Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

FOUR MONTHS LATER

C hauncy tethered his horse to a tree a little way from the house rather than riding into the stable yard.

The short walk down the hill would enable him to observe his surroundings.

It would also give him the chance to change his mind, return to his mount, and ride back the way he'd come.

Even before he'd begun his journey, he told himself he was a fool to succumb to sentiment. Chauncy never did that.

But it was Beth who'd unwittingly instigated this madcap expedition. Three nights previously, she'd looked up from her tatting after dinner and said, "My dear Chauncy, I had not thought you were so attached to the idea of marrying Miss Blenkinthorpe. Ever since she decided not to go through with the arrangement, a dark cloud has been hanging over you."

Still staring at the book he was reading, of which he'd digested not one word, Chauncy had said flatly, "It was I who decided not to go ahead with it."

Beth's expression had revealed her surprise, and she'd asked without thinking, "So, there's someone else, then?" before blushing as if it were not her place to question her cousin.

He'd sent her a long, level stare, before muttering, "Am I such an ogre that you can't say what you think, Beth?"

And then he'd thought briefly of dear, eccentric, misunderstood Gwyneth whose sad fate must surely have acted as a cautionary tale for Beth.

Now, three minutes' walk from Boothe House, he was once again questioning his motivation in coming here.

Selina was the same woman she'd been when she'd deceived him. She hadn't changed.

No, it was he who had changed.

For Selina had changed something in him .

With distance, he'd come to view what they'd had in a different light.

Or was he being a sentimental fool?

He was still deciding whether to turn back when a sweet, lilting voice hailed him.

"A visitor! Oh, my sir! Aren't you handsome?" The long pause that followed was truncated by a soft exclamation; then, "My, don't you have eyes I could drown in?" She giggled. "My dear sister by marriage told me about a man who had eyes she could drown in. Are you that man?"

Chauncy bowed. "Good afternoon, madam. You must be … the real Mrs. Boothe."

The young woman did a twirl before dropping into a deep curtsy. "How did you know? Why, of course! Because you must be Lord Chauncy! I do hope you've come to see my sister-in-law, who would so welcome you. My husband doesn't want to see anyone, and certainly not you. But Selina has been waiting for you, don't you know?"

Chauncy inclined his head. "Perhaps you would take me to her, then? And, while we walk, indulge me with some answers. How do you know she's been waiting for me?"

Mrs. Boothe clapped her hands together, clearly delighted with his response, before indicating a path down a long, gentle incline. The landscape was calming, with just the house in the distance, and all around it, fields of green through which ran a bubbling stream. "This way, Your Grace," said Anna. She seemed too much a wood sprite for him to think of her as Mrs. Boothe.

No, a fairy, he amended, as she raised her graceful, naked arms, and appeared to take flight, weaving about beside him as she chattered. "How do I know she's been waiting for you?" Anna repeated, before she amended the statement. "She's been hoping for you. I knew, though she didn't say it. She didn't have to. Indeed, Selina said your eyes were your best feature, Your Grace. Except for your smile. But then she said that—even nicer—was your whole expression when you looked at her. She said when you looked at her, she felt like you meant what you said—a most uncommon trait in a gentleman." Anna, who'd now been skipping by his side, stopped by a gnarled apple tree and pointed into the distance. "See! There's my sister-in-law over by the stream. She's painting, though she's not very good at painting. My husband is very good at painting but not at drawing. But Selina can draw a likeness so that it's just like looking at a person. Though you know that. She drew your likeness when you wanted to get married to some other lady. But now that you're here, I hope you've changed your mind about that . Follow me and I'll take you to her."

Chauncy hesitated. "Now that you've pointed her out, I won't need your company, though I'd very much appreciate it a little later when it's time to say goodbye, Anna."

"You're going to say goodbye when you've only just come to say good day?" Anna clapped her hand to her mouth and her look was tragic. "Perhaps you shouldn't see Selina, after all, if you've already decided you're going to say goodbye."

Chauncy regarded her in silence. Anna Boothe was lovely. Not as lovely as Selina, but with her elfin features and her bubbling happiness interspersed with unfiltered dismay, she reminded him eerily of Gwyneth.

"I want to see your sister-in-law because I need to know if I really will want to say goodbye after we meet again," he said.

"Ah." Anna nodded sagely. "Then I think you are perhaps as wise and kind as Selina said you were. Now, go, Your Grace, and don't let me detain you."

Chauncy watched Anna skip and dance away in the pale sunlight.

When he returned his attention to the path, he found he was suddenly dry-mouthed, and his palms were sweating.

If this had begun as an undertaking to discover exactly what he really felt about the woman who had overtaken his senses in such a short time, and whose hold over his thoughts was both powerful and irrational, the physical manifestations were impossible to ignore.

Still, he hesitated. Selina was about a minute's walk away, sitting on a stool with her back to him, a large canvas on an easel in front of her. Dressed in a white muslin gown, her chestnut hair tied loosely so that escaped ringlets cascaded down her back, Chauncy was overcome by emotion. Remorse, desire, and confusion were an odd combination.

What would be the culmination of their conversation? Anna indicated her sister-in-law spoke of him kindly, when the truth was that Chauncy had farewelled her the day following the ball with nothing more than a gruff apology for having had her unfairly detained, and thanking her for the quality of her work.

At the time, she'd merely offered a small curtsy and said, "And I apologise for lying to you. We both have said and done things we regret, Your Grace."

Their parting had felt final.

And he'd taken her words to indicate that she regretted not only deceiving him, but the intimacy between them.

Chauncy resumed his halting journey through the lush grass.

Reflecting on Lady Rushworth's ball was to remember the deception displayed towards him by both Selina and Catherine.

But, the last month, sweeping away his anger, a new emotion had taken root, occasioned by memories of the sweetness that had infused his soul caused by Selina's frank and unfettered enthusiasm for him.

Surely that could not have been feigned?

To Chauncy's surprise, he found that the closer he got to the figure so thoroughly immersed in her painting, the more oddly his heart began to behave.

Quite erratically, in fact.

Like when he'd been a schoolboy; not yet in control of his manliness and unable to conceal his feelings.

A few yards away, he stopped and studied the back of her neck.

It was a very elegant neck. Graceful and swan-like before it reached her luscious bosom.

Not that he could see that from here, since he was behind her.

No, he was just remembering.

Like he did so often.

He remembered her smile, her laugh, her caresses, her honesty, and pleasure in him.

No, they had not been feigned, he told himself, even if she was pretending to be someone else.

Perhaps she was more like Anna—free and unfettered in her emotions—than she realized.

"Selina."

She turned with a gasp, as if she knew immediately who had spoken.

"Your Grace," she whispered, rising. Then, after an awkward pause, nodding towards the easel, added unnecessarily, "I was painting."

He inclined his head. "I think you are more skillful at likenesses."

She sighed. "Commissions have dried up. My brother's landscapes pay the bills these days. He is hoping I will improve."

"And why have commissions dried up when you are so adept at them?"

She slid her eyes towards the house as if afraid of her brother appearing before she whispered, "There was a scandal a few months ago in which I played a central role. I'm sure in time it will be forgotten. But not yet."

Chauncy cleared his throat. "Sometimes it takes time for … things to be forgotten and for … rumors that were ill-founded to disappear."

"And for the truth to be revealed?" She sent him an inquiring look.

Chauncy was uncomfortably aware of the roiling in his belly as she asked, suddenly, "Why are you here, Your Grace?"

He frowned. "I don't know." Holding her gaze, he said softly, "I suppose I wanted to know what it would feel like here," he touched the left side of his chest, "when I saw you again."

She nodded, unsmiling. "I wondered the same thing." She put her hand to her breast.

He took a step forward, still uncertain. "You see," he went on, "I wasn't sure that—if I saw you again—I would want more to do with you."

She nodded. "I wondered the same..." She hitched in a breath, then whispered, "You see, the man you were when you loved me did not accord with the man who accused me."

He had to concede this was the truth. Slowly he reached out a hand as he said, "But when I couldn't get you out of my mind, I thought seeing you would help determine if I wanted to?—"

She was within an arm's breadth, but she'd not stepped closer. It seemed Chauncy must make that decision.

He did so unconsciously, the need to touch her overpowering his natural caution.

And when her slight body nestled against him, memory and sensation sparked into life. Not the dramatic last few hours of their association when deception, drama, and her possible involvement in his attempted murder were at the forefront.

Yet that's all he'd been able to think about for a long time.

These last few months had been grueling as Catherine's murderous intentions towards him had been revealed, dissected, and reflected back at him as a man who took with impunity, as Catherine had.

Catherine was not a woman whose pride could withstand rejection from the man she'd consciously seduced several years before; the man who then had not only ceased to love her, but who'd ceased to pay her gambling debts and those of her husband.

Oh, Lady Saunders had made sure the whole world knew every real and perceived failing of the Duke of Chauncy.

It had been a painful, humbling few months.

But that was the past. And Catherine's murderous intent had been thoroughly revealed—though without sufficient evidence to see her face justice.

Now it was time to live in the present.

"What did you want, Your Grace?

"For you to stop calling me Your Grace."

"But that wasn't all, was it…Chauncy?" Slowly she raised her arms and twined her hands behind his neck, but they remained there, exerting no pressure, as if she were waiting for what he had to say next.

Yes, she knew him. And maybe in years to come, she would know him more than he knew himself, for the curiously strong connection he felt with this woman had returned with a vengeance.

He shook his head, ever so slightly, for fear of breaking that connection: both of her hands twined behind his neck, and that invisible chord between their hearts.

"No, that was not all," he managed hoarsely, as he cupped her cheek with one hand, his other contouring her achingly well-remembered curves. "I did have one very momentous question to ask you. But before that, I would like to kiss you."

She didn't reply, but her hands tightened behind his neck as she brought his face down to hers.

And as her mouth flowered beneath his, flooding him with memories of his happiest moments, Chauncy knew that of all the decisions he'd made, going after Selina was his best.

She felt as he did, he could tell, as he drank in her sweetness, and reveled in the feel of her, while she made so clear her delight in him.

A delight so transparent that he was quietly confident about her response to the question of which he'd forewarned her.

The most important question he would ever ask.

For if—when—Selina agreed to be his wife, he knew he'd never be bored again.

THE END

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