Blame It on the Duke by Lenora Bell

Author:Lenora Bell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

It is the opinion of ancient authors that a marriage solemnly contracted in the presence of fire cannot afterwards be set aside.

The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

Nick and his friend had rescued Jane from a madhouse?

Alice searched her mind, hunting for clues, and found them.

Jane’s shorn hair.

Nick’s personal connection to lunatics.

Something he’d said last night when he’d been speaking of the duke: It would be enough to shut him away in a private madhouse where he would be made to suffer ill treatment.

You misjudged him, Alice.

Her emotions had been stretched thin and had frayed, like an old rope bridge across a river with one too many foot passengers.

Hurt and anger kept the ropes stretched taut, kept her from falling into the waters below and drowning in the dangerous current of an entirely different emotion.

Admiration. Understanding.

Respect.

She’d thought him an idle aristocrat and an arrogant rake. She’d thought there would be no danger of losing her head . . . or her heart.

Had she made a serious error?

First the tour of the portrait gallery, the anguish in his voice as he spoke of his father’s lunacy and his mother’s desertion, and now this.

Rescuing women from madhouses.

Drat! It was quite irritating, if one thought about it hard enough.

Couldn’t he just fulfill his end of the bargain and be the selfish, pleasure-obsessed rake she’d contracted to marry?

How could she give her body to him tonight, share in the intimate conversation that Charlene had warned her about, knowing that he was so much more than he appeared to be?

This changed everything. Granted him a dangerous power over her. She couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to protect her heart anymore.

A clock chimed from somewhere deep within the house.

Noon. She’d promised the duke she would come for a tour of his orchid conservatory.

Still worrying over her new, precarious situation, she grabbed a cloak and bonnet from their hooks in the hall closet and left the house, following the winding pathway that led to the domed glass and wood conservatory.

The air was humid and fragrant inside the structure, and vines and plants twined over all available surfaces.

Berthold met her at the door and bowed, his pockmarked face lit by a smile. “Thank you, milady. His Grace will be happy you came.”

Alice stared with delight at the lush, green bursting of life, her heart lifting.

“Do I hear a beautiful lady?” The duke’s unruly white head appeared over a row of glossy green leaves.

“It’s Lady Hatherly, Your Grace,” Berthold called, humor sparking in his eyes. “Your son’s wife.”

The duke cleared his throat. “Oh yes, ahem . . . well, she’s welcome. Come here, my dear, come and see my newest treasure.”

Alice approached, crossing the wooden bridge spanning a small pool of water. Hearing the sound of flapping wings, she glanced toward the ceiling. A brilliant flash of blue and red caught her eye. A popinjay flew from one branch to the next, calling a warning.

She’d better not let Kali explore the duke’s conservatory. She might come home with red and blue feathers stuck in her whiskers.

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