Chapter Fifteen
You must forgive your dear author for being so silent on the subject of Hollyhead House and the Blacksmith Duke.
The nobles in the area have been decidedly tight-lipped about their new lord.
Now that construction has begun on a monstrously large project, one believes that great things are in store for the estate, which has been standing in disrepair for many years.
Better still, your author has received an invitation to attend a ball that is to be held at Hollyhead at the beginning of summer.
So our duke is not only handsome and loyal to his subjects, but also ambitious.
One must wonder what a certain Lady C.N.
thinks about all the hubbub. Rumor has it that the Earl of H.
is to be invited. If the threads of gossip are to be believed, it seems that she has been spending quite a bit of time with the Blacksmith Duke, and not all of it chaperoned.
Perhaps the Lady Icicle is finally beginning to thaw…
Cordelia was livid as she urged Brutus on faster, his black mane streaming in the wind. The dark clouds above were threatening bad weather, and a big gust of wind sent a chill up her spine where sweat was pooling.
She tried to warn Justin of this several times, but she would always be drawn in by his blithe, laid-back suggestions that all was well.
That no one would make insinuations about the two of them, regardless of the fact that they were spending hours of the day together, inspecting Hollyhead’s grounds, planning the ball, and making sure his manners were up to snuff.
Cordelia also cursed herself. She had been lulled into a false sense of security when the papers were arriving, filled with gossipy tales of the women in London who had taken the season by storm. She’d rather thought the novelty of the Blacksmith Duke had blown over.
She came upon workers digging a trench. Searching their faces, she could see that Justin was not in sight.
“Excuse me, sir,” she called to a redheaded youth. “Do you know where I might find the Duke of Rothesay?”
The term sounded foreign and stiff on her tongue. She blanched at her own familiarity with a man. The only other person she could beg the same closeness with was Rhys, and that had resulted in Lady Billings’s fervent marriage plans.
No, as of today, she had resolved, she was putting an end to their meetings, their conversations, their exchanging of ideas. Cordelia could not bear to suffer further scandal, more than what had already been brought down around their heads.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “He’s gone to help the Collinses with their sheep dip. Would you like me to escort you?”
“No, thank you,” Cordelia replied, flicking her reins to veer Brutus to the west.
They galloped for a few minutes before finding the Collinses’ cozy cottage, nestled near a copse of trees, close to the banks of the artificial lake.
Cordelia reined up her horse and swung off.
She’d been in such distress that she was wearing only a simple day dress and taken out a proper saddle, rather than the side-saddle she usually insisted on using in the duke’s presence.
She keenly hoped the men at the worksite and the farmers would not make such a fuss, lest it reach Lady Prudence’s ears and cast further doubt on her propriety.
Striding up to the group herding sheep, she tucked the newspaper under her armpit, clasping her hands behind her back.
She passed Buttercup, who was cropping grass in a pen.
At first, old Sam and some of the other servants were incredulous that Justin was choosing to ride a ladies’ horse rather than the big black charger favored by the last duke.
But then, like everyone else who met him, the matter was quickly dropped when they saw how little it bothered Justin and how congenial he could be about such things.
The dappled mare nickered softly as she passed; Cordelia was not to be deterred—she was on the war path.
At first, she could not make out Justin’s dark head amongst the men. That was due, she soon found out, to him standing at the edge of the dip, immersed in water to his knees, handling the sheep as they jumped into the water.
“Easy there, Your Grace!” Mr. Collins called out. He was leaning on his crook, watching intently as his sons clicked their tongues, urging the sheep through a chute that would plunge them into water, effectively cleaning their coats before the shearing.
Cordelia had watched such things from afar, ever since she was a little girl.
For a moment, she marveled at how at home the duke looked in an activity that would have been so foreign to him mere weeks ago.
He had doffed his long coat, and his white shirt was rolled up past his elbows, revealing strong, muscled forearms. The shirt was becoming soaked with water, tracing the outline of his chest.
Cordelia felt her cheeks catch fire. “Botheration,” she muttered under her breath.
Now, more than ever, she would need to keep her wits about her. She required a stern reminder of why she’d come out in the first place: Not to ogle the duke’s chest hair, which was visible from the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt, but instead to put more distance between them.
“Pardon me, Mr. Collins,” she said, ensuring her voice sounded firm. “But I must speak with the Duke of Rothesay, as a matter of absolute urgency.”
Justin, who had offered a smile as she approached, set his lips in a line.
“Apologies, Collins,” he said, climbing out of the dip and reaching for his coat. He slung his red tie around his neck and threaded two buttons of his shirt.
The old farmer nodded his head. “Not to worry, Your Grace. We all appreciate you taking the time.”
Cordelia was already halfway down the bank toward the lake, hearing his heavy footfalls behind her. “What’s this about, Cordelia?” he asked, jogging to catch up with her. “Is someone hurt?”
“Yes!” She was doing her best to whisper but her voice was frantic. “My reputation… and more to the point, our family’s!”
Justin’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Cordelia shoved the newspaper at his damp chest, partly to cover it so her eyes would not drift there as often. “There,” she said, reaching over the top of the paper to point out the Lady Prudence article.
She paced the bank of the river as she waited for his verdict. The sky was growing darker with storm clouds. They would be in for quite the squall.
“You rode out here, for this?” he said finally, gesturing to the paper. “This bit of nonsense that nothing but toffs and bored wives read?”
Cordelia gasped, ripping the paper from his hands. “How dare you?” she said. “I was so afraid this would happen, and now it has. Lady Prudence has insinuated that we…” Cordelia had to force the words out. “That we have formed an attachment.”
“I fail to see how she’s insinuated that,” Justin replied, shrugging his shoulders. “From what I read, it says that we have been spending time together. Of course we have. I’ve been living in your family’s ancestral home.”
“Unchaperoned time together,” Cordelia emphasized.
“Unchaperoned means that anything could have happened between us. It calls into question my character… and my virtue. I think you’re forgetting that it is absolutely necessary that I find a husband before this season is out.
For my sisters and me, before Hollyhead is sold. ”
Justin sighed, pinching his forefinger and thumb on the bridge of his nose.
It was a habit of his, signaling that he was deep in thought.
“We have, perhaps, been spending too much time together; but the truth is… you have been crucial to me these past two weeks. With sending the invitations and helping me manage the estate and… well, basically everything.”
Cordelia looked at her booted feet beneath the hem of a grubby skirt. Her anger ebbed a little. “I understand that. But this is more important than the two of us. I simply cannot let my sisters down.”
Justin’s blue eyes softened as he looked at her. “Cordelia,” he began, taking a step toward her. Those eyes had a way of pinning her to the spot. She felt her heart thumping in her chest as he reached for her hand.
“You can’t possibly think I’d allow you and your sisters to come to any harm or discomfort after this ordeal has passed. The truth is, I’ve grown quite fond of the four of you,” he said.
Cordelia snorted. “I thank you for your kind words, Your Grace—”
“Justin,” he corrected her. He was still holding her hand. His thumb was rubbing her skin, soothingly.
“Justin,” she replied. “But the fact of the matter is, some damage has certainly been done by Lady Prudence.”
“How can I remedy it?” he asked, softly.
His other hand came up to brush a stray curl behind her ear.
Cordelia could not meet his gaze. You should take a step back, stop holding my hand, stay far away from me, and stop plaguing my thoughts…
Instead, she stared at the column of his neck, dusted with grime and sweat.
She could see his pulse throbbing there.
“I, ah—” she started, as his hand came down to cup her cheek.
Cordelia had been kissed before. When she was seventeen, she let a young lord touch his lips to hers in a rose garden. A year later, Rhys had kissed her, as though trying to test out the hypothesis that they were meant to end up together. It was pleasant enough, but nothing earth shattering.
She had the distinct feeling that Justin Wright, the new Duke of Rothesay, Master of Hollyhead, was about to kiss her. She closed her eyes as she rested her cheek in his coarse hand. She heard him shudder out a sigh, felt his breath pass over her lips.
“Did Rhys write back?” she found herself asking.
He snapped his hand back down to his side.
“No,” Justin said, through clenched teeth. “Why would you ask? Keen to hear from him?”
“Keen to know that he’s accepted the invitation,” she said. Cordelia knew she’d hurt his feelings over this. But she couldn’t stop herself. “At least then I know there will be one eligible man there.”
Only then did she look up to his gaze. His blue eyes had turned cold and storm-like. He narrowed them at her. “Yes, I’ve received several replies. It seems like Lady Prudence will not hurt your chances, my lady. Perhaps it will have the opposite effect.”
“Indeed,” she replied. “It’s the best I have to hope for, having been disgraced by your company.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Cordelia blanched as she took in his expression.
His eyes widened, but then a smirk spread across his lips. “Believe me, my dear, you would have known if you’d been disgraced by my company,” he said, his voice low.
“And I don’t intend to find out,” Cordelia snapped, brushing past him as she made her way back up the bank. Before she could make it to the top, a hand stopped her, gripping her forearm.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Justin said, turning her to face him. “You think you can be rude to me, missy, and sack me off like a naughty schoolboy?”
“Of course, I can!” she said. “You have the same manners as one!”
She wondered how the conversation had devolved to this point so quickly.
The past two weeks, since they shook hands in the drawing room, had been cordial…
and rather pleasant at times to boot. Cordelia even found herself craving his company and looking forward to their meetings, where they spoke frankly about matters pertaining to the estate.
After so many years being brushed off, Justin made her feel listened to, and like her opinion even mattered.
“Then perhaps this won’t shock you,” he murmured, promptly pressing his lips to hers.
It was hardly more a kiss than a possession.
His lips were warm and full against hers.
Cordelia gasped, and when she did, she felt the velvet of his tongue against her own.
And then as quickly as he’d pressed his lips to hers, he stepped away.
She nearly fell forward, but was able to right herself by windmilling one arm and pressing the other against the naked skin of his chest.
He was breathing like a freight train.
“Cordelia—” he began, but he had no time to get the words out.
Standing on her tiptoes and snaking her hand around the back of his neck, Cordelia brought her mouth to meet his.
She felt him, stiff and surprised at first, melt into the embrace.
Gripping the small of her back, he crushed her against his chest. Cordelia moaned, the air leaving her lungs.
The position was exerting an exquisite pressure on her breasts, which had grown peaked.
“Your Grace?”
Cordelia practically leapt off the man, slapping a hand over her wet mouth. Looking up at the top of the bank, she saw Henry Peverill standing there, great coat flapping in the wind. The first drops of rain started to fall from the sky.
“Give me a minute, Peverill,” Justin spat at his friend.
“Is that such a wise idea?” the man replied, but with none of his usual candor. “Unfortunately, there is something urgent that requires your attention.”
“One. Minute.” Justin was speaking through clenched teeth. His shirt was rumpled. Every muscle in his neck was tensed.
“Fine,” Peverill replied, disappearing behind the ridge.
Cordelia and Justin regarded one another for a moment. Where an intense heat had once burned, Cordelia was now chilled. With no shawl she crossed her arms across her chest, shivering.
“Will he tell anyone?” Cordelia asked.
Justin removed his coat, bringing it around her shoulders as the rain started down heavier. “No, he won’t. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I didn’t mean—”
They both sighed. Cordelia’s knuckles went white as she clutched the coat around her. It dragged on the ground. “That was…” She tried again, “I am sorry. I was caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again, Your Grace.”
His blue gaze was searching hers, but the rain was really coming down now, obscuring his taut, handsome features. “Indeed,” he replied, finally. “Get yourself home, Cordelia.”
Fisting her hands in her wet skirts, she climbed the hill.