Page 84

“Your Grace.”

Ambrose looked up abruptly. Mr. Ernest stood near the corner of the study. The older man had his hands respectfully folded before him, and something about the way he looked at his master told Ambrose that the butler had witnessed quite enough of his misery.

“Mr. Ernest,” he acknowledged stiffly, releasing his grip on the pen. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to observe that Your Grace has been attempting to slay that parchment,” the butler answered gently.

Ambrose stared at him. Ernest’s eyes held the faintest glimmer of amusement, though the butler was far too well trained to smile.

“Perhaps,” he continued, with a certain warmth filling his tone, “Your Grace might find it less troublesome to join the company in the drawing room.”

Ambrose leaned back, forcing his expression into complete indifference, though the faint tightening of his fingers around the pen exposed him.

He regarded the butler for another moment before asking, “Do you truly believe my presence would be welcomed?”

“Why should it not be, Your Grace?” the butler asked with soft curiosity, his gaze becoming thoughtful.

Ambrose looked toward a darkened window as another burst of laughter echoed. Then he said, “What if they are afraid of catching my illness?”

The butler’s tiny smile was not mocking. Somehow, that made it worse.

“Then perhaps Your Grace ought to discover their opinions before deciding they have no wish for his company,” he advised patiently.

The man made an irritating amount of sense. His advice kept ringing in Ambrose’s ears until he found himself standing before the drawing room doors, his large hat upon his head, making his frame appear even more imposing.

Standing so close made the laughter all the clearer. He stepped forward, about to knock, then stopped. What if Marina did not want to see him?

‘You hardly deserve to be welcomed after the way treated her again and again’, his conscience insisted.

He frowned, ignoring the voice, then straightened his spine. He was the Duke of Griffin. His duchess would see him, and there was no place in his own house where he was not welcome. He would not stand outside his own drawing room looking uncertain.

He raised his hand and knocked. It was afternoon, and he was certain the curtains would be open. She had made a habit of opening curtains in more and more rooms they had previously agreed not to touch. The laughter ceased immediately at the sound. Ambrose lowered his hand and waited. The double doors swung open, and there stood the duchess. His breath hitched.

Marina wore a different gown from the one he had seen that morning, and her hair had been decorated with more ribbons and delicate ornaments, no doubt the work of her sisters. For one foolish moment, Ambrose forgot why he had come. She was far too beautiful for his peace of mind.

She studied him for a moment. “Ambrose, I wondered who had knocked?”

Ambrose noticed the hopeful expression that briefly crossed her face. Are you here to join us? That small hope stirred something in his chest, and before he could name the feeling, Marina quickly lowered herself into a curtsy.

Ambrose parted his lips, finally prepared to say what he should have said hours ago.

“I…”

His chance at an apology was stolen by the sound of footsteps. They turned to see Mrs. Dalton appear with Emma cradled securely in her arms, the baby giggling as the older woman gently stroked her little stomach.

“Your Graces,” Mrs. Dalton greeted them, curtsying to them both before turning to the duchess. “The young lady has awakened,” she announced. “And as instructed, I have brought her to you.”

Marina’s entire face brightened at the sight of Emma, and she reached for the baby with a delighted, “Oh.”

The baby relaxed into her arms, tiny fingers curling around one of Marina’s as though she had been waiting for exactly this. Ambrose watched Marina kiss her forehead and saw her smile soften.

He almost smiled at the sight. Then the thought returned.

Have you forgotten? Don’t you think desiring her is an act of selfishness? The same thought had stopped him the previous night when he had been seconds from stripping every last barrier from her body, from leaving her completely naked, and from giving her exactly what she had begged for. The same thought that had crushed the heat stirring inside him. His hands clenched at his sides.

Marina lifted her head, her eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and affection. “My family is inside,” she told him gently, voice warm against the winter air. “And they are all terribly curious to meet you and Emma properly.”

“I met them at the wedding.”