The Dark Duke. Margaret Moore

glancing at them over her shoulder and reminding Hester that there was another set of ears in the room, and another mind to interpret their banter.

      Which was very unfortunate, for Hester was just beginning to enjoy herself. She felt as if she was being offered a glimpse into the duke’s character, and she wanted to know more.

      “You did send the best horses, did you not, Adrian?” the duchess demanded.

      “My finest pair,” the duke replied. “I fear I am responsible for his tardiness,” he continued sorrowfully, “for I sent my finest carriage, best horses and a large sum of money to cover any expenses he might have incurred at the inn.”

      “There’s the coach! I see it!” the duchess cried suddenly, excitement and relief in her voice as she stared down the long, winding drive leading to Barroughby Hall. “I can see Elliot! Come, Hester, look!”

      Hester did as she was bid, and watched the black barouche with the ducal arms on the door, drawn by equally black horses, sweep up the drive. Inside was a tall young man wearing a hat, more than that, only a mother’s eye could discern.

      The duchess watched until the carriage disappeared behind the stable wall, then turned triumphantly to her companions. “There, Adrian. I told you we should wait tea for him. He is sure to be hungry, the poor boy, after his tiring journey”. The duchess lifted her bounteous silk skirt and hurried from the room, no doubt intending to meet her darling boy at the front door.

      Hester realized she was alone again with the duke, just as she noticed that the duchess had left her shawl. Mindful of the crisp autumn air and her own racing heart, she quickly decided to take it to her. She hurried to the sofa and picked up the soft wool shawl.

      The duke raised one eyebrow inquiringly as he watched her. “You seem in a very great rush to meet the epitome of virtue,” he remarked, drawing a cheroot from the breast pocket of his jacket.

      “I have never met a paragon before,” she retorted.

      “If you do not take care, Lady Hester, I could be jealous.”

      His mocking smile told her that he was merely teasing her, so she met his gaze boldly. “If he is virtuous, so you should be.”

      Adrian’s eyes widened. It seemed there was no end to the surprises Lady Hester could provide.

      She faced him now as one equal to another, again a trait that set her apart from every other woman he had ever known. Some, the vain ones, had believed themselves superior to him; others, the hopeful ones, had an almost pathetically needy manner. “Should you not take that to the duchess?” he said at last. “We wouldn’t want her to catch a chill, would we?”

      “No, Your Grace, we wouldn’t.”

      He watched her go, wondering at the emphasis in her final words to him. We. We, as in you and I together here? We against the others?

      Not alone anymore.

      Tempting thought. Tempting, foolish thought.

      He lit his cheroot and sauntered after her, deciding his stomach could bear witnessing the tender reunion of mother and son, if only to see how the surprising Lady Hester would react to his half brother, the fair and charming Lord Elliot Fitzwalter.

       Chapter Six

      By the time Adrian reached the foyer, a pair of footmen were already carrying in a trunk, maneuvering the bulky piece of baggage up the wide stairs. Outside, three more servants stood ready to receive smaller pieces of luggage at the direction of Elliot’s Italian valet.

      Elliot, all five foot nine of him, looking healthy as a horse, his hair lighter from the sun of southern Italy, his eyes bluer in his tanned face, and sporting the latest in European fashion, met his mother at the door, smiling blandly as she embraced him.

      “Elliot, my dear boy, how are you?” the duchess cried.

      “I am much better, Mama, now that I am here with you.”

      The duchess hugged him again, but his attention had already wandered toward his half brother. “I see you have other company, Mama.”

      The duchess drew back. “Yes.”

      “Elliot, how good of you to arrive at last,” the duke said in greeting.

      Lord Elliot made a crooked little smile, one side of his mouth rising slightly higher than the other, and continued to survey the foyer. His gaze came to rest on Hester, who stood silently at the bottom of the stairs, the shawl draped over her slender arm, waiting patiently, more like a good servant than a woman of rank.

      The duchess had some right to be vain of her son, Hester thought. He was tall, attractive, fair and blue eyed, his manner pleasing, his posture erect and his movements athletic. His lopsided smile added to his charm and was not nearly so sardonic as his brother’s. They were nearly the same height, and their voices remarkably similar in their smooth, deep tones. She also realized that for a man who had been too ill to travel, he looked extremely healthy. Indeed, it was interesting to contrast the appearance of Lord Elliot with that of the duke upon his arrival.