The Captive Duke by Grace Burrowes

Author:Grace Burrowes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks

Twelve

“I WISH YOU COULD STAY LONGER,” GILLY SAID. SHE walked with St. Just in the rose garden while Christian—His Grace—and Lucy gamboled ahead with the puppies.

“My family would not understand did they get wind I was tarrying in Surrey,” St. Just said, “though your household here is a wonderful excuse for tarrying.”

“His Grace has been more animated for having another fellow to racket about with, like the two puppies are more active than one would be. I thought he’d never stop plaguing you last night about your stud farm.”

“As much land as he controls, he’s smart to gather knowledge where he may,” St. Just said, “and support.” He put an emphasis on the last two words, confirming Gilly’s suspicion that the dark-haired colonel had a fine grasp of the subtleties.

“What need has the Duke of Mercia for support?” Gilly paused to pick a nearly blown damask rose, forgetting until she’d pricked herself that what they boasted in scent, the damasks matched in thorns.

“Allow me.” St. Just produced a folding knife with startling ease, sliced her off a half-dozen pink flowers, and wrapped them in a monogrammed white silk handkerchief. “You know what need he has for support.”

St. Just was a handsome man, in a large, soldierly sort of way, with laughing green eyes many a debutante would envy, though his perception was in excellent working order. Gilly accepted the flowers from his hand, handkerchief and all.

“Mercia is doing much better,” she said. “He’s a great deal stronger, gained flesh, resumed his duties…he’s…”

“Lonely,” St. Just said. “He’s a soldier home from war, and he’s lonely and wondering if he endured all that suffering merely to balance ledgers, count lambs, and swill tea with the parson. I think, Countess, you might be lonely too.”

His words held an unspoken suggestion, and Gilly was abruptly not sorry at all the man was leaving. Yes, he’d distracted Christian from his preoccupation with her, but the cost was apparently these pithy insights from their—His Grace’s—guest.

“Is Lucy lonely as well, do you think?” Gilly put flippancy into the question.

“I have five younger sisters, so I will say yes, I think the child is also lonely, though less so with you and Mercia and the dogs underfoot. You will accept my thanks for your kind hospitality, my lady, and my sincere wishes that your loneliness will soon abate, for you are entitled to your supporters too.”

He bowed over her hand and sauntered off, calling to Lucy to demand a parting boon of her. He scooped the child up, whispered something in her ear, and had her dimpling and smiling the most coy smile Gilly could recall the girl producing.

Being the oldest of ten had indeed informed St. Just’s approach to command.

By the time St. Just put Lucy down, the grooms had brought around his horse, a big roan gelding with a coarse head and a sweet eye. St. Just and Christian walked off a few paces, speaking quietly, while Gilly tried to distract the puppies from sniffing about the horse’s feet.

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