Page 4 of A Duke Of Her Own

“Mr. Benton would gladly chase you with his broom.”

Mr. Crawford chuckled, the sound low and sensual. That peculiar flutter went off inside her heart, and she looked away from his smiling mouth. Francie felt like a wonderful glutton as she ate the two large pieces of cake and drank three glasses of brandy. Her body felt flushed, and she felt a sense of happiness missing from her life for so long.

Thunder rumbled, and lightning forked in the sky in a spectacular display. The sun fought valiantly, but darkened clouds scuttled over its rays. Fat drops of rain slapped against the windows. Francie rose from the chair and tumbled onto the sofa, toeing off her walking boots to curl her stocking legs beneath her shin. Mr. Crawford arched a brow when she unpinned her hair, but he made no pithy reply at this shocking level of impropriety.

That they were alone and visited each other in privacy was scandalous enough that all other actions were deemed unshockable. If her mother saw her now, perhaps she would excise Francie from her heart, more so than she already did. The sole piece of communication from her mother resurfaced in her heart. She was summoned to town to remarry an earl to render herself respectable.

“Where did you go just now?” Mr. Crawford murmured, rising from the table to sit on the sofa facing her.

“I …” her throat closed. “I merely thought of my mother.”

He stilled, then pinned her with a palpable stare. “Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Does your father also live?”

They had never spoken of their respective families, and she could not help wondering what they each hid from, considering they barely shared the true matters of their hearts.

“No, my father died several years ago,” she said softly. “However, I have two older brothers.”

Though her mother did not accept Grayson in their lives, as he was the son of her husband’s mistress, Francie loved both brothers wholeheartedly.

“I have a younger brother, William and a sister, Henrietta,” Alexander said with a small smile, his silver eyes gleaming. “My father died two years ago.”

“I am deeply sorry,” Francie said, realizing that the lost look she had seen in his eyes when she first met him had been from grief. “Is that why you retreated to this cottage?”

The shadow of grief flashed in his gaze, and his body stilled. “Yes. My father enjoyed coming here. That lake … that is where he taught me and my siblings to swim. Right by that fireplace on the rug, he taught us how to play chess and whist.”

There were times when Mr. Crawford had left for a few weeks, and she had wondered where he had gone but had not asked, given she was also very private.

“Somehow I believed this cottage was your only home.”

Though he had an elegance to his speech and mannerisms, Alexander Crawford always appeared simple and not given to the excess of many gentlemen of wealth and leisure. His small cottage was tastefully furnished, neat and tidy, and had no servants living there. Francie suspected he tended to this private space himself.

A smile touched his mouth. “This is just a small slice of my world. I feel here is one of the only places I can exist and be true to myself.”

And so it is for me, she silently said. How odd that they also shared this love of nature between themselves. The fierce sense that she would miss Alexander once she departed Derbyshire lodged against her heart. Would she ever see this man again once she left? This was unsettling. They were gradually revealing more of their inner selves to each other. This was particularly significant because they had maintained such a cautious stance for a lengthy period, carefully guarding this aspect of their lives. Francie felt peculiarly uncertain and vulnerable. A massive bark sounded from outside.

“Ah, it seems Samson is ready to return inside.”

Alexander stood and went to open the door, and his dog enthusiastically dashed into the cottage. Without missing a beat, Samson made a beeline for Francie. Almost as if propelled by sheer joy, the dog used his sizable frame to nudge against her and the sofa with a playful bounce. She laughed, patting his head. “How are you, Samson? I have missed you, too.”

Samson let out a low, contentedchuffbefore ambling away from Francie. He moved gracefully toward the hearth, where he lay down, stretching his body out in front of the warm, crackling fire. He lowered his head onto his front paw and closed his eyes, surrendering to the comforting heat.

“Is he sleeping?” Francie asked, her eyes widening in amazement.

Alexander chuckled softly as he returned to his seat on the sofa, which faced the one Francie occupied. “He had a busy morning, chasing several hares across the fields. I could hardly keep up with him.”

“I have always dreamed of having a dog.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What stopped you?”

Caught off guard, Francie hesitated. “I ...” She tilted her head to the side, her lips curving into a wistful smile. “I guess I was not brave enough to defy my mother’s strong disapproval.”

“Ah,” Alexander nodded understandingly.

“My older brother, Tobias, however, did not have such qualms,” Francie continued with a smile. “He went against my mother's wishes and has two magnificent wolfhounds.” She laughed. “Unsurprisingly, Mama’s allergy seemed to have disappeared even though dogs were present.”