Forbidden to Love the Duke(18)
“Ivy,” Lilac whispered in embarrassment, “you aren’t dressed for company.”
To which the duke replied, casting a surreptitious glance at Ivy in her night rail, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have called on you without notice. But I’m a bit superstitious. I fancied that the dragon wanted to be home. He’s a protector.”
“And are you?” Rosemary asked rather dubiously from the position she had taken behind Quigley.
“I certainly hope I am,” the duke said, gallantly removing and shaking off his coat before he placed it around Ivy’s shoulders as if to prove his claim.
Ivy’s breath caught. The wool enwrapped her in his warmth and a sense of ownership she was defenseless to fight. She felt as if he’d put his mark on her. “Please put your coat back on.”
“It’s no inconvenience. My jacket and gloves are sufficient. Let me draw it around you a little tighter.” His big hands cocooned her in the coat. “That’s better. What do you think of our dragon?”
She lifted her hand to the sanctuary ring, tracing her bare fingers over the dragon’s unfriendly face. Tears came to her eyes. It was a dramatic gesture. She did not completely trust the duke’s motives, knowing how he coveted the manor, and how, in less than a week, he had thrown her life into chaos.
“It’s wonderful,” Lilac said, poking her bright head around the door. “Very kind of you, Your Grace. We’re falling apart at the seams, you know. I’m not sure whether Ivy told you, but you were our last hope. Won’t you come in and take shelter from the storm awhile? We don’t have much to offer in the way of refreshments, but Cook usually saves a bottle of sherry for Christmas. You will have to excuse the condition of the house. As much as we adore it, we are not blind to its faults. Still, there is no place like Fenwick Manor. If you’re lucky, you might even meet a ghost tonight who is grateful for your good deed. Quigley, please take the duke’s men to the kitchen. We can at least offer them a bit of warmth by the hearth.”
* * *
James didn’t look at Ivy. He didn’t dare. She removed his coat, handed it back to him as if it were a castoff, and curtsied with a resigned sigh. “Welcome to Fenwick Manor, Your Grace. I’m surprised that you survived the garden at night.”
He allowed himself a covert glance at her curvaceous form before one of her sisters brought her a dressing robe. The damp air had moistened her night rail so that it clung to what appeared to be a lovely pair of full breasts and a rounded belly. It wasn’t a long enough look to appease his curiosity, but he felt uncomfortably hard and looked forward to a restless night. However, with a chorus of suspicious sisters and servants in the wing, he would simply have to keep his carnal longings for the governess to himself. Fenwick Manor would help distract his fancies.
While his servants melted away to the kitchen fire, he entered the house that had sheltered the four noblewomen in secret if shabby glory.
What a magnificent study in English architecture, both the manor and its mistress. What a sin that Fenwick had suffered from the lack of care it deserved. The quartet of impoverished sisters should receive accolades, not condemnation, for keeping the manor in the family’s hands.
The fireplace loomed empty and bleak in the great hall. James guessed it cost too much to light coals, even on rainy nights. He noted the absence of a fire screen and iron firedogs. In days past the family would have gathered before a robust blaze in comfort.
Lavish carvings of roses and dragons covered the walls between linenfold paneling. Ivy followed his stare and said, “There used to be tapestries where you are looking.”
“They fell,” Lilac said eloquently. “Then we sold them.”
“It’s incredible.” He shook his head.
“Yes, it is,” said the tall, dark-haired woman with the gun hidden in her skirts. “And it belongs to us.”
He blinked. The four of them couldn’t possibly hope to maintain this house much longer on what he would pay Ivy as a governess. Brave spirits wouldn’t carry anyone to the bank. It would be a tragedy to watch this manor and its beautiful gardens come to sorrow all for a want of funds. The urge to protect rose inside him, only to clash with his possessive nature. What could he do, knowing any benevolent act might cover a selfish motive?
“I’ve returned the sanctuary hold to its home,” he said, lowering his stare to Ivy’s face. How lovely she appeared in the candlelight. Her dark green eyes had turned hazel. He saw her gaze lift guiltily from his mouth and felt a sting of gratification. She would not forget him again. “I should have come earlier in the day. Or sent my servants alone, but I thought I’d at least look familiar. I shall leave now.”