Chapter 3 #3
His ancestral home loomed across the slope, stately and dignified, its honeyed stone glowing faintly in the morning light.
Every duke before his father had left his mark upon the structure—an east-facing terrace here, ornamental gardens there—but it was his father who had added the grand west wing, complete with marble floors and towering windows.
It was beautiful, formidable… and for Jude, suffocating.
As he approached the gravel drive, the horse slowed, snorting softly. Jude reined in and dismounted, his boots crunching against the frost. A liveried footman appeared almost instantly, bowing low.
“My lord,” the young man greeted.
Jude handed over the reins. “See that he’s brushed down and given oats. He’s earned it.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Jude strode towards the great oak doors, which swung open before he reached them. His butler, Glover, stood waiting. He was immaculate as always, his dark hair smoothed back, not a crease in his waistcoat.
“My lord,” Glover said with a precise bow. “Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Glover.” Jude stepped inside, shrugging off his gloves. The familiar scent of polished wood and beeswax greeted him. He extended his gloves to the butler. “I’ve had a situation arise that requires discretion and your assistance.”
Glover’s brows lifted slightly. “Of course, my lord. What do you require?”
Jude paused, choosing his words carefully. “A young woman found her way to my cottage—alone, frightened, and in dire straits. Her carriage overturned on the road, and she had nowhere else to go. I offered her shelter.”
A rare flicker of concern crossed Glover’s otherwise unreadable expression. “There were reports of a young lady missing after such an accident. A Lady Josephine Tweedale, I believe.”
“That would be her,” Jude confirmed. “Send word immediately to her family that she’s safe, and inform them she’ll be residing here until her family arrives.”
Glover hesitated. “And where is Lady Josephine now?”
“At the cottage,” Jude replied.
The butler frowned, the faintest crease appearing between his brows. “Forgive me, but is that wise?”
“No,” Jude said with a humorless smile. “It isn’t. But leaving her to freeze in the woods would have been far worse. She needed help, and I was in a position to give it.”
Glover inclined his head. “Understood, my lord.”
“There is one more matter,” Jude continued. “Lady Josephine believes me to be the Duke of Ashmoore’s gamekeeper. I wish for that illusion to remain intact. Please inform the staff to treat me accordingly.”
That earned a visible reaction from Glover, his eyes widening a fraction before he masked his surprise. “Are you quite certain of that course?”
“I am,” Jude said firmly. “The lady is not at fault, but I have no wish to be caught in gossip or, heaven forbid, in an unwanted marriage proposal born of misplaced gratitude. As a gamekeeper, I am safely beneath her notice.”
Glover’s lips twitched, though he hid the amusement quickly. “Very well. And how shall we address you?”
“Jude.”
The butler looked positively scandalized. “Not Mr. Dexter?”
“She might recognize the name,” Jude said. “Best not to risk it.”
“Understood,” Glover replied, recovering his composure. “I shall see to it.”
“Good. Also, have some of my mother’s old gowns taken out of storage and pressed. She’ll need something suitable to wear until her family arrives.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And Glover”—Jude stopped halfway to the stairs, a wry smile tugging at his lips—“remove every portrait of me from the walls. I’d rather not have her discovering the truth through an oil painting.”
Jude didn’t wait for further comment. He mounted the stairs two at a time, his boots echoing faintly against the marble, and entered his bedchamber. Stevenson, his valet, was there, dusting the mahogany furniture.
“Welcome home, my lord,” Stevenson greeted, setting the cloth aside. “Would you care for a bath and a fresh change of clothes?”
“Not today. I need to return to the cottage sooner rather than later,” Jude said, shrugging off his coat and laying it across a chair. “I would, however, like a breakfast tray brought up. I’ve been up since before dawn.”
“I shall see to it.” Stevenson eyed him curiously. “If I may ask, how did your stay at the cottage go?”
Jude gave a dry chuckle. “It was uneventful, until it wasn’t. I had an unexpected visitor… a lady.”
The valet’s eyes widened. “A lady?”
“Yes, but before you leap to scandalous conclusions, she wasn’t there for that purpose. She’d been in an accident and needed help.”
Stevenson’s shock gave way to intrigue. “And where is she now?”
“At the cottage. I came ahead to arrange things before bringing her here. Her family will soon be notified.”
“And she knows who you are?”
Jude smirked. “She believes I’m the gamekeeper.”
Stevenson blinked. “The gamekeeper?”
“I’ve already instructed Glover to make the household aware. As far as Lady Josephine is concerned, I am simply Jude,” he said. “I fear she would grow suspicious if I returned bathed and with a change of clothes.”
The valet’s mouth curved in reluctant amusement. “It seems a risky deception.”
Jude sank into the nearest chair. “Perhaps,” he murmured, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, “but it is necessary… for now.”
Stevenson inclined his head. “Very good, my lord. I shall see to the tray at once.”
The door closed softly behind him, leaving Jude in silence. The crackle of the fire filled the room, its warmth barely cutting through the chill that had seeped into his bones from the long ride. He leaned back and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as the tension began to uncoil from his shoulders.
For the first time since dawn, he allowed himself to be still.
His plan had to work. It was the only way to ensure that Lady Josephine would remain safe and that he, in turn, would remain unentangled. As far as she need ever know, he was no more than a humble gamekeeper, a man of little consequence who happened to be in the right place at the right time.
He told himself it was better this way. Safer. Simpler.
And yet, as the firelight flickered across the polished floor, his mind betrayed him once more with the image of her standing in the doorway of his cottage, his coat draped around her, her lips curving into that hesitant, hopeful smile.
Jude groaned softly and dragged a hand down his face. “Fool,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s not for you.”
Still, even as he said it, some quiet, stubborn part of him refused to listen.
He opened his eyes and stared into the flames, his jaw tightening. The ruse will hold. It must.
For her sake. And his.