longer: the risk was too great. He did not trust himself to resist the undeniable pull of her rosy lips, the temptation of her soft
“Yes?” she asked huskily, suddenly very aware of the nearness of him, more and more so with every passing second, in fact.
His eyes trailed to the portrait on the wall.
“I see you have found my mother,” he said in surprise.
With baited breath, she wondered if that would annoy him. And would it even matter if it did?
“ Is that she, then? I wasn’t entirely sure – the name plaque is missing.”
“ Yes. There are more in London.” He looked at the painting a bit longer, then sighed. “This is a good place for it. We must see about having another plaque engraved.”
And just like that , Holly’s heart swelled, because he thought that his mother’s painting belonged in her study, and perchance that meant a little bit that he felt that she belonged there too.
“I shall see to it,” she said, aimlessly brushing at a tendril of hair that had fallen into her eyes.
The duke nodded, then reached out with an agonising slowness a nd brushed the hair out of her face.
“It was in your eyes,” he said softly, by way of explanation, his gaze still trained on hers.
Holly didn’t respond, heart somewhere in her throat, and a delightful tingle where his hand had brushed her cheek.
Then he seemed to remember himself and step ped away, and it was as though the air was suddenly full of frost: cold and bleak. “If you can spare a moment, I wished to go over some of the accounts.”
“Accounts?” Holly echoed dazedly, before finally coming-to. How did he have such power over her? “Oh, yes the accounts! Certainly.”
“You do not mind? I hope Pontridge has not bored you so much that you have turned to keeping the books as your sole source of entertainment.”
“N ot at all. I have been mostly occupied with restoration – the house is so very beautiful, it is a great shame to see it in ruin.”
Strathavon inclined his head. “I am glad to hear it – I have always loved Pontridge, much more than any of the other estates. It is, I think, the best home I have ever had.”
Holly felt touched at this intimate confession. Home … Lost for words, she merely gazed back into his impossibly blue eyes, before moving to retrieve the books.
H e drew a chair to sit next to her at her desk, and it was all Holly could do to focus on the ledgers, when what she really longed for was reach out to him. To brush his sleeve with tentative fingers, to feel the warmth of his hand.
His scent and warmth teased her, and she hoped she did not say anything absurd, because after he was gone , she had trouble remembering anything of what had happened, except for the flood of feelings that had coursed through every fibre of her being.
*
Leaving Holly’s study, Strathavon felt unsettled and confused. Neither was a state that he wore well. It was why he had left as quickly as he had done. He had not wanted to leave, which was precisely why he’d had to.
The house around him buzzed with a life he had not seen in it for years. Servants went about their business, and the place came to life under Holly’s expert touch. There was warmth in the windows and a sense of comfort. She had even managed to get rid of the white soup.
But the house was not the only thing thawing under her guidance – more and more he’d found himself caught up in her stories, in the sparkle of her eyes or the tilt of her wrist. His heart was waking up as if from a long slumber in some forgotten crypt, and he was not at all sure how he ought to approach this new problem.
For a problem it was – the Duke of Strathavon could not afford to love. He had learned already the harsh realities of losing the people one cared about the most. Love was… inefficient. Careless. Unnecessary. He had seen too many times the chaos it caused and the wreckage it left in its wake.
H e could not remain at Pontridge for much longer: the risk was too great. He did not trust himself to resist the undeniable pull of her rosy lips, the temptation of her soft
Similar Books
