The Difference One Duke Makes by Elizabeth Essex

Author:Elizabeth Essex [Essex, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Elizabeth Essex

Chapter 9

The carriage began to slow. “Warwick Court, Your Grace,” John Ramsey called from the box.

Marcus was obliged to stop kissing his duchess-to-be and attend to the practicalities of his elopement. “You’ll want to bring that fur, Pease—it’s snowing something fierce.”

“I am certainly Pease Porridge Cold and rather stupid to come away in nothing but my gown and evening slippers.”

He instinctively took her chilly hand to chafe warm and found himself at a disconcerting loss to do so—he could not do so with only one hand.

The realization shocked him anew, because for a moment there, he could swear he had felt it—pins and needles of feeling along the whole of his missing arm, from elbow to fingertips—alive and reaching for hers.

But the feeling faded into an empty ache. An empty, ravenous ache he needed to assuage. As soon as he got her safe and warm.

“Your Grace!” If his secretary was astonished to see his employer ushering a young woman with no cloak and no chaperone over the doorstep of Warwick Court, he hid it well. “You must be perishing from the cold.”

“We are indeed, Hodge.” The snow had begun to fall in earnest, slanting down at such a rate that he and Penelope were covered in wet flakes from their dash from the carriage. “It’s a bitter night. My betrothed will require some warmed wine, if you would please alert the household. No—belay that.”

Marcus had wanted to begin as he meant to go on—Penelope would be his wife as soon as he could find a clergyman to make an honest man out of him—but until he was sure of the special license, it were more prudent to keep the whole of the staff from gossip. “If you might do that yourself, to leave us privacy?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Able Hodge was all wary accommodation. “May I wish you very happy, sir.” He bowed to Penelope. “There is already wine, and a fire laid above stairs, in your chamber, Your Grace. If you pleased to take your ease there?”

“Thank you, Hodge. We’ll go up directly.” Indeed, his Pease Porridge was shivering in her snow-dampened gown. “Damn my eyes, I seem to be conducting this elopement rather badly.”

Penelope’s small smile was teasing. “Have you conducted many others?”

Marcus could only bless his stars that she met difficulties with such good humor—it boded well for them.

“Not a one. You are my first. And only.” He took her hand again and kissed it before he led her up the high, twisting staircase. “You?”

She shook her head. “No. Though I will admit I contemplated one, before I came to my senses.”

He did not need to ask with whom she might have contemplated eloping. He need to remember that she was eloping with him. They were together.

And he meant for them to stay that way. Always.

He took up a fresh blanket from the carved chest at the bottom of the bed to replace the snow-wet fur but could do no more than offer it to her. “Wrap yourself up in this.

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