Page 98 of A Duke for Diana

“We could horrify all of society again.”

For Geoffrey, that was probably more appealing. He loved horrifying society, which they did regularly. He started to lead her to their seats at the breakfast, and she whispered, “Would it be too awful if I sat in the drawing room for a few minutes, in that comfy chair by the fire?”

“Not for me, it wouldn’t.”

The two of them crept out and went straight to the drawing room. She released a blissful sigh as she lowered herself into the chair. “I won’t stay long.”

“I’m staying with you.”

“But the food—”

“Will wait,” he said firmly.

She eyed him closely. “How do you feel about Rosy marrying Winston?”

“She’s happy, which is all I ever wanted. And to be honest, so far he’s shown himself to be willing to work. If anything, he’s more interested in the estate work than I am.”

She laughed. “Admit it: You and my cousin work well together. You plan the engineering aspects of updating Castle Grenwood and the mine, and he takes care of the tenants and all of that.”

“All right. I confess he’s been quite an asset.”

“But I daresay you miss living in Newcastle,” she said.

He sat down on the sofa. “Rarely. So far, visiting has been enough. It took a while for the gossip to die down, but once people saw I acted no differently than before, and I was still hiring and paying people to work at Stockdon and Sons, they realized I wasn’t some high-and-mighty duke who couldn’t wait to be rid of my humble beginnings.”

It had certainly helped that Geoffrey had hired a solicitor whom he’d been told by friends would be discreet. When Geoffrey laid out the situation with his father, the attorney had assured Geoffrey enough time had already passed without an inquest that it was unlikely anyone would try to prosecute either Geoffrey for murder or his father for self-murder. Whatever evidence there was would be gone.

The solicitor had also laughed at the idea that Geoffrey’s relations could pressure the authorities in Newcastle to investigate. The same distrust of his father’s aristocratic legacy that had worried Geoffrey would be amplified against them. They’d never lived there. They would be seen as interlopers trying to stir up trouble in the town.

And if, by some small chance, anyone did attempt a prosecution, the attorney said he could easily prove Geoffrey hadn’t murdered his father without resorting to revealing the suicide note. He’d also recommended that Geoffrey burn it. Geoffrey had done so.

“We should go to Newcastle together after the baby is born,” Diana said.

“They would love that at Stockdon and Sons—seeing the next generation of Brookhouses.” He gazed into her eyes. “I hope you realize you saved my life.”

“Hardly,” she said.

“I mean it.” He reached across to seize her hand and kiss it. “Who knows how long I would have gone on with that hanging over my head? You opened up a window in the box my late father put me in.”

“Ah, but you climbed through it. That was the truly brave thing.”

“If you say so.” He knelt beside her chair. “Have I said today that I love you more than life? That you are the sun in my universe, the moon in my night sky?”

“Not today, and never so poetically,” she said, fighting tears. “In answer, I will only say this: I love you, too. You taught me that passion only works with one’s own true love. And I’m so glad that you’re mine.”