His Unlikely Duchess by Amanda McCabe

Author:Amanda McCabe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2020-10-06T17:30:57+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Aidan ducked deep into his lukewarm bath, letting the water close over his head. The plasterwork flower wreaths high above looked blurry and pale. He wished he was in some jungle river rather than this old tin bath, warm expanses where he could kick free, swim to wherever his fancy took him.

But he was trapped. He sat up in a great geyser of sandalwood-scented bath salts and shoved the heavy, sodden locks of hair back with both hands. If Roderick had an American mistress, there would surely be a state-of-the-art bathroom, running hot and cold water, fluffy towels. He laughed to imagine the changes that might sweep over the ancient castle and its unsuspecting staff.

Not that Lily seemed the sort to swan in and demand change. But she deserved it. She deserved the best. And he wished he could give it to her, more than he had ever wished for anything before.

A footman stepped forward with a pile of towels. The linen had worn thin, but it was still embroidered with the coronet and initials of the Lennoxes. It was surely almost time for dinner and he couldn’t be late. Sherry in the Green Room, nine courses in the Red Dining Room, coffee and cards and music after, like clockwork. For all his years away, nothing had changed.

Maybe he could at least persuade Lily to play duets with him. Brighten the evening with her smile.

Lily. He closed his eyes and pictured her as she was in the empty stables, cooing softly as she patted the old pony, her face soft and unguarded for once. He had wondered what she would think of Roderick, of Monty, the rusted suit of armour, the crowds of portraits and photographs and battle flags that constantly watched, constantly whispered of the past. Of constant needs and expectations.

Her eyes, those dark stars, glowed so brightly as she dashed from tapestry to vase to window, full of questions and curiosity. Most rich young American girls would surely recoil from the damp and chill, the old hip baths. But not her. Curious, kind Lily.

Could it work after all? Could he really save Roderick and be happy, too? It seemed too good to be true. Since the terrible events with Melisande, he had given up on romantic happiness altogether. He dared not hope again just yet. Lily hadn’t even seen Roderick at its worst yet, seen what life as a duchess really meant. She might still run away, dashing off like the trembling, wide-eyed fairy she seemed.

He shrugged into his brocade dressing gown and smoothed his damp hair back from his face. The sun was sinking low beyond the window, pale pink and lavender and orange, washing over the park and turning the distant summer house to gold. The summer house where once he had given in to his terrible passion and dared to kiss Melisande.

He ruthlessly pushed that memory away. Melisande, and the bad things that had happened after that kiss were gone now. The summer house was just that—a pretty stone folly.

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