Page 6 of Her Rogue of a Duke
Ever since, he vowed no woman would ever cause him to sink so low again. Joshua had no intentions of marrying or trusting another lady… with the only, albeit imprudent, exception being his guardian angel. Were he to ever find her, he might propose to her on the spot. She was the only lady he would ever even consider giving his heart to. And the chances of that happening were slim anyhow.
As he continued to sort through his pile of summonses, a knock on the heavy-oak door interrupted his reveries.
“Yes?” he called out.
The door opened a crack and Warren lumbered inside. He appeared troubled and hesitant, which made Joshua frown.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Your Grace, you have a… guest at the door.”
Confused, Joshua pushed to his feet and moved around his desk. “A guest? At this hour?”
It was late into the night, and pouring rain. The only person he could think of that might call on him so late was his friend Benedict, but even he would have sent a note ahead informing… or ratherwarningJoshua of his imminent arrival. Moreover, if it had been Benedict, Warren would have had difficulties preventing him from reaching Joshua’s study to begin with.
Then, he grasped the emphasis the butler had put on the word ‘door’. “Door? You mean to say they are not waiting in the drawing room?”
Warren shook his head, his brows furrowed tremendously. “No, Your Grace. The young lady refuses to enter the house until you have personally invited her.”
A lady? At this time of night?
Joshua’s mind began to race as he tried to puzzle out who it might be. A part bedmate? There were quite a number, but would any of them dare show up at his home unannounced?
“Will you not just tell me who it is?” he demanded of Warren.
The butler slowly shook his head. “I believe it would be best to go and see for yourself, Your Grace.”
Now, Joshua’s curiosity could not be contained.
“Very well,” he exhaled, rising from his warm damask armchair and striding with conviction past rows of aged books once belonging to his father, before reaching his butler. “This mysterious act of yours had better be worth it, Warren.”
Joshua strode on, navigating the bare corridors of his ancestral home, barren from his neglect and unwillingness to play the part of the perfect Duke when he was alone. He could only scoff at the past portraits of stern ancestors that seemed to scrutinize hisevery move, as he went to receive the damsel he had likely just bedded and forgotten.
And why should I care? The games of the aristocracy were about to condemn me to a fate with the one-who-shall-not-be-named, sentencing me to a life of a miserable husband. All for the mere elevation of my family's standing. Pah!
Approaching the front door, his hand grasped the heavy brass doorknob worn smooth from generations of use and yanked it open. The sight that greeted him halted him in his tracks.
There, on his doorstep, stood Francesca Nightingale, utterly drenched from the waterfall. Raindrops glistened on her skin, trailing down her neck and disappearing into the soaked neckline of her dress. A dress that was sopping and translucent, accentuating the curves of her breasts and hips and leaving little to the imagination. Her blonde hair, ordinarily coiffed untidily—a clear testament to having attempted it herself, now lay in damp tendrils around her face, framing it with an unintentional seductiveness.
Joshua bit back his imaginings fiercely to prevent them from wandering off to more wanton thoughts, and it was then he noticed she was clutching a heavy suitcase in both hands.
“Lady—Lady Francesca? What in God’s name are you doing here?”
She raised her blue eyes to meet his, her face set firmly, her jaw clenched with the same resolve he had witnessed no less thantwelve hours ago during his morning stroll with Lady Susan Moore. Was she returning to make a final point? That thought did seem quite silly, but he would not expect much less from the young lady.
“Your Grace, I must ask something of you that is not… easy for me,” she began. There was a waver in her tone and Joshua’s face suddenly grew solemn. It was only now that he noted her eyes were a touch red and slightly swollen. Had she been weeping?
“…What is it?” he inquired.
“Could I possibly stay here?” she asked in a soft voice. “Only for a fortnight. No more.”
Joshua was confused. No, he was stunned and utterly bewildered. He stared at her, speechless, for a long moment. He had no idea what to make of it all. She gazed up at him coyly from beneath long lashes, her usually cold eyes brimming with vulnerability and distress that might have struck a chord in his heart if it hadn’t already been ripped to shreds.
He was not certain what possessed him to do so, but without demanding any further explanation, he stepped aside, allowing Francesca to enter his home, her gown soaked and boots caked in mud.
CHAPTER FOUR
Francesca crossed the threshold of the manor without another word. Joshua, upon noticing that she appeared to be struggling somewhat with her suitcase, lent forward a hand. “Let me assist you with that,” he offered softly, reaching for the portmanteau.