Page 14 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Fourteen

F rustratingly, Cordelia did not see the duke in the days following their breathless encounter in the ladies withdrawing room. Not even for a moment at the many events she attended.

He hadn’t returned to the ballroom that night.

She’d rejoined the festivities lightheaded, lips tingling, and heart galloping in her chest—but he had been nowhere to be found.

For days now, her mind had been a jumbled web of questions, nerves, and an annoying ache of hope she couldn’t seem to shake.

What had that kiss meant to him?

Anything at all?

Had she been a distraction? A momentary indulgence? A test?

The thought made her stomach knot.

And now, seated opposite Rosalind in the family carriage, rolling up the gravel drive toward Walpole’s country estate for his two-week house party, Cordelia pressed a gloved hand to her stomach, trying in vain to settle the wild tumble of butterflies that had taken residence there.

“You look nervous, my dear,” Rosalind said gently, lowering her book. “Are you quite well?”

“All is well.” Cordelia forced a smile. “Just a little warm, I think.” In truth, she was flushed, yes, but not from the heat, or the many hours of travel, but from the thought that she would soon see the man who had left her world on end.

The carriage turned off the long gravel road they had been traveling for the past two hours, the grand ducal estate finally coming into view.

Stone-framed windows gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, the whitewashed facade elegant and reserved.

A small gathering of liveried staff stood at attention near the entrance, and just in front of them stood Lady Jane and the Duke of Walpole.

He looked…devastatingly composed. Immaculately dressed, back straight, expression unreadable. Of course he would be unreadable. This was the man who had kissed her like a starving man devours his last meal, why would she understand anything about what goes on in that handsome head of his.

Cordelia clenched her hands in her lap. Had he thought of her at all since they parted? Did their interaction weigh on him like it had her?

Or was it simply…a kiss?

No. He wasn’t so cruel. Not vain or careless. He had followed her that night. He had sought her out. He had burned with the same fire she had. She refused to believe otherwise.

Still, doubt lingered and the idea he’d merely gone back to his old life, his mistress tormented her every waking hour.

The carriage rolled to a halt and a footman hurried forward, lowering the steps and offering his hand. Rosalind descended first, followed by Ravensmere, and then Cordelia. She stepped down with practiced grace, conscious of every eye, though none more than Christian’s.

Jane came forward with a beaming smile. “Cordelia! At last. I have missed you so dreadfully.”

Cordelia embraced her, grateful for the brief distraction. “It’s wonderful to see you again, even though it has only been a few days. I’m thankful for the invitation. We shall have such fun.”

“We shall have the best of times, I just know it. Long walks about the grounds, riding horses, playing games and music, everything a house party ought to be.”

Cordelia chuckled, her gaze shifting past Jane to where Walpole stood. He hadn’t moved, but his gaze, intense and wholly focused on her made her shiver.

Feigning nonchalance, she turned to the duke and dipped into a curtsy. “Your Grace.”

He stepped forward and reached for her hand. She expected a polite bow. A distant greeting. Instead, he lifted her gloved fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to them—a firm, lingering caress, that stirred something reckless inside her.

“Lady Cordelia,” he murmured. “Welcome.”

Her mouth dried at the sound of his voice. She stared at him for a beat too long, momentarily robbed of speech. His eyes held hers, unflinching. A current passed between them, so strong she half-expected herself to be scorched.

“I…thank you, Your Grace,” she managed.

Before she could make any more of a fool of herself, Cordelia followed Rosalind and Ravensmere into the house just as the next carriage pulled up behind them.

Servants led them through the grand foyer and up the staircase to their chambers.

Cordelia was shown into a lovely bedchamber with a large sash window overlooking the back gardens and, beyond that, a glimmering lake.

Rows of rose hedges and neatly trimmed lawn rolled out before her like something from a painting.

It was beautiful. Tranquil. And very much the sort of place where one could fall irrevocably in love.

She turned away from the window before her imagination betrayed her further.

Her maid had already begun unpacking, and Cordelia changed quickly into a simple day gown of ivory muslin with blue ribbon trim. “I’m going for a walk,” she said. “The gardens are too lovely to ignore.”

“Yes, my lady.”

She slipped away, down the stairs, murmuring greetings to guests as she passed, and finally made her way to the rear of the house.

Sunlight dappled the terrace and paths, and the scent of roses wrapped around her like a summer cloak. Gravel crunched beneath her slippers as she wandered through archways of wisteria bordered by lavender beds, the gentle hum of bees filling the air.

It wasn’t long before she found a tucked-away corner of the estate—a small rockery framed by mossy stones and trickling water. She sat down on the smoothest rock, peeled off her glove, and dipped her fingers into the stream. The water was cold, biting in the loveliest way.

“Here you are.”

She jumped and looked to find the Duke of Walpole leaning against a tall stone column, a rose in hand. His coat was open, his cravat slightly loosened, as if he too had discarded the stifling rules of proper attire back in London.

She didn’t stand. She could hardly move. “You found me,” she said softly.

He didn’t smile, but his eyes held something unreadable, a promise of something wicked to come. “Everyone’s arrived. I thought I’d take a turn about the grounds as well. When I saw you come this way, I…found my incentive.”

Her lips twitched, despite herself. “Is that so?”

He stepped forward, then took another, until he stood close enough to join her. Without asking, he sank to the stone beside her and slipped his fingers into the water. His brushed her hand and she swallowed, relishing the feel of him.

The contact was fleeting, but it ignited something inside her that had not cooled since their last encounter.

“Do you have any idea,” his voice low and rough, “how much I want to kiss you right now?”

The words struck her like a thunderbolt.

She bit her lip, staring at him and wondering if he were able to read her mind, for she could think of nothing more that she wanted right at this moment.

“I do not know how much,” she answered carefully, “but if it is as great as my need, we are indeed the same.”

His fingers entwined with hers under the water. “It’s maddening having to follow society’s rules.”

“Yes, it is.” And even more so for the women in society who were not granted nearly as much freedoms as men.

“Every ball. Every dinner. I look for you.”

Did he? She had hoped of course that there may be an ounce of attraction on his part toward her, but unless a gentleman was forward enough to say, they often said very little at all. To hear Christian voice his attraction to her was both liberating and exciting.

“I look for you too.”

“I thought…perhaps it was infatuation. Or curiosity. But it’s not. It’s not going away.”

She drank in the sight of him, hoping this declaration was the start of something wonderful and meaningful between them. “Then we are both cursed,” she whispered.

He exhaled. “No. Not cursed.” He clasped her hand tighter. “I think we may be saved.”

C hristian looked around the gardens and, not seeing any of the guests strolling the back lawns just yet—or the many hidden oases his mother had been so proud to create—he reached for Cordelia.

She sat beside him, wide-eyed and more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before.

He prayed she wasn’t frightened by the hunger he knew must be burning in his gaze.

He didn’t know what had overcome him of late, but whenever he was around this chit, he seemed to lose all sense of decorum, of self-control.

Seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t looking for a wife…

Cordelia slipped into his arms as if she were made for him.

He claimed her mouth in a searing kiss. One where there was no hesitation, no gentle preamble.

Just heat, raw and consuming. Her fingers tangled into his hair, tight and insistent, and he lost himself. She tasted like sunlight and champagne.

For so long, he’d been content to remain on the fringes of society, preferring to keep to himself and his handful of close friends. He’d sworn he wasn’t ready for marriage. But the thought of this woman—of Cordelia—belonging to another man made his gut twist and his vision go black.

The idea was unbearable.

And yet…

He knew himself. He was fickle. Self-aware enough to admit it. What if, one day, his desire waned? What if he hurt her, betrayed her trust? Cordelia would never suffer infidelity. She would never share. She was too proud, too fierce, too full of life to be anyone's second choice.

Still, he could not stop the kiss.

Their hands were everywhere, grasping, pulling, feeling, and before he could think clearly, he'd hoisted her onto his lap to straddle him. He rubbed scandalously against her, leaving her with no doubt whatsoever that he was a cad.

A voice in his head shouted at him to stop, for caution, heed this madness, but he did not. Cordelia’s sweet mews of delight, her gasps between their reckless kisses drove him on like a madman to continue.

With Cordelia in his arms his self-restraint was moot.

Voices sounded nearby and she broke the kiss, looking over her shoulder. He stood, placing her several steps from him, thankful she did not look as rumpled as he felt, just as Lord and Lady Tatton came into view, smiling at seeing them near the water feature.

Cordelia smiled in return, her face flushed and radiant.

Christian swallowed hard. God help him, never had he seen anything more beautiful in his life and for the first time in his six-and-twenty years, he had no idea how to proceed.